It all began with innocent intentions. Liam was a spirited child, full of energy and insatiable curiosity. As a single parent balancing work and home life, I often found myself stretched thin. One day, out of desperation to keep him entertained while I attended a critical work meeting, I handed him my iPad. His eyes sparkled as vibrant animations came to life on the screen, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the house was peaceful.
That small moment of relief turned into a habit. Liam became an “iPad baby.” Educational games, nursery rhymes, and cartoons filled his days. At first, I convinced myself it was a good thing. He was learning, after all. But as months passed, the iPad became an extension of him, his tiny fingers swiping and tapping faster than I could keep up.
It wasn’t until his fifth birthday that I noticed something was off. Liam was quieter, his interactions with other children strained. He spoke less and preferred the company of his digital world. I blamed myself but brushed it off, thinking it was just a phase.
Then, the nightmares began.
Liam would wake up screaming, his small body trembling with fear. When I asked him what was wrong, he mumbled about “the shadow man” who lived inside the iPad. He claimed the man watched him through the screen, whispering things Liam couldn’t understand.
At first, I dismissed it as a child’s overactive imagination. But then strange things started happening. The iPad would turn on by itself, even when powered off. Its screen would flicker, displaying cryptic images for brief moments before returning to normal. Once, I heard faint whispers coming from the device late at night, though no app was open.
One night, Liam refused to sleep. He begged me to take the iPad away, to “send the shadow man back.” His terror was palpable, and though skeptical, I decided it was time to intervene. I powered down the iPad and locked it in a drawer.
But the next morning, the iPad was back on the kitchen table, its screen glowing faintly. A message scrawled across the screen read: “You can’t take him away.”
My blood ran cold.
Desperate, I consulted a tech-savvy friend who specialized in cybersecurity. He examined the device and claimed there was no logical explanation for what was happening. “It’s just a glitch,” he said. But his face betrayed unease.
That night, I decided to stay up and keep watch. At 3:00 a.m., the iPad turned on, its screen displaying Liam’s reflection — but not mine. Instead, behind Liam’s reflection stood a shadowy figure with hollow, glowing eyes.
Panicking, I grabbed the device and smashed it to pieces. The screen shattered, but as the fragments scattered across the floor, I heard a low, guttural laugh echoing through the room.
Liam hasn’t spoken of the shadow man since, but sometimes, I catch him staring at the corner of the room as if he sees something I can’t.
Was it a bad choice to raise him as an iPad baby? Looking back, I would trade every ounce of convenience for the peace we’ve lost.