The hum of the baby monitor was the only sound in the house, a steady rhythmic static that usually lulled Elias to sleep. At 2:00 at AM, however, the static broke.
Through the speaker came a soft, melodic whistling. It was "Twinkle Twinkle Little star," slow and slightly off-key. Elias sat up, his heart hammering against his ribs. He and his wife didn't have any musical tous in the nursery that played that tune, and his wife was working the night shift at the hospital. He was alone with six-month-old Leo.
He grabbed his phone, the screen illuminating his pale face. He opened the nursery camera app. The room was bathed in the eering green glow of night vision. Leo was sound asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling.
Then, the whistling stopped.
A voice, raspy and thin like dry paper rubbing together, whispered into the monitor: " He has your eyes, Elias."
Elias froze. The voice hadnot come from the monitor next to his bed. It had come from the hallway.
He crept to the bedroom door and pressed his ear against the wood. Silence. He peeked into the hall. The nursery door at the end of the corridor was amar, a silver of darkness beckoning. He rushed toward it, fueled by a parent's desperate adrenaline.
He burst into the nursery. Leo was still asleep. The room was empty. Elise let out a shudering breath, learning against the crib. "Just a prank,"he whispered, "The monitor must have picked up a radio frequency."
Then he looked down at the camera mounted on the wall.
The small green " active" light was off. It wasn't plugged in. He looked back at his phone screen . The app was still streaming a clear, green-tinted was off image of the nursery.
On the screen, a tall, distoted figure stood directly behind him in the dark , it's long fingers hovering inches from his neak. Elias felt a cold breath on his ear.