I woke up at 2 a.m. to 18 missed calls from my daughter and a text: “Dad, help! Come fast!!”
I drove to her home like mad. My heart was pounding the entire ride, worst-case scenarios clouding my mind. But when I got there, my daughter and her fiancé looked surprised almost confused to see me.
She rubbed her eyes and said, “Dad… I never texted you.”
I showed her the message. She looked pale. “I swear, that’s not from me. My phone’s been on the nightstand all night.” I checked the timestamp. 1:53 a.m. That was seven minutes before I arrived. Trying not to panic, I nodded, gave her a hug, and assured her it was probably just a prank or a spoofed number.
But as I stepped out into the quiet driveway and reached my car… my phone buzzed again. Another text. This one said: “I didn’t mean HER.” I froze. Then a photo came in. It was grainy. A screenshot from what looked like a baby monitor feed the night vision green tint unmistakable. In the crib was my 2-year-old granddaughter… And behind her, barely visible in the shadows… was a tall, crooked silhouette.
Then another message: “She’s not alone anymore.” My hands were shaking. I sprinted back to the house and barged in. “Where’s the baby monitor?” I demanded. My daughter, startled, pointed to the living room where the monitor sat dark screen, no signal. Her fiancé picked it up and said, “It went offline around 1:50 a.m.… Weird timing.” I didn’t wait. I ran to the nursery. The door was slightly open.
The mobile above the crib was spinning slowly… And the window? Unlocked. The crib… empty. Then came one final text. “You should’ve come faster.”