This happened a while back when I was babysitting for my sister. Around 3 a.m., the baby monitor lit up. I glanced over, expecting my nephew to be stirring, but he was sound asleep. Then I heard it—a whisper through the speaker: “He’s not okay.” I froze. I called my sister, panicked, and she didn’t hesitate. “Take my son and run to the car. Lock it and call 911!” she screamed. She’d been hearing strange noises on the monitor for weeks. As I stayed on the line, I saw a shadow pass the nursery window. The window was wide open. We always kept it shut.
I didn’t wait. I grabbed my nephew, bolted to the car, locked the doors, and called the police. I was shaking, heart pounding, watching the house from behind the windshield, terrified something—or someone—might follow.
The cops arrived and searched the area. They found nothing. No footprints, no signs of forced entry. Just an open window and a babysitter too scared to go back inside.
They brushed it off, saying the monitor brand was known for picking up stray signals. Other people had reported similar things. But that didn’t explain the shadow. Or the whisper.
We replaced the monitor. The whispers stopped. But I still think about that night—the voice, the open window, the cold air creeping in.
I know what I saw. And I know what I heard. Some things don’t leave proof. They just leave chills.
