The Camera
The following evening, after Ellie drifted off, I set up a small security camera on the bookshelf facing her bed, connected directly to my phone.
Then I refused to sleep.
I sat in the hallway with every light off, a baseball bat resting beside my chair.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone vibrated. Motion detected.
My pulse spiked.
I opened the camera feed.
Someone stood in my daughter’s bedroom. An elderly man. Gray hair. Slow movements. Exactly as Ellie had described.
My blood went cold.
I sprinted down the hallway and threw open her door.
The room was empty. Completely.
Ellie stirred. “Mom?”
I checked every corner — closet, under the bed, bathroom. Nothing. No broken window. No open door. No hiding place.
I grabbed my phone. The camera still showed the man, standing beside Ellie’s bed.
But in front of me — no one.
I blinked. The image flickered. Then disappeared.
I nearly dropped the phone.
