The Baby Monitor

The rain outside had been falling for hours, a soft, endless rhythm that made the house feel smaller and quieter than usual.

Emma adjusted the baby monitor on her nightstand, its soft blue light blinking like a heartbeat in the dark. She could see her son, Noah, on the tiny screen—peacefully asleep in his crib. His chest rose and fell beneath a fuzzy blanket patterned with tiny stars.

Her husband, Matt, had fallen asleep an hour earlier. He had work in the morning. But Emma couldn’t sleep. New motherhood had turned her into a cautious sentinel—half-human, half-watchtower. Every small sound, every breath from the monitor felt like an alarm bell.

She reached for her phone, scrolling absently through social media, when a soft giggle drifted through the monitor’s speaker.

A baby’s laugh.

Her eyes flicked to the screen. Noah lay still, eyes closed.

Another giggle. This one louder. Clearer.

Emma frowned, turning up the volume.

“Noah?” she whispered, even though he couldn’t hear her. The laughter came again—longer, gurgling with joy. It sounded like Noah. But something about it… didn’t. It was too steady, too deliberate. Babies laugh in bursts. This laugh rolled on like it knew she was listening.

Emma’s stomach tightened. She stared at the screen. Noah’s lips didn’t move.

She got out of bed, careful not to wake Matt, and padded down the hallway toward the nursery. The sound continued, soft but constant, echoing faintly through the monitor in her hand.

When she pushed open the nursery door, the laughter stopped.

Silence.

The only sound was the rain tapping against the window. Noah was still asleep, one tiny hand clutching his blanket. His breathing was even, calm.

Emma exhaled, half relieved, half confused. She checked the closet—empty. She glanced under the crib—nothing but dust and a forgotten pacifier.

“Maybe interference,” she murmured to herself. Baby monitors sometimes caught stray frequencies—neighbors’ TVs, walkie-talkies, even phones. She clicked the volume wheel down and went back to bed.

But as she reached her room, a faint whisper came through the speaker.

It was a voice.

Not a baby’s.

“Mommy…”

Emma froze mid-step.

Her throat went dry. “Noah?”

The voice giggled. Then, softly, “Mommy, play with me.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She stared at the monitor’s screen. Noah hadn’t moved. He was still asleep.

The voice giggled again—closer now, like the speaker itself had shifted position. The monitor’s light flickered.

Emma’s heart pounded. She shook Matt’s shoulder.

“Matt—Matt, wake up!”

He groaned, turning over. “What is it?”

“Listen.” She held the monitor close to his ear.

Static. Silence.

Then, faintly, “Play with me, Mommy…”

Matt sat up, his face draining of color. “What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know.”

He took the monitor from her, staring at the tiny screen. “Maybe some kind of hacker? Someone nearby picking up the signal?”

Emma hugged herself, shivering despite the warm air. “That sounded like Noah’s voice, Matt.”

He glanced at her. “He’s asleep.”

“I know. But—”

A loud thump echoed through the monitor. They both jumped.

Matt grabbed his phone flashlight and bolted toward the nursery. Emma followed close behind. The door was ajar now, though Emma was sure she’d closed it before.

The crib stood exactly as before. Noah slept, peaceful and untouched.

But the baby monitor camera—mounted above the crib—was turned. It now pointed toward the closet door.

Matt frowned. “Did you move that?”

Emma shook her head.

A cold draft slipped across the room. The closet door creaked slightly, as if breathing.

Then came the laugh.

Louder. Right from the monitor’s speaker—though it was facing them now.

Matt pulled open the closet door.

Nothing. Just Noah’s clothes and boxes of diapers.

“Maybe interference,” he said again, forcing a nervous laugh. “It’s just tech stuff.”

Emma didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the monitor screen. It showed them—standing there in the nursery.

But something else was in the frame too.

Behind them.

A shadowy figure crouched beside the crib. Its head tilted at an impossible angle, face obscured in darkness.

Emma gasped and spun around—

Nothing.

But when she looked back at the screen, the figure was gone.

Only Noah remained, fast asleep.


---

They slept with the lights on that night. Or tried to. Every time Emma closed her eyes, she heard the echo of that laugh.

By morning, Matt called the manufacturer, demanded a replacement. They sent a new model overnight. He threw the old one in the trash.

That night, Emma set up the new monitor, double-checked everything. New frequency. New password. No interference.

At 2:59 a.m., the blue light blinked softly.

At 3:00 a.m., the screen glowed brighter.

Noah stirred in his sleep, rolling to his side.

At 3:02 a.m., Emma finally started to drift off.

At 3:07 a.m., a faint giggle came through the new monitor.

And from the trash bin outside, where the old monitor lay broken and half-buried under coffee grounds, a red light blinked once…

And a voice whispered, “Mommy, play with me.”