Oak Hollow Daycare

Rachel didn't need a daycare job. At least, that's what she told herself as she scrolled past the job listing on her phone. She had been trying to make it as an actress for years, enduring countless auditions, getting close only to fall short. But life had a funny way of slipping up on you, and when the bills started stacking up faster than she could handle, she found herself on the hunt for anything that would keep her afloat.

So, when she saw the ad for Oak Hollow Daycare, something clicked. It was close, the hours were consistent, and most importantly, it was a paycheck. She didn't think much beyond that.

The first time Rachel stepped into Oak Hollow Daycare, a sense of unease settled in her chest.

The building was pristine, too pristine. The smell of lemon-scented disinfectant clung to the air, suffocating the space with its sterility. The walls were a pale beige, the floors so polished that they reflected the harsh fluorescent lights above. It was like a scene out of a dream - or a nightmare. Nothing was out of place.

Mrs. Whitmore greeted her at the door, her smile wide, almost stretching to the point of being unsettling. Her blonde hair was immaculately styled, her clothes perfectly pressed. She looked like she had stepped straight out of a parenting brochure.

"Welcome, Rachel!" Mrs. Whitmore's voice was saccharine, friendly but somehow forced, as though she'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times. "We're so glad to have you with us. Everything here runs like clockwork. You'll get the hang of it in no time."

Rachel smiled, not quite sure why the woman's enthusiasm felt so mechanical.

As she was shown around, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that everything was too perfect. The daycare was orderly, silent even. The children, ranging in age from three to five, were all sitting at their designated tables, quietly coloring or assembling toys without so much as a whisper of complaint. They didn't fidget. They didn't squirm.

Rachel tried to engage with them, offering a friendly wave, but they didn't react the way normal kids did. Instead, they looked up at her with wide, unblinking eyes, their faces eerily neutral. It felt like she was being observed, cataloged, as if they were waiting for her to slip up.

Mrs. Whitmore led her to the staff room, where she handed Rachel a thick, leather-bound handbook. "You'll need to go over the rules," she said with that same, practiced smile.

Rachel flipped through the pages. Each rule was more bizarre than the last:

Always greet the parents with a smile. Never let the facade slip.

The blinds must be closed precisely at 9:01 AM.

Do not speak unless spoken to, especially in front of the children.

Always remain in your assigned position. The children rely on the stability.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Assigned position?" she asked.

Mrs. Whitmore didn't miss a beat. "It's for the children's safety," she explained, her tone dismissive but tight, like she was getting impatient with questions. "You'll learn soon enough."

The first day passed in a blur. The kids barely made a sound, their heads down as they worked. Rachel moved around the room, checking on them, but they didn't need help. They were fine on their own. There was something unsettling about their silence, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

Then there was Lucas.

Lucas was different.

He didn't play with the other kids. He didn't talk much, either. Instead, he sat off to the side, staring at the wall or watching the other children with an intensity that sent a shiver down Rachel's spine.

One afternoon, when Rachel was helping another child with their art project, Lucas approached her. He was standing in the doorway, staring at her, as if waiting for her to acknowledge him.

Rachel smiled gently. "Hey, Lucas. How's your day going?"

He didn't respond right away. He just kept staring at her with those wide, dark eyes.

"It's watching you," he finally said in a flat, emotionless tone.

Rachel froze. "What? Who's watching me, buddy?"

He didn't answer, just turned and walked away, returning to his spot in the corner. But the words lingered in Rachel's mind, like an ominous echo she couldn't shake.

The routine began to get to Rachel. The silence in the daycare, the way everyone just… went along with it, without a word of protest. The children never complained. They never deviated from their tasks. It felt like they were part of some machine - like they were programmed to behave this way.

And then there were the rules.

At first, Rachel chalked it up to just being overly thorough, but as the days passed, she began to feel like something was off.

The blinds.

The schedule.

The assigned positions.

Rachel asked Mrs. Whitmore again about the rules one day, and this time, she seemed on edge.

"They keep us safe," she said curtly, her lips tight. "The children need structure. They need order."

Rachel nodded, but she felt a gnawing sense of dread creeping in. The walls were closing in on her, and it wasn't just the building - it was something else. Something in the air. Something unseen.

By the end of the week, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that the daycare had become a prison. The more she tried to break the monotony, the more she felt like she was being watched.

She tried to leave one evening, just as the last child was being picked up. The hallway was dark and quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. She reached for the door, but the handle wouldn't turn.

She pulled harder, panic rising in her chest. The door was stuck.

That's when Lucas appeared again.

He was standing just behind her, his eyes wide, almost too wide.

"You can't leave," he said, his voice cold and final.

Rachel's breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean? It's just a stuck door, Lucas. It's no big deal."

Lucas didn't budge. He didn't speak. He just stood there, watching her, his eyes hollow and dark.

"Stay in your spot," he murmured, almost as if he was repeating something he'd been told to say.

Rachel felt the walls closing in. The door was no longer just a door - it was a barrier. A boundary she couldn't cross. And she wasn't alone.

The building… knew she wanted out.

The next day, things took a darker turn.

Rachel woke up on the floor of the daycare, the lights harsh against her eyes. She didn't know how she'd ended up there, but she knew something was horribly wrong.

She tried to stand, but her limbs felt heavy. The air around her felt thick, like it was pressing down on her chest.

There was a sound - faint at first. A soft scraping, like metal against stone.

She turned toward it and froze.

The children were standing in the hallway, watching her, but they weren't looking at her with curiosity. They were waiting. Their eyes were blank, their faces unreadable. And in the distance, Mrs. Whitmore stood in the doorway, watching silently.

Rachel's heart raced. She stumbled to her feet, rushing toward the door, only to find it sealed shut again.

She turned to Lucas, standing at the back of the room, his face expressionless.

"You don't belong here," he said again, the words cold and final.

The walls felt like they were pressing in on her. She gasped for air, her body shaking uncontrollably. She was trapped - they had known all along.

The last thing she heard was a soft click, followed by the sound of something snapping in the dark.

When the authorities arrived, they found Rachel's lifeless body in the center of the daycare. No struggle. No sign of a break-in. She looked almost peaceful, like she had simply… fallen asleep.

But it wasn't until hours later that someone else found her. Someone who had been waiting for this moment.

They found her in the storage room, piecing her body back together like a broken doll, the smell of oil and rust filling the air. They were careful, meticulous, attaching each limb, smoothing the seams where her skin had been torn.

And when they finished, they placed her at the entrance of Oak Hollow, her face frozen in a permanent, welcoming smile.

She wasn't dead. She wasn't alive.

She was simply… there.

The daycare had claimed her.