They sat on the sofa, enjoying a second glass of wine the snores of their son from his nursery on the video baby monitor filling the air. The living room lamp flickered off, momentarily plunging the room into darkness, before coming back to life.
The house was old, and electrical gremlins were common, they thought nothing of it, until a chilling scream came across the baby monitor – not from a infant, but a woman. The sound-bars were at their highest – as the shrill scream continued, they looked at the screen.
The cot was empty, he was gone.
The wine glasses smashed to the floor as they flew up the stairs, the scream had stopped, their thundering footsteps across the landing the only sound. They got to the nursery, the baby was gone, and there was a chill in the air.
They looked at each other, dumbfounded in utter shock.
Then, they heard him cry, from the other room – running back down the hallway and into their bedroom. There was Jacob, in the middle of their bed. She scooped him up in her arms, cooing to calm him, her husband held them both.
She looked up, and gasped as she saw scrawled on the bedroom wall, the words –
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.
They did, they didn’t look back.
