Babysitting the Silent Baby

I was babysitting a demon? The baby never cried, no matter how long I stayed in the

house. That should have comforted me. Instead, it made my skin

crawl. Mrs. Hale had rushed out earlier, breathless, barely explaining

anything. “He’s asleep. Don’t wake him. If he opens his eyes… just leave

the room.” She laughed afterward, like it was a joke she’d told too many times.

The nursery smelled wrong. Not dirty—sweet. Rotting flowers sweet.

I sat in the rocking chair and watched the crib rise and fall. Slow.

Careful. Like the baby was pretending to breathe. Minutes passed. Then an hour.