The Echo in the Drywall

My baby monitor doesn't just pick up sounds from the nursery. It picks up

the walls. I thought it was the house settling. But tonight,

the breathing is regular and rhythmic. And I realized with a cold shudder that it's

not coming from the crib. I stepped into the hall. The floorboards were

ice under my bare, trembling feet. The corridor was bathed in a

sickly blue glow from the child's nightlight nearby. Something was standing there.

A shadow that didn't belong to any of the furniture. It was taller

than the ceiling, its long fingers dragging slowly across the floral wallpaper. I reached for