My Daughter’s Cry

Abby’s shrill cries echoed through the hall, shredding through the thin veil of sleep I’d settled
into barely an hour before. Allen rolled in place, groaning wordlessly as he folded the pillow over his ears. I stared daggers into him, scoffing to myself before wiping the sleep from my eyes and pulling
myself from bed. It had been his job to put her down for bed last time, so I supposed it was mine to check on her.
I shot a glance at the clock on my husband’s bedside table, though I already knew what the time
would read.
2 A.M. more or less on the dot. The clock read 2:03. Right on schedule.
Despite having dealt with the process every night for the past few weeks, it never got easier. It
was as if our daughter had reverted back to her days as a newborn, rapidly regressing since turning three.
Things had been relatively easy with her over the years, but in the last few weeks, she’d
become more difficult than usual. There had been complaints about misbehaving at daycare,
hitting other kids, and biting; things of that nature, and we’d noticed in our own day-to-day life
that she was beginning to grow obstinate.
Where she’d once been an agreeable and rather easy going kid, she was now difficult. Often
seeming to listen clearly only to turn around and do the opposite of what she was told, or
something entirely different and altogether unacceptable. It was like she was trying to goad a
reaction out of people.
One of the hardest parts to her challenging new behavior was her sudden inability to sleep
through the night.. It was like she’d found some new, fucked up circadian rhythm all of a sudden.
We thought it might be the new house, a side-effect of having a young child in an unfamiliar
environment, but it felt odd.
She’d been fine for the first week or so in the new place, hell, she’d seemed to love it and then
one night, a little over nine days after we’d settled in, she began the nightly tantrums, setting off
every night around 2 A.M. like she was following a schedule.
Given the fact that Abigail was still relatively nonverbal, and couldn’t really articulate herself in
any other way, we dismissed the tantrums as anything other than commonplace.
I shuddered as my feet met the wood floor, the chill of fall filling the room. I grabbed my robe
from the foot of the ottoman beside our bed, throwing it over my shoulders as I made my way to
Abby’s room.
The hallway was pitch black, only faint traces of moonlight could be seen shining through the
solitary window. Even through the grogginess and irritation, a blooming unease found a home,
growing with each protesting groan of the floorboards and my daughter’s shrill cry echoing off
the walls.
As my hand closed over the cool brass of the doorknob, my ears perked up unintentionally as
my body tried to account for the lack of sight, I heard…something that made me freeze in place.
Amidst the sound of Abigail’s crying, I felt certain I’d heard a voice. For the briefest of moments,
I thought it was her fathers before immediately remembering I’d left him behind in the bedroom.
My stomach dropped, a surge of sudden panic dissipating the final mists of sleep clinging to me.
I threw open the door, heart pounding as I rushed forward and into the room.
Quickly I made my way to the side of Abigail’s crib, nearly tripping in the act as my foot fell upon
something soft and plush. I looked down to see the large stuffed bear I’d assumed my husband
had gotten her when we moved. She’d been clinging to it like a flotation device in water every
time I’d seen her since. Upon assuring her safety, I set to scouring the room for any sign of
intrusion.
My eyes frantically darted about the little space, and for a moment my own reflection on the
sliding mirrored doors of the closet made my heart jump. I quickly pulled open the closest, it
being the only place in the room someone could hide themself, to find it entirely empty.
I meticulously scanned the room, as far as I could tell undisturbed from the night before. The
moonlight cast shadows across the carpet, making strange and forbidding figures of the
mundane.
It occurred to me that she must have tossed it out of her crib sometime during the night, and I
wondered if that wasn’t the reason for the latest of her nightly outbursts.
As I picked up the stuffed animal sitting on the floor beside her bed, I found myself peering in
through the thin wooden bars, at my daughter.
I felt a surge of relief as I saw her, though it was quickly replaced by a familiar sort of exhaustion
as she cried, her little face scrunched and reddening, that I would be spending the next few
hours of precious sleep time trying to get her back to sleep.
I reached into the crib, gently lifting her from the bed and pulling her into my chest. Almost
immediately, her cries settled into a soft babble, and I felt a flood of emotion I’d only known
post-pregnancy, an overwhelming sort of love.
I made my way to the rocking chair opposite the bed, settling into a rhythm as I began to hum a
lullaby. At the back of my mind, I replayed those moments before I’d entered, questioning
whether I’d really heard anything at all. I had felt so sure, in those brief moments before I’d
entered, that there had been another voice.
Yet the window was shut, and the room empty with the exception of my little girl. She was calm
now or no longer crying at least, but her eyes were wet and her nose was red, still running from
her prior tantrum.
She babbled softly, her head bobbing as she leaned back to look at me, her mouth trying to
work around some word, a “duh – duh” sound.
“Daddy?“ I chuckled, despite the exhaustion rapidly regaining its footing.
“No, not daddy. He’s sleeping. It’s mommy.”
She looked at me, as though somehow her little mind was unsatisfied with the response before
turning, and pointing one of her little fingers towards the crib.
“Daddy?”
It took me a moment to understand what she was asking, as I stood and made my way to the
crib, reaching in for the stuffed bear her father must have gotten her at some point.
I felt her grip tighten around me, as she spun away, hiding her face in my neck.
Something in me twisted at that. A distant unease in my gut, instinctual though vague.
I looked the ratty thing over with mild interest. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why Allen
had chosen it for her of all things. It was a large, rather ratty thing, clearly a hand-me-down if the
line of stitching running along its belly told me anything. He’d likely seen it on one of our
shopping trips at the local thrift shop as we tried to furnish our home on a budget, and thought of
our Abigail.
It was sweet, though a part of me wondered if he’d remembered to wash it. I made a mental
note to ask him in the morning. It clearly meant a lot to Abby, and from the moment I’d noticed it,
it had been practically glued to her hand, never to be anywhere she wasn’t.
Which is why I found her reaction somewhat unnerving. I lowered the stuffed toy back into the
crib, somewhat surprised by the weight of the thing as I did so, a bit heavier than I might have
expected.
Abigail glanced over her shoulder curiously as if to ensure I’d moved the toy, turning around fully
when she saw it back in the bed.
I felt something stir in me that I couldn’t quite place, again, something odd in her reaction that
triggered some instinctual sort of maternal unease in me.
My eye lingered on the doll before searching the room once more for comfort and settling into
the rocking chair with my daughter. It took several minutes for that faint unease to fade to the
back of my mind, lingering silently under the surface, and it took a little longer than that for
Abby’s breathing to slow and sleep to fall over her again.
I could feel the drowsiness billowing back up in me as well, my eyes feeling grainy, lids heavy as
the faint creak of the chair formed a dissonant lullaby.
The protesting groan of the floorboards, and the screech of the door’s hinges pierced the veil of
sleep that had come to settle over me. Suddenly, I found myself going straight into defense
mode, my mind immediately thinking back to the voice I’d thought I had heard earlier, and my
eyes shot open.
It took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and my heart plummeted into an icy pool of fear in
my gut as the outline of a man grew apparent in the doorway, only settling once my husband
spoke.
“You coming back to bed, Leanne?” He asked, sleep audible in his voice as he rubbed at his
eyes.
I took a breath, allowing my heartbeat to return to a normal pace, before nodding.
“Yeah, just had to get her back down,” I said, doing my best to rise from the seat as carefully as
possible to avoid waking Abigail.
I made my way to the crib, slowly lowering her in besides the stuffed bear, before making my
way towards Allen.
“You okay?” he muttered, closing the door as silently as he could manage as we crept back
towards our room.
Some of that lingering unease must have been visible on my face, I realized. I shrugged,
shaking my head as though to free my mind of the cobwebs of exhaustion.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just,” I shrugged, hearing that voice again in my mind, the sound so clear I
had to wonder if I wasn’t misremembering.
“Thought I’d heard a voice earlier. In Abby’s room.” seeing the flood of emotions making their
way to his face, I quickly added, “I checked everywhere, the room’s empty, I think I’m just tired.”
He nodded but glanced back at the room for a moment as if considering whether or not to check
himself. I placed a hand on his arm, stifling a yawn.
“It’s okay, Allen, she’s fine.”
He nodded, casting a parting look at Abigail’s door before turning and heading with me back to
our bedroom.
I glanced once more down the hall, its darkness casting it in an unshakeable eeriness, and did
my best to assure myself Abby was alright despite the odd, vague feelings of unease still
clinging so stubbornly.
Sleep came soon after we climbed back under the covers, and while I struggle to recollect my
dreams from that night, I know they were dark; the sort to ensure my sleep was a restless one.
Looking back, I wonder if it was my mind’s way of warning me not to let my guard down, that the
worst was yet to pass.
“Cheerios or Frosted Flakes?” I asked lifting both of the boxes, raising an eyebrow as I asked
Abigail for the third time which of our two kinds of cereal she wanted. I’d already had to clean
up a bowl of oatmeal from the kitchen floor that she’d tossed in a little fit of rage.
The question only prompted more tears, her face growing a bright red and wrinkling into a silent
scream, as though she were building up for another bout of shrieking.
That morning had been especially challenging. Abigail was acting out even more than she had
been in the past few weeks, to the point that Allen was offering his apologies on the way out the
door, knowing that I’d have to wrangle her all alone while also trying to manage my online
classes.
By the time afternoon rolled around, I was at my wit’s end, my nerves were so far beyond frayed
that every noise seemed poised to send me into a fit of irritation. Class had started, and despite
moderate success for a few hours, Abby had set back into one of her tantrums again, this time
showing no signs of stopping.
There was a test that day, and after spending most of the time juggling between my class and
Abby, I did something I knew better than, and hated doing.
I flicked on the television, turning to the first youtube playlist I saw featuring familiar kids
characters.
“Mommy just needs just twenty minutes baby, please just watch T.V, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I left her in front of the living room television, hurrying to shut myself off in the room before too
much time could pass on my exam. I did my best to stifle the flood of emotions I felt as I heard
her cries grow louder, tottering behind me.
As I entered the small room off of the living room which I’d been using as an office, I closed the
door behind me. Abby’s cries rose into shrieks, her little fists pounding against the door. I
swallowed hard, sighing as I fought back the watering in my eyes.
‘Just twenty minutes. She’s be okay for twenty minutes.’ I tried to remind myself, every bit of me
wanting to open the door despite my exhaustion.
I remained steadfast, making my way to the computer and beginning work. After a few minutes
she stopped, her cries falling into pitiful sniffles, before I could hear her totter away.
I tried not to rush through my test, my grade in the class already having suffered from so many
sleepless nights, yet my mind wavered between the work, and thoughts of Abby. I pushed
through, eventually losing myself in the test as it grew in difficulty, until I’d reached the end
falling back in my chair with a sigh.
I turned in place, spinning the seat to face the window that made up most of the wall. Outside, I
could see the neighbor lady, Mrs. Janice Melody as she’d told me to call her, and her husband in
their yard. Their ancient old pickup shone in the driveway, a unique shade of orange that could
be described as something of an eye sore at best.
She was watering the grass, despite the fact that the Illinois weather almost certainly meant
some more snow could be expected before summer, while he passed out popsicles to a few of
the local kids, a group of boys taking a break from their play.
They’d been playing a game of street hockey, which I’d tried to drown out while working, but
watched with some mild interest as my mind drifted to thoughts of the future.
It wouldn’t be too long before Abigail was out there. I could almost see her in my mind, a perfect
mix of her father and I, smart and sweet, but with an attitude to boot, out there with the other
kids.
After a moment, Mr. Melody (I’d yet to remember his name appeared to return to his house,
disappearing to the side of my window and out of view.
I watched for a few more minutes as the kids continued their game – his wife stopping her
busywork every few minutes to yell at them when the ball touched her lawn or some similar
offense – remaining lost in thoughts of the future.
It was as one of the children fell, scraping a knee and crying out, attracting the attention of one
of the parents, that I realized, with a feeling of dawning horror that any parent knows.
It had been too long since I’d last heard Abby. The few times I’ve had to lock myself away to get
work done, she settled in the living room outside the office, distracting herself scrolling through
Youtube and playing with the assortment of toys we’d gotten her over the years, the sounds of
her little babbles or clattering of toys was something I’d listen for at points to make sure she was
alright.
I had gotten distracted, first by the test, and then my own thoughts in the first real moment of
silence I’d had all day. I had let the time get away from me, forgetting completely to keep an ear
out.
I shot up from my seat, hurrying to the door, yet feeling unable to move fast enough for my heart
as it pounded in my throat, feeling every bit a shoddy parent.
“Abby?” I called, swinging the door open to the sight of an empty living room.
My breath caught in my throat, the only sound to greet me was the antics of whatever cartoon
characters came over the television.
I hurried to the kitchen next, calling her name as I checked behind the island in the off-chance
that she was playing some random game of hide and seek..
Yet as I went from room to room downstairs, without a sign of her, I felt my heart grow painful in
its thunderous beating. A faint nausea nipped at me like a dog at the heels, as a faint tremor
began to emerge through my body.
“Abigail?!” My voice came more forceful than I’d intended, shaking more than I’d have thought,
as my face grew hot.
I searched the first floor, every room coming up empty, the tremor growing until I shook like a
leaf in the wind.
As I approached the garage door, I was greeted immediately with a gust of frigid air and the
sounds of birds chirping. My heart dropped, disappearing into a pit widening in my gut as I saw
that it was somehow ajar. My body seized with awful anxiety as I opened it fully.
The garage was wide open, giving a full view of our neighborhood beyond. My knees shook with
the threat of giving way entirely, as a sensation like being doused with freezing water almost
turned my body to ice.
Had it not been for the adrenaline that coursed through me in that instant, searing my veins as it
did so, I might have passed out from the sheer horror of it.
It didn’t make sense, I was sure I’d heard my husband close it this morning. Had she opened it
herself? There was no way, I felt certain, the button was several feet above her head. Besides,
surely I’d have heard it?
I could see no way for her to have somehow opened it without my notice. And yet the reality
remained the same. I cursed myself for getting distracted.
“ABIGAIL!” I shrieked her name, uncaring who I disturbed as I ran out and onto the driveway.
I searched, eyes darting about with no idea of where I ought to be looking, the world descending
into a blur of colors, sound, and panic around me.
The taste of salt was my only warning that tears were falling, my face – every part of me – feeling
numb, like television static had seeped beneath my skin.
I could see curtains parting as curious and judging eyes cast glances through windows,
wondering about the crazy woman disturbing the peace but none seemingly willing to venture
forth and see what was wrong.
I felt lost, unsure of which direction I ought to be going or where to run, suddenly aware of just
how small I was in the vastness of the world. The small groves that lined either side of the
street, beyond the yards forming a barrier between the outside world, usually so serene and
beautiful, now seemed like treacherous forests, past which I could picture my daughter falling
into some ditch crying out for me.
Or if she’d somehow made it through the brush, out onto the busy streets on either side. I felt as
though I could vomit at the thought.
I rounded the left side of my house entering the space between my yard and Ms.Melody’s. Panic
wracked my thoughts for every step I took, carrying with it the fear that I was moving farther
from where she might be. All the while another part of my mind wondered if she wasn’t still in
the house somehow having escaped my thorough search, and by leaving I was putting her in
danger.
‘She’s gone, she’s fucking gone, you’re an awful mother, she’s -’
The thoughts played on repeat like some record of a nightmare, the very blood rushing through
my head audible as my heart pounded.
“ABIGAIL!” I called again, struggling to take in a deep breath as my lungs seemed to quake at
the sheer dread, as though the act of taking in oxygen was something requiring concentration I
couldn’t spare.
The sound footfalls in the grass made my head spin, as I turned to face whoever was
approaching.
I could have cried at the sight of Mrs. Melody, despite the sour look the old woman fixed me
with, disapproval written within the wrinkles of her face.
In her arms which strained with the effort, she held Abigail – clutching in her hands that
ever-present little stuffed bear.
“Oh my god, thank you!” I sucked in a breath, hiccups wracking my chest as the tears poured,
rushing forth to take hold of my daughter.
She pulled back, putting a shoulder between the two of us, her eyes never wavering from mine.
It was as though she were trying to see through me, searching for some reason not to return
Abby to me.
‘Please,” I tried to sound as polite as I could manage, but the edge in my voice was apparent,
and I could only imagine how I must have looked in those openly reproachful eyes.
I didn’t have to see my face to know it was red and splotchy, my hair a mess still from the
morning since I’d had no plans of stepping out, screaming like a banshee only moments before.
“Where was she?” I asked, watching Abigail as she chewed on the ear of her teddy with a
feeling almost akin to the moment of her birth, an awful anxiety suddenly lifted, though I waited
uneasily for her to be returned.
“My backyard,” she spoke, her tone no more pleasant than her expression, “Making an absolute
mess of my garden, I might add.”
“I’m so sorry I just – I took my eyes off of her for a minute and she was gone, I -”
She interrupted, hardly even acknowledging I’d spoken.
“Just keep your child away from my house. Do you understand me? And keep an eye on the
girl. You never know what might happen if she wanders off again. Whoever finds her next time
may not nearly be as cordial as myself.”
Her tone was as cold as ice, and even more biting, no hint of friendliness or subtly in her words.
I couldn’t tell if it was a stern warning…or a threat.
She stepped forward, forcing Abigail into my arms, before appraising the two of us. Then, with a
shake of her head, she trudged back down the little hill that sloped into her yard, and into her
yard, out of sight.
I clutched Abigail close, tears trailing into her hair. The air smelled sweeter, the wind a gentle
caress, as my mind lingered on what could have come to pass.
“Don’t do that again, don’t ever leave me again like that,” I sobbed, “How did you get out?”
She raised her toy, little arms wavering a bit beneath its weight.
“Daddy!” she cried, before flinging the bear as far as she could manage, sending it tumbling
barely a foot away into the grass.
I sighed, leaning over to grab it, before making my way back towards the house. My stomach
gurgled, the adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion, nausea, and anxiety in its wake. I could
see the peering eyes through windows, as my neighbors watched through slits in curtains, and
my face burned hot.
As I entered the garage, I cast a parting look in the direction of the Melody’s home, towards the
back yard and the grove beyond. As I did so, I caught sight of someone in one of the windows
on the second floor, the side nearest my house.
I glanced up, and caught the eye of Mr. Melody. He was watching me with a look I couldn’t read,
but one my mind immediately defined as judgment.
Casting my eyes away, I made my way inside, heart thudding in my chest.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur, no matter what I busied myself with, my mind
continuously returning to that afternoon, replaying every way that things could have gone wrong.
I didn’t let Abigail leave my sight, she spent most of the day in the living room, where I set up
the old play pen we hadn’t used in months, unwilling to have a repeat of earlier events. I couldn’t
make sense of it, how she’d ended up outside, knowing there was no plausible way she could
have reached that button.
It made me deeply uneasy. If she had found a way outside somehow I couldn’t afford to ever let
my guard down. Even a bathroom trip could offer her the chance to slip out. The hours seemed
to crawl by, me never leaving her side, before Allen had returned from work.
“Hey,” he’d called, stirring me from a sleep I wasn’t aware I’d even fallen into as he strolled
through the garage door.
My eyes darted about the room, searching for Abigail, my heart immediately in my throat,
pounding with unrelenting intensity. It wasn’t until I realized that she was on the couch beside
me, her little form curled against the arm of the chair, fast asleep, that I could breath again.
“You – okay?” Allen asked, slowly lowering his bag as he crossed the room towards me, opening
his arms immediately as I fell into them, head shaking without thought.
I recounted the events of the afternoon, my test and the resulting distractions, the panic upon
the realization,, and the brief confrontation with our neighbor. By the time I was through, tears
were running freely. I bit my lip, feeling irritatingly…fragile.
Get a hold of yourself. I thought, chiding myself silently. I didn’t like how off I felt about it all. It
was more than just the fact that she had gotten out, as horrifying as that had been, but it felt like
there was something more, something greater that I was failing to see regarding my daughter.
And it petrified me.
Allen’s reaction was a struggle to read, a multitude of feelings seeming to display themselves all
at once, concern, shock, and perhaps it was just my conscience, but I thought I could see a bit
of blame in his eyes. Still, he hugged me tighter.
“It’s okay, she’s okay, we’re fine. You just…can’t let her out of your sight again, I guess.”
He kneeled in front of Abigail, kissing her lightly on the forehead so as not to wake her.
“I’ll check out that garage door. Maybe it glitched or something, responded to a neighbors
remote and bang – out she goes.”
I nodded, though the thought felt unlikely it brought comfort to have some sort of theory.
“We should take something over to them, a thank you gift. Maybe it’ll smooth things over. We
don’t wanna seem like the dysfunctional family in the neighborhood.”
I winced at the idea, the very thought of having to see the old woman again making me flush
with embarrassment, but I knew he was probably right. She had found Abigail, after all,
regardless of what her attitude might have been, surely I owed her for that.
I nodded, sighing and running my hands across my face as if to wipe away the events of the
day. Allen pulled me close again, pressing his lips against the top of my head.
“It’ll be fine, love, promise. She’s okay, everything is okay.”
God, how I wish he had been right.
We settled in for dinner half an hour later, before setting Abby down for bed. I stood by her crib
for what felt like half an hour, caressing her head as she fell back into a deep sleep, arms
wrapped around that massive stuffed bear.
The old heating system of the house had seemed to kick into overdrive, and Allen had
suggested leaving her window open to allow for a little breeze. After some resistance, I relented
on the condition that we lock it in place, opening it no more than an inch.
The events of that afternoon lingered fresh on my mind, and I wouldn’t open the door to allow
for a genuine tragedy.
I watched her for a few moments as she slept, my heart aching at the thought of what might
have happened. After some time, long after the sounds of my husband moving about the house
had faded, I made my way to our bedroom, and climbed into bed beside him.
I pressed in against the heat of his body, though my back was facing him, my eyes were on the
doorway as if somehow it might allow me to peer into her room, though there was little to be
seen but the darkness of the hallway.
At some point, exhaustion overcame anxiety, and I could fight to keep my eyes open no longer,
my thoughts growing loose and sporadic as the fog of sleep grew heavy.
I don’t know how long I had been out, when the commotion of the house snatched me from my
slumber. The room was dark when I pulled myself into a sitting position, eyes still bleary and
rough with like sandpaper. Yet I had no time to gradually awaken, the sound of my daughter’s
cry, a shrill shriek like nothing I’d heard from her before and Allen’s voice bellowing my name
turned the blood in my veins ice.
“Allen?” my voice was strained, and hardly recognizable through the panic that filled it.
My heart felt as though it were plummeting through my feet and into the earth, pounding all the
while as I struggled to stand. My head swam, the air thick with a dream-like quality that, when
paired with the stomach-churning anxiety, felt was altogether nightmarish.
“Allen?” I was near the point of tears, as I approached her room, the sound of her shrill, pained
shrieks making my chest ache sharply.
I pushed the door aside with such force it made the wall shake, the sound loud enough to make
my ears ring. And yet, as Allen turned to face me, standing beside our daughter’s crib holding
her close to his chest, his expression bore no surprise, just a blazing panic and sadness.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” In my hurry, I nearly tripped over that godforsaken stuffed
bear, the side of my foot where I’d kicked it stinging as though I’d just kicked a small rock.
There was something there, something inside of it more than fur and stuffing, but I had no time
to dwell on the matter. As I approached, I could see the reason for all of the commotion, and my
stomach dropped through the floor.
“Her arm…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, feeling as though the air had been knocked from my
lungs.
Allen cradled it close to him, not wanting to let the limb dangle, but I could see the state of it
even then. It was swollen, the entire arm an angry red color save for an area a bit below her
wrist, which stood out a nasty purple.
The tremor I felt seemed to rise until I was shaking uncontrollably, nausea gnawing at my gut as
darkness played at the corner of my vision. My head swam as the panic reached a fever pitch.
“Wh – what happened?! How did this happen?! I don’t -” questions stampeded over each other
to the forefront of my mind.
I felt light-headed, and my skull pounded with every drumbeat of my heart. The world felt
so…odd and surreal, as though I were in a nightmare, like I could wake up at any moment still in
bed. But no, it was all very real, I could tell.
“I don’t know,” he responded, voice strained with emotion, neither of us taking well to seeing our
child in pain.
“I heard a slam and next thing I know she’s screaming, she had to have climbed out of her crib
somehow and lost her balance I just…” he looked at me, confusion and a sort of pain I
resonated with on a primal level that seemed to grow with her every cry.
“She’s never done that before. I don’t understand…”
I shook my head. He was right. Abigail had never shown any signs that she’d been trying to
climb out of her crib, had she, it would have been moved to our room that same day. Until now, I
wasn’t sure she was even capable.
It made a small part of me, some minor area still capable of questioning through the sheer
panic, wonder why. Why tonight, of all nights, after the somewhat inexplicable events of that
afternoon.
Still, I had no time for weaving theories at the moment, Allen had risen to his feet and was
speeding past me towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, yanked from my thoughts.
“Hospital, we’ve got to get this looked at immediately.”
I nodded, almost feeling stupid that I hadn’t thought to suggest it sooner. My head felt all over
the place, the events of the day rendering me mentally drained. I just wanted to curl into a little
ball, Abigail safely at the center, and sleep for a week.
“I’ll come with you,” I started, “Just let me throw some pants on.”
The drive to the hospital was a tense one. I sat in the back with Abby, doing my best not to lose
it as I tried and failed to calm her down, not a second going by that Allen wasn’t peering
nervously at us in the rearview mirror.
The night seemed to move by in a blur of hurried conversation and odd glances. Perhaps it was
my exhaustion, but as we sat in the waiting room while our daughter’s arm was scanned, it felt
as though every glance spoke of judgment.
In my sleep-deprived mind, in some odd way it seemed everyone knew of the events of the day
before, my failing, as though the world itself was calling me negligent. And I was beginning to
question it myself.
“What is happening today?”
I breathed, running my hands across my face and through my hair as I leaned into Allen’s
shoulder. I could feel him shaking his head, as he put his arm over my shoulder.
“It’s been…something,” he said, voice every bit as tired as I felt.
“She’s – getting older. Maybe the terrible twos are showing up a bit late?” he offered.
I thought for a moment, knowing there could be something to the theory. The sudden temper
tantrums and disappearances, and now this incident with the crib, it was all so sudden and
unlike her, and my every instinct told me that something was wrong.
And yet I couldn’t tell what. It felt like that afternoon all over again, an awareness that my
daughter could be at great risk, yet an utter directionlessness when attempting to confront it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Price?”, the doctor who had presided over Abigail’s treatment called us from
across the waiting room, yanking me from my thoughts.
Allen was up in an instant, striding across the room in quick pace as I hurried to follow behind,
heart pounding in my chest to a nauseating effect.
The expression on his face was polite, but slightly somber, and I already expected what we
would be told. There was a break, just below her wrist in two places, her little arm had been
shattered by the contact.
The doctor’s best guess was in line with our own, she’d likely fallen and broken it in the process,
but the mental image sent me back into tears.
“I know it’s upsetting, believe me, but if it’s any consolation, little one’s are remarkably resilient.
She’ll likely heal faster than either of you would in a similar circumstance.” He said with a sad
smile and nod.
“We’ll do our best to make sure her arm is set perfectly. I’ve got a friend who specializes in
pediatric orthopedist, he’s one of the best. She’ll be safe in his hands. I’ll have the front desk
give you the number.”
“Thank you,” Allen responded, reaching out and shaking the man’s hand.
The doctor nodded.
“They’ll be bringing Abigail out in a moment. You folks try to get some sleep tonight, she’ll need
the rest too. The medicine will have dulled the pain, but she’ll be tired. I imagine you all are.”
I simply nodded, still somewhat lost in thought. The doctor affixed me with a tight lipped smile,
the sort that was more apologetic than happy, before turning and beginning back down the hall
and onto the rest of his night.
He paused as he reached the hallways, and in that instance I could see something like
reluctance in his posture as he turned to face me once more.
“Accidents happen. You shouldn’t blame yourselves,” he said, though looking at me directly as
he did so.
I felt my face run flush, realizing my thoughts must have been all but visible on my face, the
self-loathing apparent even to a stranger.
“But also, if you think there might be something wrong, listen to yourself. You know that little girl
better than anyone in the world, I’m sure, sometimes that alarm bell in your head is going off for
a reason. Trust your instincts, Mom and Dad.”
With that he was gone, leaving me with only a parting smile and enough time to nod my
acknowledgment as he disappeared behind a set of double doors and deeper into the hospital.
I peered over at Allen, skin prickling with an eerie sort of sensation like some warped deja vu.
“That was nice of him,” he said with a thin smile, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. “I’m sure it’s
standard, we’re definitely not the first distraught parents he’s dealt with, but cool of him all the
same.”
I nodded again.
While logically, I knew his words were likely little more than some standard platitude fed to all
the worried parents, I couldn’t shake how much it resonated with what I’d been feeling since that
morning.
It was…disconcerting to say the least, and only added to the feeling that I was missing
something in plain sight, loose pieces of a puzzle all scattered about my mind with no ability to
be connected.
“I take it you’re the parents?” A shorter woman, with a round face called.
The sight of Abigail in her arms scattered any and all previous lines of thinking, as both Allen
and I hurried to meet her.
I scooped her from the woman’s arms as gently as I could manage, holding her as one might
some restored artifact that would fall to dust in a heavy breeze.
Allen handled the rest of the interaction, being led to the front desk as he was asked about
insurance information, while I returned to the car with Abigail. I had had enough of the day,
enough of the fluorescent blaring lights of the hospital and of people and their judgemental
gazes.
I crossed the silent parking lot, passing an older man in a wheelchair taking a smoke outside,
the click of my shoes on the pavement echoing through the night.
I’m not certain at what point I became aware of that sensation, that stomach-turning, creeping
feeling like a skeletal hand along the back of my neck that told me I was being watched. At
some point, I slowed down, heart thudding heavily against my chest, ears straining as I listened
to the footsteps I’d slowly grown aware of…
My stomach sank, as they slowed in turn. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, paired with the stress
of the day rendering my nerves shot, leaving my mind unable to think clearly but in that moment,
with Abigail in hand all I could think to do was speed up.
The area of the parking lot I’d entered was empty as far as I could tell, save for myself, my
daughter, and whoever was behind me, and the realization filled me with a cold, heavy dread.
My pace quickened until I was practically speed-walking. All the while, I could hear the echoes
of footsteps following not too distantly, in between my own. Realization struck like a blade in the
dark.
They’re following me. Somebody is following me.
I broke into a run. To my horror, the person behind me soon followed suit.
I wanted to scream, to shriek out for help and yet in the moment I felt robbed of words, panic
flooded my every mental pathway, as I could think only of one thing, ‘Get Abigail to safety.’
I ducked to the right, moving between a van and a parked ambulance, and darted out in front of
it, doing my best to use the vehicles to shield me from my pursuers view. My head spun,
moments from every true crime podcast or murder show I’d seen playing out in real time.
My arms ached with the effort of carrying my daughter while running, and I struggled to balance
her with one arm while I grabbed the keys with the other, clicking the panic button as I scanned
the cars around me for any sign of mine.
Several rows ahead, I could hear it, and see the blare of its lights glowing from behind the other
vehicles. It seemed all the motivation my body needed to conjure up some extra bit of speed, as
I could hear the footsteps behind me approaching.
The car came into view, one row ahead, the sight of it making my heart lurch. Every second
spent covering the distance between it was excruciating, and every hair on the back of my neck
was at attention, prepared to feel someone yank me back.
I was nearly there, I could almost reach out and grab the handle when I felt the hand on my
shoulder firm, nearly making me lose my balance.
“NO!” I shrieked, finally finding my voice as I spun around and tried to fight my captor, only to
feel a firm set of arms pull Abigail from my grasp.
In my panic, I felt my boots catch against each other and I fell back, sliding back against the car
and onto the ground with a force that made my teeth clatter.
“Leanne, it’s me! Relax, baby, it’s me…”
Even through my terror, I recognized Allen’s voice. Immediately the fear dissipated giving way to
a strange and over-powering sorrow. I fell into his shoulder, the tears running freely as I did so.
I was drained, both mentally and physically. And in the moment I wanted to cry, vomit, and pass
out, perhaps all at once.
“I – I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I saw you running and I got worried so I hurried to catch
up. What were you running from?”
I looked up at him, unsure of how to respond for a moment. There was some part of me that felt
suddenly quite foolish for how I’d reacted, almost certain I’d perhaps blown things out of
proportion as we sat there alone in the parking lot.
I shook my head.
“I thought I’d heard someone…it’s nothing. Let’s just go home.”
I could see in his face that he was worried, but knew better than to push any further, which I
appreciated more than he could know.
“Okay,” he nodded, “I’ll get her in her seat, you just go ahead and try to doze off.”
I nodded, smiling though I felt no humor in it, as I began to round the car for the passenger side
door.
It was as I was climbing into my seat, pulling the door shut with a groan that I peered out into
the world beyond the window, and felt my heart stop. I swallowed hard, as I stared at the vehicle
exiting from the parking lot only a few yards away, caught for just a moment beneath the street
lights as it turned onto a quiet residential street.
It was immediately familiar to me, an old pickup in a shade I could only recall seeing once
before. In the driveway of our neighbors house, old Mrs. Melody, the very woman who had
brought Abigail to me that afternoon.
The realization made my stomach turn, and somewhere in the back of my head I could hear the
doctor again.
“*- sometimes that alarm bell in your head is going off for a reason. Trust your instincts, Mom..*”
At that moment, though I could find no way to prove it, my instincts told me that something was
going on with the woman next door, and I feared, somehow, my little girl was involved.
That night, despite my exhaustion, I doubt I slept more than three hours in total. It was a light
sleep, with every stir of my daughter in bed snatching me from my slumber, as I would shoot up,
scanning the darkness beside me until I was certain she hadn’t awakened.
I wasn’t sure when, if ever, she would be back in that crib. I couldn’t see myself feeling safe
leaving her in her room alone again for a long while. At the very least, until we could be sure she
wasn’t attempting any more midnight escapes, and god only knew how we would manage that. I
couldn’t even be sure of when this had started.
At some point during one of those moments, sitting in the silence of the room, listening to the
breathing of my husband and daughter over the continuous drone of the ceiling fan; the hope of
sleep seemed to escape me. I sat in the darkness, my eyes adjusting to the faint light pouring
through the windows, a combination of the moon and distant street lights all I had to see with.
My eyes lingered on the stuffed bear, sitting at the edge of the bed like some sentry standing
watch. From the moment we’d returned, even through the mental slur of the pain-killers, it had
been the first thing she’d mentioned, and Allen had brought it to the room for her.
I had moved it at some point, after rolling onto the thing only to be awakened by the sensation of
it digging into my back, something in it firm and hard, complete with some pointed edge I could
feel.
The sight of it there in the dark, sitting there unmoving, with its blank glass eyes peering forward
seemingly through me, made me feel a strange sort of distress.
I’m not sure how much time passed with me tossing and turning in the vain hope that sleep may
lie in the next position, but I found my eyes kept lingering back towards that damned bear.
I glanced beside me, confirming that both Abigail and Allen were sleeping soundly, as I edged
towards the end of the bed. With one quick motion, I booted the thing off the bed, those eyes
watching me accusingly.
It hit the ground with a thud that made me grit my teeth, peering back to ensure my daughter
remained asleep, and muttering a silent thanks that she had.
I glanced over my husband’s sleeping form, at the digital clock on his night stand. 1:55, it read.
Only five minutes or so away from the time of our daughter’s nightly tantrums.
The thought brought on a great sense of foreboding that I couldn’t shake lying there in the
darkness, massing in my chest like the tangle of so many weeds. Perhaps it was the result of a
day of mishaps, leading me to feel there could only be something worse around the corner and
feeding my anxiety like trees and dry brush do a forest fire.
It was ridiculous, I was certain of it. I rolled over, place my hand across Abigail as though it
could bring me all the security I felt lacking in that moment.
She was there. Hurt, as much as it killed me, but safe. I couldn’t see her waking up in the next
four minutes. I laid back, and forced my eyes closed, doing all I could to drag myself back to
sleep.
It had only been a few minutes, my ears tuned to the alternating sounds of my husband and
daughters breathing, and the whirring creak of the ceiling fan as I’d begun to drift, when I heard
it.
At first, I was certain it was my imagination, the sound was so faint I could almost dismiss it as
such. But no, it was far too persistent, a strange mechanical hiss, like someone had switched on
a broken television somewhere in the distance, that echoed out amongst the whirring of the fan
and usual murmur of the house’s innerworkings.
Before I could even identify a source, I felt my heart pounding furiously against my chest. My
eyes fell back on the glowing display of the clock.
‘2:00.’
The timing, it seemed strangely…intentional? I could feel a chord of unease struck,
reverberating through me with a chilling effect as my ears perked to listen closer. I sat up,
wavering in my mind between waking up Allen or not, settling quickly on the latter.
He had to be up in a few hours, and while I felt unsettled, I saw no need to disturb him yet.
Instead, as carefully as I could manage I slid out from beneath the covers, and stepped gingerly
out of bed. The wooden floorboards creaked their protest, making me grimace as I watched
Abigail stir.
After seconds passed without another movement, I felt okay to chance another careful step
forward. My ears felt tuned as I listened for that sound, louder it seemed, now that I was really
listening for it. I could think of nothing in my room that could be responsible for it, save for
perhaps the white noise machine I hadn’t used in months, and that was much louder.
No, this sound brought to mind something else. It was oddly reminiscent of the static one might
hear on a walkie-talkie or something of the like.
I had owned one during my childhood, which I’d used to talk to some of my friends in the
neighborhood, and as I inched across my bedroom floor, gripped by the quiet and frigid night air
that seemed to hang heavy in the room, it was all I my mind could conjure.
I stepped forward again as delicately as I could manage, my eyes scanning the dim light as best
as they could, though I was relying almost entirely on my hearing to guide me. That mechanical
hiss was growing louder with each step, somewhere to the right of me it seemed, near the foot
of the bed.
I could feel my heart in my throat with every footfall, my mouth running dry as the hairs on the
back of my neck rose with the creep of anxiety.
It was louder now, so much so that I was beginning to worry it might wake my family, a series of
cracking and popping noises audible amongst the hissing. It seemed to be coming from more
than one place, though the noise faded in and out, I was almost certain it was coming from two
different directions.
The thought made my skin crawl and the pit in my chest widened, as though I was being
surrounded by something unseen, my home invaded by spectersI could only listen for.
It was then that I heard it, faint but unmistakable. A voice, from amidst the disembodied static.
“…hello?”
In the moment, I could have sworn my heart stopped, an icy shock tore through me as though
I’d just been submerged in freezing waters.
My eyes scanned the darkness, wide and searching for anything that might be the source of the
sound.
“Babe?”
I leapt, nearly losing my balance as I stumbled away from the sudden sound, only to glance
over and see Allen sat up in the bed.
He looked tired, and confused more than anything, hands running over his eyes, but after a few
moments I could see that he, too, could hear it.
“What the hell is tha -”
“..little bear….you there?”
I sucked in a breath, head spinning with such force I was certain I might fall out from the sheer
panic starting to flood my system. That voice again amongst that phantom static, raw and
hissing.
Our eyes met, and I felt a surge of some gruesome satisfaction that I wasn’t alone, he heard it
too.
“…are you there?”
I spun to face behind me, certain I could hear that voice drifting from somewhere over my
shoulder, and found only an empty room to greet me.
From behind me again, the static grew louder, and for the first time since it had appeared, I
could pinpoint from where.
My eyes fell on the baby monitor on our nightstand. Its lights glowed with the hiss of the audio,
sparking with color the louder it grew. Allen followed my gaze, snatching it up in one quick
motion, before pressing the button to respond.
“Who the fuck is this?”
There was a shrill sound, like the squeal of audio feedback that made us both cringe, and set
Abigail to stirring immediately, followed by an echo, as though his voice was being played back
simultaneously from…somewhere else, somewhere nearby, ceasing only when Allen released
the monitor.
In an instance, it was all gone. The air hung heavy with an electric sort of surreality, like the
early moments of some waking nightmare, yet there was nothing but the usual sounds of our
home to fill its void. The room was silent, or as close as it could be anyways.
Abby had begun kick up, though still asleep, she was starting to wake – the sounds finally
growing too much for her, and I could hear the beginnings of a tantrum building as sleep began
to wane.
For several moments, Allen and I lingered in place, our eyes locking, a coiling tension passing
between us both. In an instant, a thought crossed my mind, and before I could even think things
through clearly, I was out of our room and hurrying across the hall towards Abby’s.
The door loomed ahead, as ominous as a gravestone, my mind fully prepared to meet the
intruder I knew must be on the other side. I could all but see it, some figure clad in shadow,
hunched over the baby monitor in my daughter’s room, the thought filled me with terror and a
rage like nothing I had ever felt.
It was the only thing I could think of at the moment that made some sort of sense. It was
obvious that whoever we had just heard had been trying to speak to our daughter, and I could
think of no other way we would have heard them over her monitor.
“Leanne, where are you going? Stop, wait!” Allen’s foot falls grew heavy as he rushed ahead of
me, putting himself between me and the door.
He shook his head, eyes locking with mine, a look that was part confusion, but a majority of
visible worry etched on his features.
“I’ll check, you – stay behind me, we don’t know who might be in there.”
I nodded, still nudging him forth until he was pushing the door open. As we pushed into the
room my eyes fell immediately on the nightstand.
The baby monitor sat untouched. Allen began to search the room, flicking on the lights and
checking under the bed, and in the closet. All the while I found myself lost in thought as I looked
at the monitor, I was all but certain it had to be the source of the voice and yet…there was no
one.
The thought should have been comforting, but it only made my fear grow thicker.
“…awake, little bear?”
Allen shot up, stiffening as he turned to face me. Our eyes locked, an unspoken terror shared
between us, as the two of us hurried back to our bedroom.
“What the fuck is going on?” Allen’s voice betrayed the discomfort we were both feeling, as he
grabbed the baby monitor from the nightstand.
“Who the fuck is this?” he growled into the receiver, “I swear to God I’ll -”
“Just turn it off!” I couldn’t take it anymore, that sound, the way the air seemed uncomfortably
heavy with a strange sort of unearthliness.
He stared at me, reluctant, before finally switching it off.
The device went silent, and yet for a few moments, I could have sworn I still heard it. That faint
hiss of static still hanging in the air, persisting somehow despite the monitor being off. A squeal,
like the feedback of a microphone pierced the air, making the both of us jump.
It was gone, as soon as it started, leaving only the thud of my heart and a buzzing unrest in the
air in its place.
Abby began to stir, angry coo’s soon turning into a full out tantrum. Allen and I said nothing,
neither knowing what could be said to do away with the strangeness of the night.
“I’ll take care of her…” I finally said, scooping her up and off the bed.
“Okay.” Allen said, his voice hard with a sort of anger I’d never heard from him before, as he
busied himself yanking the cord out of the wall and gathering the components of the baby
monitor.
When he finished wrapping the cord around the monitor and shoving it into his pocket, he faced
me with a sigh.
“I’m gonna look the house over, be sure there’s no one here. After that, I’m throwing this shit
out.”
I nodded. While it was clear he was agitated, the events of the night finally wearing down his
nerves, I didn’t feel as if he was wrong.
It felt like even then, I could still hear that voice. A man’s, rasping and old, echoing in my head
as it beckoned for some “little bear”.
“I’ll try to get her back to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll call the police to file a report, maybe see if they’ll
come out and,” I shrugged, “I don’t know, scan the house or something.”
He nodded, making his way towards the door, where he paused to face me.
“Stay here with her. I don’t – I dunno, something doesn’t feel right about this.”
“Okay.”
With that he was gone. I listened as best as I could to the sounds of his footsteps moving about
the house, my heart on edge that at any moment a sudden commotion might ring out as he
stumbled upon some intruder.
When none came, I let myself settle into the rocking chair we’d placed in the corner of the room,
trying my best to soothe our daughter back to sleep, cradling her injured arm close.
Allen returned minutes later. His eyes glistened with a look of utter rage, in his hands dangled a
series of wires from which hung various smaller gadgets. I didn’t want to ask what they were,
some part of my mind already knew the answer, and was horrified by the implications.
“Radios,” he finally said, in a voice that was strained with emotion I’d never heard from him
before, “A bunch of fucking radios, one in her room, one in the living room, and a fucking
camera in the garage.”