My Wife’s Laughter in the Empty Nursery

MY WIFE’S LAUGHTER CAME FROM THE BABY MONITOR IN THE EMPTY NURSERY

I picked up the flickering baby monitor from the nursery dresser, my heart already hammering against my ribs.

The screen showed a dark, empty room, the little red light on the camera barely visible, yet I could distinctly hear her voice, light and playful, like she was tickling someone. A sharp, metallic tang filled my mouth. Panic squeezed my chest, a cold knot tightening, as I fumbled with the volume knob, cranking it up higher and higher, desperate for clarity.

Then I heard him, a low, gravelly murmur, indistinguishable at first, but undoubtedly a male voice responding to her playful giggles. “You think I don’t hear you?” I whispered, my voice ragged and thin, clutching the cold, slick plastic device in my trembling hand. My hands started to shake uncontrollably, a tremor running from my wrists up to my shoulders.

It wasn’t just the disembodied voices; there was a distant clinking sound, unmistakable like ice in a glass, and then a faint, hauntingly familiar pop song. *Their* song. The one she claimed she’d grown to despise after our first year. My mind reeled, trying to connect the monitor in *our* house, her voice, *his* voice, to the silent, empty nursery where our child would never arrive.

And then she laughed again, a bright, unrestrained sound that vibrated through the silent bedroom, echoing off the walls. A voice, clearer now, cutting through the static: “He’s probably sound asleep, don’t worry about him, we have plenty of time.”

I looked down at the monitor again; the timestamp on the screen read yesterday morning.

👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My legs, leaden and unresponsive, carried me towards the nursery door. I shoved it open, the hinges groaning in protest. The room was as it should be: silent, expectant, bathed in the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. The crib stood empty, the mobile hanging still, untouched. I stumbled forward, nearly tripping on a small, discarded teddy bear.

Driven by a desperate, irrational need, I ripped the monitor from its perch and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the screen spiderwebbing into a million tiny fractures. The sound of the impact was deafening in the sudden quiet. Silence, thick and heavy, settled over the room once more.

Then, a cough.

I froze, every muscle locked in place. The cough came again, this time closer, from behind me. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway, was my wife. She looked as she always did, beautiful, her hair a cascade of dark waves, her eyes wide and luminous. But her face was etched with a strange, unsettling calmness, a stillness that chilled me to the bone.

“What was that noise?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

I could only stare, my mouth dry, my voice failing me.

She took a step forward, her gaze sweeping over the shattered monitor, her expression shifting from concern to confusion. Then, she smiled, a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Oh, that,” she said, her voice now clear and distinct. “I forgot to tell you. I had a little chat with… him. Yesterday. In the nursery. He misses us.”

My breath hitched. A chill, deeper than any I had ever known, enveloped me. My mind screamed with terror as I understood, finally.

“Who… who is he?” I managed, the words a croak.

She took another step, and as she did, a low, gravelly voice, identical to the one from the monitor, emanated from her, a subtle reverberation in the air.

“Don’t you remember, darling?” She cooed, her lips turning into an unsettling smile. “He’s waiting.”

And then she opened her mouth, not a wide smile or a playful greeting, but a gaping maw revealing not teeth and gums, but a darkness that swallowed all light. The last thing I saw was the darkness, and the chilling, metallic tang of dread before everything went dark.