My daughter had always been a little sleep-talker, mumbling the occasional word here or there. But one night, when she was just two years old, I overheard something that sent a chill down my spine. Her usual sleepy murmurs turned into what sounded like an actual conversation, as though she was talking to someone unseen.

She was tossing and turning, her little brow furrowed, and I could tell she was disturbed by something. Suddenly, I heard a voice—a child’s voice. But it wasn’t hers. It was faint, yet distinct and undeniably real, clear enough to make me freeze. The voice said, “Yeah!”—as though responding to a question or offering some kind of encouragement.

A moment later, my daughter, her voice tiny yet frustrated, let out a drawn-out “Nooooo,” as if she were arguing with this invisible friend, maybe insisting that it was time to sleep while the other wanted to play. I stayed still, watching her, my heart pounding as I listened to this surreal exchange, wondering if I had truly heard what I thought I did.

My boyfriend had to leave town for a few days on a business trip, so my 3 year old son got to sleep in the big bed with me. We both settled in, and before long, his little body was curled up next to me, and we drifted off to sleep. Outside, a full moon cast a soft, milky glow through the bedroom window, bathing everything in a silvery
light that softened every shadow. The gentle illumination outlined the furniture and cast faint reflections on the floor, making the room feel calm and dreamlike. I lay on my side, facing the wall, while my son slept peacefully behind me, his small, rhythmic breaths soothing in the otherwise silent room. I'm not sure what woke me. My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything seemed blurry as I adjusted to the soft glow. Then, as my vision cleared, I saw him. There, standing beside the bed, was my son—or so I thought.

One night, as I lay in bed, my room was bathed in a soft, silvery glow from the moonlight streaming through the window. The quiet of the house was thick, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, and I drifted in a half-sleep, hovering between wakefulness and dreams. Then, a sound broke through the stillness—a faint rustling,
as though something were moving carefully in the shadows. Still groggy, I thought, If there’s a mouse in this house, I swear I’m going to burn it down. But as I blinked my eyes open, I quickly realized this was no mouse. Sitting atop my laundry basket, barely visible in the dim light, was a creature unlike anything I had ever seen. It was about two feet tall, perched awkwardly but deliberately, its body eerily humanlike yet somehow completely foreign. Its pale, hairless skin gleamed slightly under the moonlight, and its proportions were unsettlingly strange—its body was small and compact, but its legs were unnaturally long, bent at sharp angles like a frog’s, with
knees pulled up in a crouched, watchful position. But it was the creature’s face that stopped my heart.......