Every Night I Heard Strange Noises from the Nursery, and Everything Seemed Fine Until I Bought a Baby Monitor – Story of the Day

My daughter, Ivy, never cried at night. But I kept hearing strange sounds from the nursery. I bought a baby monitor to calm my nerves, until one night, I saw someone reach into her crib.

I loved those quiet little evenings.

Ivy snuggled up in her ducky blanket, breathing softly like a kitten. Judson was in the kitchen stirring cocoa on the stove. I was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, thinking.

This is it. This is happiness.

Minutes later, Judson walked out of Ivy’s room, barefoot and smug.

“She was out in two minutes. What is that, some kinda magic lullaby?”

“Nah. She just knows who’s boss around here.”

Judson set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down beside me, pulling me into his arms.

“Look at us, Reina. Can you believe we turned into those parents? The ones who record every sneeze?”

I laughed, because yeah, that was us. We literally filmed her first sneeze and sent it to everyone — family, friends, even my old boss. Life felt right. Calm. Simple.

Until that night.

I woke after midnight. At first, I wasn’t sure what had stirred me. Judson was snoring beside me, the clock glowing 03:15.

I rolled over, about to drift back off… and then I heard it.

A faint rustling. From the nursery. Just soft, like fabric shifting. Or soft footsteps.

I nudged Judson.

“Hey. You hear that?”

“Hm? What?” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Something in Ivy’s room…”

“Probably just her turning over. Go back to sleep, Rey.”

But I was already sitting up, swinging my legs off the bed. I crept down the hallway, barefoot on cold wood. Opened Ivy’s door slowly, carefully.

Nothing. Stillness. Ivy was asleep, peaceful as ever.

Toys in their basket. The mobile above her crib turning lazily, like always. No draft, no open window. Just... silence. I stood there a moment. Listening. Trying to catch it again.

But there was nothing. The following night — same thing. That soft little sound. I went to check, and again… everything was fine.

On the third night, Judson was officially annoyed.

“Rey, it’s gotta be the vent. Or the pipes. This house ain’t new.”

“I keep hearing it. Every night. One of these times I’m gonna walk in and something will actually be there.”

“What, like a diaper thief? Baby ghost?”

I didn’t laugh. That morning, I grabbed my phone and ordered the baby monitor Kaylie had raved about. My best friend knew everything about baby gadgets.

“You’re being paranoid,” she said in a voice message, half-laughing. “But okay, fine, this one’s amazing. Audio, video, night vision. You can even watch her from the bathroom.”

When it arrived, I set it up myself. Mounted it near the crib, angled it perfectly. Ran a test.

The image was crystal clear — I could count Ivy’s little fingers.

“That’s it,” I told Judson that night as we got into bed. “I’m finally gonna sleep.”

“Hallelujah,” he muttered, kissing my forehead.

I lay there, watching the monitor screen. Ivy’s tiny face, her chest rising and falling. I set it on the nightstand and closed my eyes. Maybe fifteen minutes passed. And then...

A scream. Sudden. Sharp. Then crying. Ivy!

I jolted up and grabbed the monitor.

The image shook. Glitched. Blurry shadows.

And there, behind the crib, something...

A shape!

Just for a second. Then it was gone. I screamed.

“Judson! Wake up!”

***

I burst into Ivy’s room like my feet weren’t even touching the floor. She was wailing, red-faced and sweaty. But there was no one else.

I scanned the shadows, checked under the crib, and flung open the closet. Nothing. No movement. Just that heavy, eerie stillness.

But then… I saw it. Ivy's bottle. On the floor, by the chair.

I picked it up. The plastic was warm. Not lukewarm. Warm. Someone had heated this. Recently.

“What the...”

“Reina?” Judson stumbled in behind me, half-dressed and rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

I lift Ivy into my arms.

“I got her.”

Her diaper was soaked. She hiccuped into my neck. I laid her down on the changing table, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Judson leaned against the doorframe.

“You said she was screaming?”

“I saw something. On the monitor. A shadow. Behind the crib. A person.”

“A what?”

“A person, Judson. I’m not making this up.”

“You probably caught your own reflection or something. You were half-asleep.”

I turned to him, holding Ivy’s tiny foot. “No. It wasn’t me. I saw it. And...” I pointed to the bottle. “Someone warmed up her milk.”

Judson stared at it for a second, then shrugged. “You sure you didn’t do that in your sleep? You’ve sleepwalked before, Rey. You once tried to make grilled cheese with the iron.”

“This isn’t the same.”

He walked over, picked up the monitor from the shelf. “You’ve been freaking out for days. First the sounds, now this. Maybe it’s just all that hyper-mom stuff kicking in.”

“I’m not paranoid, Judson. There was a person. On the screen.”

“She probably just woke up needing a diaper change,” he said, gently stroking Ivy’s hair. “Babies do that. It's not some horror movie.”

“And the bottle?”

“You made it. Without remembering. It happens.”

“No, Judson. I didn’t warm that bottle. And if I did, why would I leave it on the floor?”

He sighed, pulled out his phone.

“Fine. I’ll check the alarm log.”

While he tapped around, I finished changing Ivy and cradled her in my arms. She was already drifting off again, poor thing.

“Everything’s secure,” Judson mumbled. “No breaches. No open doors. Nothing. The system would've pinged me if anything was off.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m going back to bed,” he added, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And I strongly recommend you do the same.”

I sat there and watched Ivy sleep. But something still didn’t feel right.

I walked over to the window, just to be sure. It wasn’t fully closed. A thin sliver of air slipped in through the gap. Cold. I reached out to pull it shut, and something jammed.

Hanging from the sill was a tiny silver pendant. A charm.

A delicate little heart, cracked down the middle.

No way...

I hadn’t seen that pendant in years.

I knew exactly who it belonged to.

***

I could barely wait for morning. At exactly 7 a.m., the nanny rang the bell. I handed Ivy over with two bottles, a blanket, and a tight smile.

"Please don’t take your eyes off the monitor. I won’t be long. Just... a few hours."

Then, I got in the car and drove. I hadn’t been to that house in years. And there was a reason for that. It still stood in the same hollow by the trees, sagging at the porch, stubborn like always.

The chipped ceramic owl was still on the railing. The same lace curtains in the front windows. Like time had just stopped here. I barely stepped onto the porch when the door opened.

"I figured you’d come, dear."

"You broke into my house, Mom" I snapped, pushing past her. "I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you anywhere near my family."

"I just wanted to hold her. Just once. Just for a moment."

"How the hell did you even get inside? We have a security system."

She didn’t answer. I turned toward the hallway the second I heard a creak. My husband stepped out.

"You?! You’re in on this?"

Judson held his hands up. "I caught her once. She was in Ivy’s room, rocking her. I almost called the cops. But then she looked up at me and begged me not to tell you."

I stared at Mom, demanding answers.

"Your Dad had someone else," she whispered. "He didn’t want court. Didn’t want to fight. So he used his influence to put me in a psychiatric facility. Said I was unstable."

"Oh, God, Mom! How could it happen? And... What other woman?"

She hesitated, then said, "Jessie."

"Aunt Jessie? No. She took care of me when you disappeared. She was kind. She... helped me."

"Of course she did. She kept me locked away for five years. She was head of the department. She and your father made sure I couldn’t see you. Couldn’t call you. Nothing."

I sank onto the edge of the armchair, heart racing.

"You came back."

"I did. When you were in college. I stood outside your class once, hoping you’d look at me. But you didn’t want to see me."

"I thought you didn’t want to see me."

"He let me go once you were gone. When he sold the house. When there was nothing left to divide."

I pressed my fingers to my temples. "Oh, Mom..."

Judson stepped forward slowly.

"I believed her, Reina. I didn’t want to at first. That’s why I hired a private investigator. I needed to know the truth. And she was telling the truth. Everything checked out. When I found out, I went to a lawyer. We’re working on it now."

I looked at him, my voice turning cold. "And all that time? You just... what? Let her sneak in at night?"

"I left the back window cracked. Disabled the alarm. Only for her. I made sure it was safe."

"You lied to me. Both of you. Every single night."

"No," Judson said. "We just waited. Until we could give you the truth."

I looked at them: my mother, whom I’d hated for years, and the man I trusted more than anyone.

"I don’t know what to feel. But I’m exhausted. I'm going back to Ivy." I turned toward the door. "If either of you wants to be useful, make dinner. We'll talk then."

I stepped outside into the early afternoon sun, got in the car, and drove.

I just let the silence fill the space between breaths. Between years. Between what was broken and what might still be fixed.

I was angry. Angry at them. Angry at myself. At all the time that had been wasted—years built on lies, silence, and fear. But something warmer began to rise in my chest.

Love was finding its way back in. So was hope. And quiet joy, knowing that Ivy would grow up with a grandmother who truly loved her. And I would finally have a mother who loved me, too.

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