The Midnight Mystery

At 2 a.m., I woke to get water, the TV faintly humming. I heard my daughter’s voice, “Daddy, can you get me a blanket?” Half-asleep, I grabbed one and tossed it on the couch. As I returned to bed, it hit me—my daughter was at a sleepover. Panic set in. Then, a chilling sound echoed through the house. I froze, heart pounding, and grabbed a flashlight. The living room was empty, the blanket untouched. The TV flickered, showing static. Was it a dream? A prank? I checked every room, but found nothing. The sound came again—soft, like a whisper—from

the basement. Trembling, I descended the stairs. The air grew cold. At the bottom, I saw it: a shadow moving near the old storage boxes. I flicked on the light, and it vanished. Silence. I searched the boxes and found an old photo of my daughter, taken years ago, with a note: “She’s not alone.” Shaken, I called the police. They found no intruder but suggested a sensor glitch. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling—something unnatural lingered. That night, I stayed awake, guarding my empty house, waiting for answers.