My 5 year old daughter asked me why “Mr. Tom” only comes at night when I am sleeping – I don’t know any Toms, so I set up a camera in her room and waited

See more on the next page
It must have been Ellie’s imagination.
Then, at 1:13 in the morning, I heard it.
A very faint sound at the end of the hallway. A light touch, like a knuckle barely touching the glass.
Once.
Then silence.
I stood still, frozen, trying to convince myself it was a tree branch. The house settling. Anything but what my instincts were screaming at me.
When I finally mustered up the courage to walk down the hallway, Ellie’s room was silent.
The hallway was empty.
But her curtain was moving.
There was no wind.
Not even the slightest breeze.
I stood in the doorway watching the curtain flutter, and right then, I made a decision.
The next morning, I bought a camera.
I placed it on Ellie’s bookshelf, between her stuffed giraffe and a stack of board books—it was small enough to go unnoticed by a five-year-old who names blankets. I angled it directly toward the window.
I didn’t tell Ellie.
I told myself it was just for peace of mind. That I’d watch a few nights of blank footage and calm down.
That night, I went to bed at 10:05 PM with my phone next to my pillow, the camera app open, and the screen dark.
At 2:13 AM, my phone vibrated.
I was staring at the screen before I was even fully awake.
The video was grainy and gray—greenish shapes and flattened shadows—but I could clearly see Ellie sitting upright in bed, talking softly toward the window.
She looked completely relaxed, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
And near the glass, so close it was almost pressing against it, a silhouette loomed.
Tall.
Again.
Judging by the hunched posture of his shoulders, he looks older.
CONTINUE READING…>>