I Answered a Craigslist Babysitting Job. The Baby Isn’t Human.

Here’s another story I wrote. I’d love to hear your thoughts or any suggestions for improvement. Also, if you want to listen to the audio version, here’s the link to the video. It would mean a lot if you could listen to the whole thing, but hey, no pressure if you can’t!. Please support, subscribe, like and comment if you like my stories.

https://youtu.be/q8hT2Lu6bR0

"I Answered a Craigslist Babysitting Job. The Baby Isn’t Human. The Craigslist ad was simple: “Babysitter Needed - Late Night - High Pay.” Desperation gnawed at me, a constant hunger that ramen and dwindling savings couldn't satisfy. Rent was overdue, and the threat of eviction loomed. So, swallowing my usual dose of skepticism, I emailed the address listed. Within minutes, a reply pinged back: “Tonight. 11 PM. Confirm if available.” No phone call. No interview. Just cold, hard availability. It felt wrong, but so did the gnawing in my stomach. "Available," I typed back, hitting send before I could change my mind. The house was ancient, a gothic monstrosity swallowed by the inky blackness of the countryside. The gravel crunched ominously under my tires as I pulled into the driveway. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something acrid and unsettling that tickled the back of my throat. A tall, gaunt woman with eyes like chips of obsidian answered the door. She wore a severe black dress that seemed to absorb the meager light spilling from the porch. "You're here," she stated, her voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Good. We're leaving now." She didn't introduce herself, just ushered me inside with a bony hand. The interior was dimly lit, filled with antique furniture draped in dust sheets. The air felt heavy, stagnant, like it hadn't been breathed in decades. "The baby is upstairs, in the nursery," she said, her gaze unwavering. "There are rules." She handed me a small, handwritten card. I read it under the flickering light of a nearby lamp: Never feed it after midnight. Don't let it see mirrors. Don't speak its name. Keep the lullabies playing. My blood ran cold. "What kind of baby needs rules like these?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The woman didn't answer. Instead, a man, equally gaunt and grim-faced, appeared from the shadows. "We'll be back around 6 AM," he said, his voice a mirror of hers. "Don't break the rules." And then they were gone, swallowed by the night, leaving me alone in that oppressive house with a baby I hadn't even seen. I climbed the creaking staircase, each step a protest against the silence that had descended. The nursery door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaping into the hallway. I pushed it open, and a wave of cold air washed over me. The nursery was a macabre parody of childhood. Antique toys lined the shelves, their painted eyes staring blankly ahead. A rocking horse, its wood worn and faded, sat motionless in the corner. And in the center of the room, in an ornate crib, lay the baby. It was… wrong. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, and its eyes were wide and unblinking, fixed on some unseen point beyond the walls. It didn't coo or gurgle, didn't make any sound at all. It just stared. A small, antique record player sat on a nearby table, a lullaby spinning softly. It was a melody I'd never heard before, unsettling and discordant, yet somehow… hypnotic. I picked up the baby. It was cold, unnaturally so, like holding a block of ice. Its skin felt smooth and strangely… slick. Panic clawed at my throat, but I forced myself to breathe, to remember the money, to remember the rent. Hours crawled by. I sat in the rocking chair, holding the baby, the lullaby a constant, droning presence. The baby remained motionless, its gaze unwavering. I tried humming other songs, telling it stories, desperate to elicit some kind of response. But it was like talking to a statue. As midnight approached, I felt a growing unease. The air in the room seemed to thicken, to vibrate with an unseen energy. The baby's eyes widened further, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of… something… deep within them. The clock struck twelve. Suddenly, the baby jerked in my arms. Its body stiffened, and a low, guttural growl emanated from its throat. Its eyes rolled back in its head, and I saw a glimpse of something… inhuman… beneath the milky white. I remembered the first rule: Never feed it after midnight. But I hadn't fed it anything! What was happening? Then, I saw it. A small, antique mirror hanging on the wall. I'd been so focused on the baby, I hadn't even noticed it. The second rule: Don't let it see mirrors. Before I could react, the baby twisted in my arms, straining to see its reflection. Its growl intensified, and its body began to… lift. It was floating, hovering a few inches above my lap, its eyes locked on the distorted image in the mirror. Terror paralyzed me. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was frozen, trapped in this nightmare. Then, the lullaby skipped. The record player stuttered, and the music faltered, replaced by a series of garbled, distorted sounds. The baby shrieked, a sound that ripped through the air like tearing metal. It thrashed in my arms, its body contorting in unnatural ways. I had to do something. I had to stop it. But what? My eyes fell on the card with the rules. The last one: Don't speak its name. I hadn't been told its name. But something, a dark, intuitive voice whispered in my mind. A name, ancient and malevolent, bubbled to the surface of my consciousness. It was a name I knew I shouldn't speak, a name that resonated with the oppressive darkness of the house. But I was desperate. “Lilith," I whispered, the sound barely audible above the shrieking. The effect was immediate. The baby – Lilith – froze. Its eyes snapped back into focus, and a look of pure, unadulterated rage contorted its features. The floating stopped, and it dropped back into my arms with a sickening thud. "You… shouldn't… have…" it rasped, its voice a grotesque parody of a child's. Then, the record player screeched to a halt. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. For what felt like an eternity, we remained locked in that silent tableau. Then, slowly, the baby's – Lilith's – features softened. Its eyes lost their malevolent gleam, and a chillingly innocent expression replaced it. It yawned, a small, almost human yawn. And then it spoke, its voice now clear and childlike. "Mama? Dada? Are you back yet?" Just then, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel outside. The gaunt couple was home. They rushed into the nursery, their faces etched with anxiety. They took the baby from my arms, cradling it gently. "Did anything happen?" the woman asked, her eyes searching my face. I hesitated. Should I tell them what I’d seen? What I’d done? But then I looked at the baby – Lilith – nestled in her mother’s arms, looking like any other infant. Had I imagined it all? "No," I said, my voice trembling. "Everything was fine." They paid me, a wad of crisp hundred-dollar bills that made my head spin. I took the money and fled that house, vowing never to look back. But as I drove away, I saw something in the rearview mirror that made my blood run cold. The couple was standing on the porch, watching me go. And behind them, in the window of the nursery, I saw the baby. It wasn't being cradled. It was standing, its face pressed against the glass, its eyes burning with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. And it was smiling. I didn't sleep for days. I tried to convince myself it was a nightmare, a product of stress and exhaustion. But I knew the truth. The baby wasn't human, and the family… they weren't protecting it. They were containing it. And I had just made their job a whole lot harder. The rules were there not for my protection, but to keep Lilith at bay. And I, in my desperation, had broken them all. God help us all."