From the day they brought their baby home, their dog Ink refused to leave the bedroom.
At first, Son and his wife Han thought it was sweet the dog acted as the guarding to the newborn, but by the fourth night, Ink’s growling became unbearable.
At exactly 2:13 a.m., Ink stiffened. His fur rose, and he started growling as he kept starring at the crib.
Son turned on the lamp. The baby was sound asleep, but still, Ink’s eyes stayed fixed beneath the bed. When Son used his phone’s light to check if there was something underneath the bed he saw only boxes, diapers, and a patch of darkness that looked too deep to be real.
It happened again the next night, and the next. On the sixth night, Han woke to a faint scratching sound. It sounded like nails dragging along wood. “Probably mice,” she whispered. Ink didn’t move, only growled softly at the wall.
By the seventh night, Son stayed awake. When 2:13 came, Ink pressed against his leg, trembling. Son raised his phone light and froze. A pale hand moved under the bed. Ink started barking loudly. Something scraped, then went still.
When police arrived, they found claw marks and a thin crack near the headboard.
One officer tapped the wall and noticed it was hollow. “There’s space behind this,” he said and pried the baseboard open. At that moment, a foul, damp smell seeped out. Inside, there was a baby’s pacifier, a spoon, and dozens of tally marks scratched into the wood.
The cavity stretched along the wall, barely wide enough for a person to crawl. Old beams and torn insulation framed it, with a narrow passage leading up to the attic. The opening was hidden by a loose panel that could be moved from inside. Someone had entered through the attic, crawled down the framing, and sealed themselves in.
There were empty bottles, crumbs, and a dead flashlight. Those were all obvious signs of someone being there for quite some time.
The police then found a notebook written in shaky handwriting:
Day 1: Sleeps here. I can hear her breathing.
Day 7: The dog knows.
Day 19: I just want to touch her cheek.
“It’s not a ghost,” the officer whispered. “It’s a person.”
When they pulled away the boards, they saw a pale woman with wide eyes. “Shhh,” the woman said softly. “Don’t wake her,” obviously speaking of Son and Han’s baby.
The woman was identified as Vy, he niece of the house’s previous owners. It turned out that she had lost her baby months before and grieved heavily. When she learned there was a baby in her uncle’s old house, she entered there through the attic and lived there for at least two weeks. The police believed she survived on rainwater from a leak near the window and the sound of another child breathing.
When they led her out, she looked once more at the crib and whispered, “She sleeps like mine did.”
After that, the walls were sealed. Ink never growled again and only slept peacefully beside the crib.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
