At exactly 4:03 a.m., I woke to the sound of someone singing through the baby monitor.
At first, I thought I was dreaming.
The room was dark, and for a few seconds I couldn't make sense of what I was hearing. Then the voice came through the monitor again.
Soft.
Almost like someone was singing a lullaby.
"Hush now, baby. I came for you."
I sat upright in bed.
My husband was away that week for work, and it was just me and my six-month-old daughter in the house.
I reached for the monitor.
Nothing.
Then the voice came again.
"Hush now, baby. I came for you."
I got out of bed so quickly that I nearly tripped over the blanket.
My daughter's room was at the end of the hallway. I ran toward it and pushed the door open.
She was asleep.
Completely peaceful.
Her little hands were resting beside her face, and her breathing was slow and steady.
I stood in the doorway, listening.
Nothing.
I walked over to the crib and checked her carefully.
She was warm.
She was breathing.
There was no one else in the room.
I told myself I had been dreaming. Maybe the sound from the monitor had come from another apartment or a television somewhere nearby. Maybe I'd heard a strange noise and my exhausted brain had turned it into words.
I pulled the blanket slightly higher over my daughter's legs.
That's when I saw something underneath her arm.
At first I thought it was one of her toys.
Then I realized it was a piece of paper.
I froze.
I hadn't put anything in the crib.
I carefully reached in and pulled it out.
There were only a few words written on it.
"Make sure you take care of your child more."
I read it again.
My hands started shaking.
I looked at my daughter.
Then I looked toward the bedroom door.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Someone had been in the nursery.
At least, that's what my mind told me.
I checked the windows.
Locked.
The door.
Locked.
I searched the closet, underneath the crib, behind the curtains, and every other place a person could possibly hide.
There was nobody there.
I called my husband.
No answer.
I called my sister and woke her up.
She listened while I tried to explain what had happened.
"Are you sure you didn't leave the note there?"
"No."
"Could your daughter have grabbed it from somewhere?"
"She's six months old."
My sister went quiet.
"Call the police if you're scared."
I almost did.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it was embarrassment.
Maybe I was afraid they would come into the house, search everything, and tell me there was no evidence anyone had been there.
Or maybe some part of me still believed I had dreamed the voice.
I stayed beside my daughter's crib until morning.
At some point, exhaustion finally won.
I fell asleep sitting in the chair beside her.
When I woke, sunlight was coming through the curtains.
My daughter was awake.
She was making those little sounds she always made when she wanted breakfast.
For a few seconds, everything seemed normal.
Then I remembered the note.
I reached for the table beside me.
Nothing.
I checked the floor.
Nothing.
I searched the crib.
Nothing.
I checked my clothes, the trash can, the hallway, and even the kitchen.
The note was gone.
I knew I hadn't thrown it away.
I searched the house twice.
It never turned up.
I replaced the baby monitor that same day.
I also installed a camera in the nursery.
For the next several weeks, nothing happened.
No singing.
No strange voices.
No notes.
Nothing.
Eventually, I started convincing myself that exhaustion had gotten the better of me that night.
Maybe the voice had come through the monitor from somewhere else.
Maybe I'd written the note myself without remembering.
Maybe I had fallen asleep with a piece of paper in my hand and somehow put it in the crib.
I could come up with explanations for almost everything.
Except one thing.
The handwriting.
I still remember it.
I don't recognize it.
And I have never been able to explain how that note appeared inside my daughter's crib.
My daughter is older now.
She's healthy, happy, and has absolutely no memory of that night.
I rarely talk about it anymore.
But every once in a while, usually when I'm awake late and the house is completely quiet, I remember that voice coming through the monitor.
"Hush now, baby. I came for you."
And I remember the note.
I don't know who wrote it.
I don't know how it got there.
And after all these years, I still don't know whether I experienced something I couldn't explain or simply had the strangest night of my life.
But I do know one thing.
I never again slept through the night with the nursery door open.