It started a few weeks ago. Every day after work, I’d come home to find my 8-year-old son, Liam, exhausted, distant, and scared. When I asked what was wrong, he’d just shrug and say, “Nothing, Mom.”
Our nanny, Grace, claimed it was because she limited his cartoons. But something didn’t sit right. So, I checked the hidden cameras.
And what I saw made my heart race. For four days in a row, Grace took Liam out of the house around noon — gone for hours. When they came back, he looked dirty and miserable. She’d wipe him down and hush him with a finger to her lips.
By the fifth day, I had enough. I skipped work, hid nearby, and followed them. They went to a run-down building. Grace unlocked a rusty door, and they disappeared inside.
I pulled out my phone, my heart pounding. Whatever was going on in that basement, I was about to catch Grace red-handed.
I waited outside the building, trying to keep my breathing steady. My hands were shaking as I held my phone, ready to record whatever was happening inside that basement. I knew I had to be careful. If Grace spotted me, she might stop whatever twisted game she was playing and take Liam somewhere I couldn’t follow.
I crept closer, staying out of sight, until I reached the rusty door they had gone through. I pressed my ear against it, hoping to catch any sounds from inside. At first, there was only silence, but then I heard a faint, muffled voice. It was Grace, and she was saying something I couldn’t quite make out. I leaned in closer, straining to hear. The next voice I heard sent chills down my spine — it was Liam, and he was crying.
That was all I needed to hear. I pushed the door open, careful to stay quiet as I slipped inside. The hallway beyond was dark and smelled of damp, musty air, and I could see a dim light coming from a doorway at the end. I moved slowly, my heart pounding louder with every step. I kept my phone up, ready to record, as I edged closer to the doorway.
When I peeked inside, what I saw made my stomach turn. The room was a small, dingy basement, lit by a single, flickering bulb. There were dusty old chairs and piles of junk scattered around, and in the middle of it all was Liam, sitting on a worn mattress on the floor. His hands were trembling, and he was staring down at something in front of him. Grace was kneeling beside him, speaking softly, her back to me.
I stepped inside, keeping my phone low but still recording. “Liam,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice calm. “It’s Mommy. What’s going on?”
Grace whipped around, her eyes wide with shock, but she quickly masked her surprise with a forced, calm smile. “Oh, Mrs. Carter,” she said, trying to sound casual, but I could hear the tension in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I ignored her, my eyes fixed on Liam. “Honey, what are you doing here?” I asked softly. “Why did Grace bring you to this place?”
Liam didn’t answer. He just looked up at me, his eyes red and puffy, and then back down at what he was holding. I stepped closer, and my blood ran cold when I saw it. He was clutching a small, crumpled piece of paper, and there were strange, dark smudges on it — almost like soot or ash. Next to him, there was an old, blackened candle, and a few more pieces of paper, each one covered in childish, shaky handwriting.
I grabbed one of the papers and quickly scanned it, my heart sinking. It was a note, written by Liam. The words were desperate and messy, like he had been forced to write them over and over:
“Please bring Daddy back. I’m sorry I made you go away. I’ll be good, I promise. Just bring him back.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. My husband, Liam’s father, had passed away in a car accident a year ago, and we had been struggling to cope ever since. I thought I’d been handling it, that Liam was handling it, but this… this was something I never expected.
I turned to Grace, my voice shaking with rage. “What the hell is this?” I demanded. “Why did you bring him here? What are you making him do?”
Grace’s expression changed, her calm smile melting away to reveal something colder, more calculating. “I’m trying to help him,” she said, her tone flat. “Liam wants his father back, and I’m helping him do that.”
I felt a wave of nausea. “You’re trying to… bring him back?” I repeated, horrified. “What kind of sick joke is this? You can’t just—”
“I’m not joking,” Grace interrupted, her voice sharp. “I know it sounds crazy, but there are ways to bring back what’s been lost. Rituals, invocations… I’m trying to help him communicate with his father, to give him peace.”
I stared at her, my mind reeling. “This is insane,” I said. “You’re filling his head with nonsense, making him believe he can bring his father back. How dare you!”
Grace’s eyes flicked to Liam, and she lowered her voice, as if trying to soothe me. “He’s grieving, Mrs. Carter. He misses his father. Don’t you want to help him find closure?”
“This isn’t closure!” I snapped. “This is manipulation, and I want you out of my house and out of his life. Now.”
But Grace didn’t move. Instead, she picked up one of the blackened candles and held it up, her eyes fixed on mine. “I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a lie,” she said softly. “You may not believe it, but I’ve seen things… things you wouldn’t understand. Liam can sense them, too. That’s why he keeps coming back.”
My heart ached as I glanced at Liam, still clutching the crumpled note, his small body shaking with silent sobs. “Liam,” I said gently, kneeling down beside him. “We need to go home, okay? We’ll talk about this later, but we’re leaving now.”
He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes on the candle, like he was afraid to look away. “But Daddy… he said he’d come back,” Liam whispered, his voice barely audible. “Grace said if I wrote it enough times, he’d come back.”
My hands trembled as I hugged him close, my heart breaking. “Oh, honey,” I whispered. “Daddy’s gone, and nothing can bring him back. I’m so sorry.”
Grace stepped forward, her face unreadable. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said quietly. “I can help him. I can help both of you. Don’t you want to see him again?”
The anger I’d been holding back surged forward, and I stood up, putting myself between her and Liam. “No,” I said firmly. “This stops now. You’re done manipulating my son, and if I ever see you near him again, I’ll call the police.”
Grace’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought she might argue, but then she just smiled, a slow, eerie smile that made my skin crawl. “I see,” she said softly. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I didn’t wait for her to say anything else. I took Liam’s hand and led him out of the basement, my heart pounding with fear and anger. As we stepped out into the sunlight, I felt like I could finally breathe again, but I knew this wasn’t over. There was something wrong, something deeper than I’d realized, and I needed to find out what it was.
When we got home, I put Liam to bed and called the police, reporting everything that had happened. They promised to investigate, but as I sat there in the silence of my living room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. There was something Grace wasn’t telling me, something that made her so sure she could bring Liam’s father back.
And as much as I wanted to believe it was all just a cruel lie, a part of me couldn’t forget the way she had looked at me, her eyes cold and confident, like she knew something I didn’t. I knew I had to dig deeper, to find out what she was really after — because if I didn’t, I was afraid of what she might do next.
