Chapter 3 - The Three O'Clock Visitor
The digital clock on the nightstand across the hall softly clicked over to midnight, though time felt entirely suspended inside the nursery. David stared at the play button on his smartphone screen, his thumb hovering over the ominous file stamped with the 3:14 AM timestamp. The air in the room grew noticeably colder, a draft swirling around the white crib as if a window had been left open.
"Don't you dare open that," Clara whispered. Her voice lacked its previous fiery anger, replaced instead by a chilling, hollow calm that sent a shiver straight down Elena’s spine.
David didn't look at her. He pressed play.
The screen flickered, casting a pale, bluish glow across David’s stubbled face. The high-definition camera showed the empty white crib bathed in infrared night vision. For a long, agonizing ten seconds, nothing moved. The room was dead silent except for the faint, rhythmic breathing of baby Maya sleeping soundly against David’s chest.
Then, the nursery door creaked open.
Elena gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. On the screen, a figure stepped into the frame. It wasn't an intruder from the outside. It was Clara. But she wasn't wearing her usual sleepwear. She wore a heavy, dark winter coat over her pajamas, despite it being the middle of July. Her hair was tucked beneath a woolen beanie, completely obscuring her facial features.
On the live feed, the screen-Clara walked slowly toward the empty crib. She didn't check on Maya. Instead, she reached into the deep pocket of her coat and pulled out a small, metallic object—a heavy brass antique key that neither David nor Elena had ever seen before.
David watched in mounting horror as the recorded Clara inserted the key into the decorative molding at the base of the crib. With a sharp twist, a hidden compartment popped open, revealing a velvet-lined box resting snugly inside the hollow wood of the furniture.
"Claire," David choked out, his voice barely a breath. "What is that? What is inside our daughter's crib?"
Clara let out a low, humorless laugh. She crossed her arms over her beige top, leaning casually against the doorframe as if she were watching a movie review rather than the unraveling of her own sanity.
"It's an inheritance, David," Clara said smoothly. "Something my family left behind long before I ever met you. And now that you've seen it, you can never unsee the truth about who I really am."
David slowly lowered the phone, turning his head to look directly at his wife. "Who are you, Claire?"
May you like
Clara smiled wide, her eyes turning pitch black in the dim nursery light. "Open the box in the crib, David. Go ahead. The real owner is waiting inside."
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