I was babysitting for my sister when, at 3 a.m., the baby monitor suddenly flickered on.
Micah was sound asleep. Then, a whisper came through:
“He’s not okay.”
I froze. The house was completely silent, except for that eerie, crackling voice on the monitor. My heart pounded in my chest. With trembling hands, I called my sister, Irina.
Before I could finish explaining, she cut me off: “Grab Micah and get to the car. Lock the doors and call 911!”
I didn’t hesitate. I scooped Micah up—still bundled in his sleep sack—and bolted down the stairs barefoot. My thoughts raced. Was someone inside? Was this a prank? A malfunction? Or something more terrifying?
The cold air stung as I dashed to the car. I secured Micah in his seat, locked the doors, and dialed 911, my hands shaking.
“Stay calm, ma’am. Officers are on their way,” the dispatcher assured me.
I stared at the house, every shadow suddenly sinister. Time dragged. Then, flashing lights filled the driveway. Two officers approached the house with flashlights, and a third knocked on my window, startling me.
“Are you alright? Is anyone else inside?” he asked.
“No, just me and the baby,” I whispered.
He nodded and headed into the house with the others.
About ten minutes later, one officer returned. “We didn’t find anyone. All the doors and windows were locked from the inside. But we’re going to check again.”
I nodded silently, still shaken.
Irina pulled into the driveway soon after, pale and frantic. She rushed to Micah and held him close.
Looking at me, she said, “We need to tell them everything.”
The officers gathered as Irina, voice unsteady, explained.
“A few months ago, my ex, Dorian, started stalking me. It began with calls and messages, then he started showing up in person. I got a restraining order, but last week someone tried to break into the house. The police couldn’t prove it was him.”
One officer asked, “Is there any chance he had access to the baby monitor?”
Irina’s face went white. “Oh my God… yes. He gave it to us when Micah was born. I never thought—”
The officer took out his notepad. “We’ll need to take the monitor. He may have hacked it.”
Later, after we gave our statements, the police left—but none of us could sleep.
By morning, detectives confirmed our fear: Dorian had installed remote access to the monitor’s camera and mic. They tracked the signal. He’d been spying on us.
He was arrested two days later.
But then things got even stranger.
During interrogation, Dorian insisted he wasn’t anywhere near the house that night. He said, “That whisper wasn’t me.”
And the detectives discovered something unsettling—his remote access hadn’t been activated at the time the voice came through.