When I was 9 years old, my parents hired a new babysitter for one night.
Before they left, she smiled at me and said:
“Whatever you hear tonight…
don’t open the closet.”
At first, I thought she was joking.
But around midnight, I heard scratching coming from inside it.
Slow scratching.
Like someone trying not to be heard.
I got so scared I called for the babysitter.
No answer.
Then the closet door slowly moved by itself.
Just a little.
Enough for me to see a hand inside.
And taped to the inside of the door…
was a photo of me sleeping.
Part 2 in comments.
I froze the moment I saw the photo.
It was me.
Sleeping in that exact room.
Wearing the same pajamas.
The picture had been taken that night.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely breathe.
I screamed for the babysitter again.
Nothing.
Then my bedroom light suddenly turned off.
The closet door creaked open wider.
And I finally understood something horrifying.
The scratching sound…
was coming from behind me now.
I turned around slowly.
The babysitter was standing in my doorway smiling.
Holding a camera.
Then she whispered:
“You weren’t supposed to look inside.”
What police discovered in that closet the next morning still terrifies me to this day.
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