Chapter 4
The Eye in the Dark (Hell's lullaby)
The package arrived two days later.
Clara barely breathed as she tore it open. The hidden camera was smaller than she expected,cold, unassuming, weightless in her shaking hands.
She installed it that afternoon, angling it toward the crib. The baby monitor sat untouched. She didn’t trust it anymore. It had lied to her, let him hide in the dark where she couldn’t see.
Tonight, she would.
She wouldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t blink.
She would wait.
2:57 AM.
The house was silent.
Clara sat in bed, eyes locked on the baby monitor, her heart pulsing in her throat. Ivy’s tiny body rose and fell beneath the blanket. The nightlight bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. Everything was still.
But Clara knew it wouldn’t stay that way.
Her phone buzzed.
Motion detected.
Her stomach turned to stone.
Clara switched to the hidden camera’s live feed, her fingers trembling.
The screen flickered.
Then,a shape.
The closet door had opened.
The shadows inside shifted, deepened, until they were no longer just absence, no longer just tricks of the dim light.
Daniel Carter stepped forward.
Clara’s breath caught in her throat.
He had been there the whole time.
Standing. Waiting.
He moved slowly, deliberately. Not a single sound. The floor didn’t creak beneath his weight. His presence barely disturbed the air, as if he wasn’t fully part of this world anymore.
He reached the crib.
Ivy stirred. A small, whimpering sound escaped her lips. She didn’t wake.
She didn’t know.
Ivy whimpered again, shifting under her blanket, her tiny hand curling into a fist.
Daniel paused.
Then, in a voice too soft, too reverent, he whispered:
"Not yet."
He pressed his free hand to Ivy’s forehead.
The air thickened with unspoken desire as he continued to trace the delicate curve of her brow. Her eyelids fluttered against her cheekbones, and a shiver traced its way down her spine beneath his touch. He lingered there for a moment, his gaze intense, a silent invitation hanging heavy in the space between them,a potent blend of tenderness and something far more primal.
A chilling wave washed over him, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. The image of that fragile innocence, so utterly untouched by the darkness he craved, twisted within him like a thorny vine. It wasn't a desire born of understanding or affection, but a raw, consuming need - a hunger for possession, a desperate attempt to mold and dominate what he perceived as pure and vulnerable.
He felt a dark, urgent pulse rise within him, a terrifying impulse to shatter that innocence, to claim it entirely for himself, and to sculpt it into something wholly his own, regardless of the cost.
Daniel’s fingers sank into her skin, finding a familiarity she hadn’t known existed. His touch was slow, deliberate, weaving a spell of quiet intimacy. He moved with a practiced grace, a seasoned hand that spoke of shared secrets and unspoken promises,a testament to the effortless command he held over her. It wasn’t a forceful intrusion, but a slow surrender, a willingness to relinquish control and become utterly absorbed in the subtle dance of their bodies, each movement a whispered invitation, each touch a promise of devotion.
The law of nature itself became a whisper drowned out by the roar of his depravity. Shame? Regret? They were ghosts in a house fire,reduced to ash by the gale-force winds of his hunger. The world outside faded, no courtroom, no judge, no voice crying out for justice. Only the primal throb in his veins, the suffocating weight of his need, and the intoxicating blur of innocence lost. Ivy’s youth meant nothing; age was but a number when he held dominion over her future. He had become the storm, and she, the helpless vessel caught in its wake.
With an almost predatory intensity, Daniel's nimble fingers found the buckle of his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. He let out a sharp breath, feeling the swell of desire pulsating within him like a living thing.
The heavy material of his trousers fell away, revealing the taut bulge straining against the confines of his undergarments. His eyes never left Ivy's sleeping form, burning with a fierce, unquenchable fire. In that moment, he was driven not by lust but by something more primal, a craving that demanded fulfillment at any cost.
Ivy's small frame jerked upright, her tiny hands scrabbling against the sheets as she let out a piercing wail. Daniel's attempt to soothe her with gentle words and soft caresses only seemed to inflame her tantrum.
The room echoed with her screams, each one a razor-sharp cry that cut into his soul. He covered his ears, but the sound pierced through, a relentless torment that threatened to shatter the fragile calm he'd worked so hard to establish. And still, the cries came raw, unbridled, and unrelenting. Daniel's eyes blazed with frustration, his heart pounding in time with the drumbeat of her rage.
Ivy’s eyes flew open.
She screamed.
Not a normal, sleepy wail. Not the cry of a child waking from a nightmare.
This was pure terror.
Daniel’s face didn’t change. His expression was almost tender, as if her fear meant something to him.
Ivy’s tiny body arched away from his touch, but she was too small, too helpless.
Clara finally snapped into action.
She threw the monitor aside, lunged out of bed, and tore down the hall.
Her pulse was a roar in her ears, drowning out everything except
I have to stop him.
The nursery door slammed open.
Daniel turned.
His eyes locked onto hers.
For the first time, Clara saw something behind them.
A flicker of something inhuman, something that had been feeding.
Then, he moved.
He was fast. Too fast.
His body twisted, shifting with an unnatural speed, slipping past her before she could grab him.
His footsteps were silent as he fled down the hall. The front door swung open on its own.
By the time Clara reached the doorway
He was gone.
The night swallowed him whole.
The house fell into dead silence.
She turned back, chest heaving, hands shaking.
Ivy lay in her crib, sobbing.
Clara moved with a swift, protective grace, gathering the trembling child into her arms. Ivy burrowed into the crook of her neck, her small body shuddering violently, her fists clenched tight against Clara’s blouse, leaving damp streaks on the fabric.
Tears streamed down her face, hot and insistent, soaking into Clara's shoulder as she whispered soothing words,empty promises against the storm raging within the little girl. Clara held her tighter, a desperate shield against the lingering echoes of the night, trying to build a fortress of comfort around the shattered remnants of Ivy’s innocence
Clara held her tighter, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. He’s gone. He’s gone.”
But she knew.
He would come back.
And next time
He wouldn’t leave empty-handed.
The morning air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt, the sky still heavy with the remnants of a storm that had passed through the night. The clouds hung low, swallowing the tops of the tallest buildings, turning the world into a muted blur of gray.
The city felt hushed, as if holding its breath after the tempest's fury. A lone taxi splashed through a puddle, sending a spray of water onto the already slick pavement. The reflection of streetlights shimmered in the dark pools, creating distorted images of passersby - hurried figures wrapped in umbrellas, their faces obscured by the gloom. It was a beautiful kind of melancholy, this damp, quiet dawn.
Clara’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, her knuckles pale, the skin stretched so tight it felt like it might split. The car’s engine thrummed beneath her, a steady vibration she barely registered. The USB drive sat in the passenger seat, small and weightless, yet it felt like a loaded gun, its presence suffocating.
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She could feel its cold, smooth surface even from across the console, an unwelcome weight bearing down upon her. With a sudden jolt, Clara yanked the drive into her lap, cradling it like a wounded animal.
The metal case felt almost hot against her palm, as if it pulsed with a dark energy all its own. She couldn't look at it, not yet. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the rain-slicked road ahead, willing herself to focus on the journey rather than the terrible secrets contained within.
But even as she drove, Clara knew she could delay the inevitable no longer. Whatever lay on that USB drive, she would have to confront it head-on if she ever hoped to move forward. And so, with a deep breath, Clara steeled herself for the worst, preparing to unleash a maelstrom of nightmares upon the world. The storm that raged within her had finally reached its breaking point
She had watched the footage twice.
And each time, the horror settled deeper in her bones.
Daniel had touched Ivy’s forehead.
She had twitched.
A darkness had moved beneath her skin.
The knife had glinted in his hand.
He had looked at the camera.
He knew.
Clara swallowed, forcing down the bile that clawed at her throat. She couldn’t think about it now. She had to get to the police station.
She had to believe someone would help her.
The police station was an aging brick building, its windows fogged from the cold morning air. A single light flickered above the entrance, casting dull yellow streaks onto the wet pavement.
As Clara pulled up to the faded police station, the rusted sign creaked ominously under her tires. She caught a whiff of exhaust fumes and stale cigarettes, evidence of many long nights spent by those who had sworn to keep the peace. Inside, the old lobby was dimly lit, shadows pooling in every corner. A heavy silence hung over everything, broken only by the distant wail of sirens echoing from somewhere down the street. Suddenly, the door swung open with a sudden bang and footsteps echoed through the nearly empty space - followed by the distinct jingle of keys being turned in lock after lock. With a low curse, the door slammed shut, leaving Clara alone once more. She squinted at the interior lighting, illuminating the grim faces of two officers stationed near the desk. One glanced up from his paperwork, his brow furrowed in concern; the other regarded her through silted eyes, suspicion written plainly across his face.
Inside, the air was thick with the stale scent of coffee, sweat, and damp wool coats. The sound of ringing phones and muttered conversations filled the space, blending into an unbroken hum of bureaucratic indifference.
Clara stepped toward the counter. The woman behind it barely glanced up, her fingers tapping idly against a keyboard, her eyes glazed from the monotony of routine.
“I need to speak to Sergeant Whitmore,” Clara said, her voice tight.
A beat of silence. The woman sighed, as if even acknowledging Clara’s presence was an inconvenience. “Is this about an ongoing case?”
“Yes,” Clara snapped. “It’s about”
“Fill out this form.” A clipboard slid toward her, pen attached by a length of frayed string.
Clara’s pulse pounded in her ears. “No. I need to see him now. It’s an emergency.”
Something in her tone made the woman finally look at her. Her gaze flicked to Clara’s face, at the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the USB drive like a lifeline.
“Wait here,” the woman said.
Minutes dragged. The sound of her heartbeat grew louder, an unsteady drumbeat of dread.
Then,footsteps.
Sergeant Whitmore stepped into view, his broad frame moving with the slow, unhurried pace of a man who had seen too much and cared too little. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his belt worn at the edges. He gave Clara a once-over, taking in her disheveled appearance with a frown.
“This about your kid?” he asked.
Clara nodded. Her fingers curled around the USB drive, knuckles aching. “I have proof. I have everything.”
Whitmore exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Come with me.”
His office was small, the walls lined with old case files and faded maps of Ravens Hollow. A single window let in weak, gray light, casting long shadows across the desk. The heater hummed from the corner, struggling to push warmth into the stale air.
Clara sat opposite him, her hands trembling as she pushed the USB drive across the desk.
“Play it.”
Whitmore inserted the drive into his computer, the screen flickering to life. The video file opened.
Clara’s stomach clenched.
The footage began.
Ivy’s crib.
The nightlight.
The soft, steady sound of her breathing.
Then,the closet door.
Whitmore sat up straighter.
Daniel stepped from the darkness.
A ripple passed over his expression,just a flicker, but Clara saw it. A shift in his shoulders, a tightening of his jaw.
Then Ivy stirred.
Daniel touched her forehead.
She stiffened.
Her tiny fingers twitched.
Whitmore’s breath came slower now, measured.
Then came the whisper.
Clara already knew the words, but hearing them again sent a chill through her bones.
"Take hold. Take root. The vessel is yours."
Ivy gasped. Her body arched beneath Daniel’s hand.
Then,Daniel's hands stretched, with delicate romance over ivy's body
Clara’s hands dug into the armrests of the chair.
On the screen, Daniel turned,and looked directly into the camera.
That same slow, knowing smile.
The screen cut to black.
Silence.
Whitmore sat frozen.
Seconds passed.
Clara’s voice was raw when she spoke. “Now do you believe me?”
Whitmore exhaled, pressing his fingers against his temples. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable.
“This…” He hesitated. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
Clara stared. “Are you serious?”
His gaze flicked toward the screen again. “You can’t see his face clearly. The audio’s warped. Could be edited.”
Clara felt the world tilt. “You think I made this up?”
Whitmore didn’t answer.
Her breath came shallow, uneven. “You know Daniel. You know he’s not,”
He held up a hand. “Daniel Carter is a respected man in this town. He’s helped at the shelter. Donates to the school. And you’re telling me he,what? Broke into your home to perform some kind of ritual on your daughter?”
Clara’s nails dug into her palms. “Yes.”
Whitmore leaned forward. “You’re tired, Clara. You haven’t been sleeping. Grief does things to people.”
Grief.
The word punched through her.
Clara’s hands trembled. She stood so fast the chair scraped backward.
“You saw the footage,” she hissed. “And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter?”
Whitmore’s jaw tightened. “Even if I believed you, what do you expect me to do? Arrest him? With what evidence? A grainy video? A recording of a baby crying?”
Clara’s vision blurred with rage.
She had spent years believing in this town. In its people.
In its justice.
But the justice system wasn’t built for people like Ivy.
For children who were hunted in the dark while the world looked away.
Whitmore’s voice was softer now, too careful. “Go home, Clara.”
A dismissal.
A door slamming in her face.
Clara turned, fists clenched so tight she could feel her nails cut into her skin. She stormed out of the office, out of the station, her breath like fire in her throat.
Outside, the wind howled through the streets, rattling the streetlights.
The law would not save Ivy.
No one would.
So Clara would do it herself.
The cold bit into Clara’s skin as she stepped out of the police station, the town stretched before her in muted colors, lifeless buildings, empty streets, the distant hum of a world that no longer felt real.
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. The weight in her chest was unbearable, pressing down, down, down until she felt as if she might collapse under it.
They weren’t going to help her.
The police, the people meant to protect ,had turned away.
Daniel Carter would walk free.
And he would come back.
The thought sent a violent tremor through her.
A gust of wind swept through the streets, carrying with it the sharp scent of damp pavement and distant wood smoke. Ravens Hollow had always been a quiet town, the kind of place where the world slowed, where people left their doors unlocked without fear.
But Clara saw the truth now.
The town had always belonged to him.
Daniel wasn’t just a man. He was woven into the fabric of this place, rooted deep like the trees that lined the outskirts, like the river that carved its path through the land.
Respected. Well-liked. Untouchable.
Clara reached her car, hands shaking so violently she could barely force the key into the ignition.
She sat there, gripping the steering wheel, trying to breathe.
She could still hear Ivy’s scream.
The way her body had stiffened beneath Daniel’s touch.
The black stain on the crib.
Clara’s stomach lurched. She clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing the nausea that clawed its way up her throat.
She had tried to do the right thing.
She had tried to trust the law.
And the law had failed.
So now, there was only one option left.
Her fingers tightened on the wheel. A pulse of pure rage lit her veins on fire.
Daniel thought he was safe.
He thought no one would stop him.
But Clara wasn’t going to wait for the next 2:57 AM.
She wasn’t going to wait for him to take her baby.
She would end this.
She put the car in drive.
And for the first time since the nightmare began
She knew exactly what to do.
Tags:
CREEPY TALES
