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Every Night Something Pretends to Be My Daughter
I want to make this very clear: I live alone, and I have no children.
I know that sounds like a strange thing to say, but I need you to understand this before I explain anything else.
Everything started a few weeks ago, when my job began taking over my life. I haven’t been home long enough to do much more than eat and sleep. Much to the dismay of my dog, Marcus, who misses our nightly games of fetch.
It was already dark when I pulled into the driveway of my humble two-story. I sighed deeply as I opened the front door and shut it behind me.
“Marcus! Where are you, boy?”
I heard him bark somewhere deeper in the house. Opening the coat closet, I hung up my jacket, ready for a few moments of relaxation before bed.
"Dad?"
I froze.
"Dad... is that you?"
I spun around to see a young woman, looking at me with a smile on her face. she was maybe eighteen and stood beside my couch as if she'd been waiting for me. She smiled like I was exactly who she'd expected to see.
“Did you have a good day, Dad?”
I backed up against the door
“What are you doing in my house?” I whispered
The girl tilted her head to the side.
“What?”
“Who are you?”
She chuckled awkwardly
“Come on, Dad. It's me, your daughter.”
I stared at her. She frowned
“Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything ok?”
She began to walk to me. I quickly turned and left the house, slamming the door behind me. I pulled out my phone and called 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Yes, someone broke into my house; they were waiting for me when I got home.”
The dispatcher took my name and home address before promising officers were on the way. I stood by my car until a squad car pulled up. Two officers got out.
“How are you doing, sir? Is everything alright?” the first officer called out
“No, everything’s not ‘alright.’ I came home and found a stranger inside my home!”
“Ok stay calm, sir,” the other officer said
“Have you ever seen this person before?”
“No, I have no clue who she is, but she kept calling me dad. I don’t have any kids.”
They nodded
“We’ll handle this, then you can get back to your evening.”
They walked to the front door, and I followed. Knocking firmly, the first officer loudly said
“Ma’am, open the door; it’s the police.”
There was movement inside, and before long a shadow was seen in the front door window. The door opened slowly, revealing the same girl from before, who was clearly nervous.
“Officers what’s wrong? Is everything ok?”
Her eyes found me standing behind the pair.
“Dad? What’s going on? Why are they here?”
One of the officers took a deep breath before speaking
“Ma’am, this gentleman says you broke into his home, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
Her voice grew panicked
“What the hell? I live here! Dad, tell them!”
The cops looked back at me
“I’ve never seen you before in my life!” I shouted
Her face looked like my words wounded her.
“Dad.. I..”
An officer interrupted her.
“Ma’am do you have anything proving you’re his daughter?”
“Yes! Just look at my home screen”
She handed her phone to him; he looked at it and passed it to me. It was a picture of the two of us, smiling. My arm wrapped around her as we both posed in front of the Statue of Liberty. I took that trip to New York City last year. Alone.
“Wha.. What is this?” I felt like I was in a dream.
I could feel the officer's eyes shift to me; the girl chimed in
“I can do even better; we have the same last name.”
She disappeared inside before returning half a minute later with her driver's license. The officer stared at it.
“Is this you’re last name, sir?”
It was.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered
The officers both turned to me, a sympathetic smile on their faces.
“Have you been feeling alright lately, sir?” one asked
“If you need to talk to someone, it's ok, there's no shame in it.” Said the other.
I was in a daze; the words sounded distant and jumbled like I was underwater. The girl spoke up.
“He’s ok, officers, just some really long days at work lately; he needs his rest, I’ll take care of him.”
She stepped out of the house and took my hand; hers was cold. She led me inside. My house didn’t feel like mine. As she led me deeper within, I began to notice things: the women’s shoes by the door, the pictures in the hallway highlighting happy moments we shared, Marcus coming up to greet her as if he always did. Once in the living room, she let go of my hand, turned, and hugged me; she was strangely cold and stiff; it felt like hugging a mannequin. She looked at me.
“I’m sorry you’re so tired; why don’t you go upstairs and head to bed? I can take Marcus out tonight.” Her voice was far too chipper.
I clenched my teeth and slowly nodded, making my way to the stairs. The staircase documented her whole life, from me holding her at her birth, to a high school graduation just a few weeks ago. Had I really been working so far that I forgot my own daughter? How could that be, and why couldn’t I remember her name?
It was true, I was tired, completely exhausted; I practically collapsed on the bed and was out. My alarm went off at 5:30 the next morning; a yawn and a stretch brought back the memories of the night before. A twinge of fear ran down my spine. I still didn’t remember my daughter. Cautiously, I opened the door. The house was quiet. I made my way to the staircase; the pictures were gone, the wall was bare. The stairs brought me to the living room; it was just the way I always remembered. Marcus raised his head to greet me as he lay on his bed. No women's shoes, no happy pictures of a father and his daughter. It was my house.
I ran my fingers through my hair and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Weird dream,” I muttered as I started some coffee.
That day I presented my project to management; they loved it. I was relieved it meant the weeks of long hours were over, for the time being. On the way home, I stopped by the store to pick up some junk food to celebrate. I pulled into the driveway, carrying my grocery bag in one hand. I unlocked the door and entered. Shutting the door behind me, I was greeted by a happy bark from Marcus. But right after his greeting came the high-pitched greeting of a young girl.
“Daddy! You’re home!!”
My body stiffened; I didn’t want to turn around, but I did.
She was a young blonde-haired little girl, no older than six. She giggled and laughed as she skipped her way to me, wrapping my legs in a strong hug. Her hug felt wrong.
“I missed you so much!”
“Did you have a good day? My day was great!”
I was dumbfounded; her eyes noticed the bag in my hand.
“What’s that?” She dug into it.
To my shock, all that was in the bag was a bright pink soccer ball. She gasped in delight as she grabbed it.
“Oh thank you, Daddy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank youuu! Now Marcus and I can play soccer!”
She ran off to the backyard with a bark; Marcus followed. The house looked like a child lived there. Toys dotted the floor, crude drawings covered the fridge. I blankly stared out the sliding glass door. Watching my dog happily play with my ‘daughter’. The little girl laughed and jumped around; for a moment, her eyes noticed my stare. Her face went blank, and her eyes narrowed as she stared back at me. This lasted only a few seconds, until the spell was broken by Marcus jumping on her and licking her face; she laughed and returned to playing.
That night I found myself making boxed mac and cheese and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. I felt like I was in a trance. Everything about my home, everything in my fridge, tried to convince me that I had a six-year-old daughter, but I didn’t; I knew that; why was I going along with it? Why didn’t I run away? Why didn’t I leave the house and never come back? I don’t know; I wanted to, but there I was scooping mac and cheese into the bowl in front of the stranger with a toothy grin.
“Thank you, Daddy.” The girl said
I wanted to scream; I wanted to kick this ‘daughter’ of mine out and lock the door. But instead I said
“You’re welcome.”
Soon came bedtime; the girl insisted that I read her a bedtime story, and read ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ with clammy hands. She was asleep before I finished the book. I stood at the door of my home office, which was now a child’s bedroom, and flipped the light off.
It was after midnight when I awoke to the sound of my bedroom door creaking open. I looked to the half-open door and the silhouette of a little girl that stood there. The shadowed figure stood there frozen for a moment before saying
“Daddy, I’m scared. Can I sleep with you?”
My mind screamed no, but my mouth said
“Sure, darling.”
The shape crawled into my bed and fell asleep; I remained awake. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because when the alarm went off, I woke up. The girl was gone, and the house showed no sign of her ever being there. No toys, no drawings, and no mac and cheese.
This continued for weeks; every morning, my life was the same it had always been: a working man and his dog. And at night, someone was pretending to be my daughter. It was always different; sometimes it was a teenager, sometimes a child, a few times it was a middle-aged woman, a few days ago it was an elderly woman who croaked out
“Dad? Is that you?” when I returned for the day.
I still don’t know why I stay; every morning it was so easy to convince myself that the night before was just a bizarre dream and wouldn’t happen again. But the moment I stepped inside, I was drawn back into the lie. Sometimes I could see through it; I’d be horrified to find myself finishing a Disney movie with a strange little girl snuggling against me or come to my senses in the middle of giving my elderly daughter a sponge bath. These moments of cognition always terrify me, but what scares me the most are the moments I don’t remember, the nights when I had no mental resistance but just hugged and laughed with my ‘daughter’.
Two days ago I tried to leave; after work, I drove to a hotel. I sat in my car staring at the lobby door. I wanted to go in; I really did. But a thought in the back of my mind overcame my desires; it told me my daughter missed me, that she needed me, and I had to go home. I tried to resist but soon realized I was already back in my driveway. Like a stringed puppet, I made my way to the door. My daughter stood in the entryway as I entered. She looked to be about five. Her eyes pierced me.
“You’re late, Daddy.”
“Yes, I know.” Something in me urged me to tell her where I had been; it took everything I had to lie.
“Traffic was bad.”
Her head tilted slightly; she continued to stare at me, and my eyes fell to the floor. After a long while, she said.
“Okay!” she forced a smile
“I’m hungry!”
I don’t remember anything else from that night. Morning came, and the house was again the memory of a life nearly forgotten. I fed Marcus, pulling him in close for a hug. I whispered to him.
“At least we’re in it together.”
I then headed to work.
The workday flew by, and before long I was driving back to my cell. I opened the front door. And called out
“I’m home.”
The house was quiet. Normally I got a happy bark from Marcus and a hello from my daughter. The house seemed empty; a strange smell filled the air. I made my way to the living room and my stomach dropped. There on the living room floor was the lifeless body of Marcus, deep red blood soaked into the surrounding carpet, his chest cavity was ripped wide open, and piles of intestines dotted the floor. I stared in disbelief before fear filled my gut. I had to get out of there. I turned back to the door, but froze. My ten-year-old daughter was standing between me and the door.
She held her hands behind her back; her clothes were stained with blood and guts, and her face was dripping blood. A wide smile filled her face; her teeth were stained red.
“I got hungry, Daddy.” A happy little voice said.
I held up my hands and backed up. My mind screamed, ‘What the hell did you do?’ my lips said
“Baby girl, are you okay? Did Marcus hurt you?”
She giggled and stepped closer.
I didn’t see the knife or maybe I did and didn’t care. She pulled it from behind her back, and the moment it made contact with my skin it was as if the trance was broken. Pain and clarity simultaneously filled my mind; I screamed as I looked at the long cut gushing blood from my forearm. The thing in front of me no longer looked like a little girl; I saw it for what it was. It was thin and grotesque, its arms far too long; it had no mouth, but as its empty eye sockets stared at me, the high-pitched scream of a little girl filled my mind.
I ran. The living room's sliding glass door was behind me, and before the thing could grab me, I had it open and ran off into the evening.
I’m writing this at work. I don’t know why I came here; I remember driving here last night and waiting in the parking lot until the sun rose and my coworkers showed up. my boss asked about the cut on my arm, something inside me forced a lie
“My dog scratched me.”
As I write this, I feel myself slipping; it’s almost quitting time.
Please help me.
My daughter needs me; she’s been so sad since Marcus passed away, but today I’m going to surprise her and take her to the pet shop to pick out a new puppy. We’ll have so much fun.
#entertainment
source
I want to make this very clear: I live alone, and I have no children.
I know that sounds like a strange thing to say, but I need you to understand this before I explain anything else.
Everything started a few weeks ago, when my job began taking over my life. I haven’t been home long enough to do much more than eat and sleep. Much to the dismay of my dog, Marcus, who misses our nightly games of fetch.
It was already dark when I pulled into the driveway of my humble two-story. I sighed deeply as I opened the front door and shut it behind me.
“Marcus! Where are you, boy?”
I heard him bark somewhere deeper in the house. Opening the coat closet, I hung up my jacket, ready for a few moments of relaxation before bed.
"Dad?"
I froze.
"Dad... is that you?"
I spun around to see a young woman, looking at me with a smile on her face. she was maybe eighteen and stood beside my couch as if she'd been waiting for me. She smiled like I was exactly who she'd expected to see.
“Did you have a good day, Dad?”
I backed up against the door
“What are you doing in my house?” I whispered
The girl tilted her head to the side.
“What?”
“Who are you?”
She chuckled awkwardly
“Come on, Dad. It's me, your daughter.”
I stared at her. She frowned
“Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything ok?”
She began to walk to me. I quickly turned and left the house, slamming the door behind me. I pulled out my phone and called 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Yes, someone broke into my house; they were waiting for me when I got home.”
The dispatcher took my name and home address before promising officers were on the way. I stood by my car until a squad car pulled up. Two officers got out.
“How are you doing, sir? Is everything alright?” the first officer called out
“No, everything’s not ‘alright.’ I came home and found a stranger inside my home!”
“Ok stay calm, sir,” the other officer said
“Have you ever seen this person before?”
“No, I have no clue who she is, but she kept calling me dad. I don’t have any kids.”
They nodded
“We’ll handle this, then you can get back to your evening.”
They walked to the front door, and I followed. Knocking firmly, the first officer loudly said
“Ma’am, open the door; it’s the police.”
There was movement inside, and before long a shadow was seen in the front door window. The door opened slowly, revealing the same girl from before, who was clearly nervous.
“Officers what’s wrong? Is everything ok?”
Her eyes found me standing behind the pair.
“Dad? What’s going on? Why are they here?”
One of the officers took a deep breath before speaking
“Ma’am, this gentleman says you broke into his home, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
Her voice grew panicked
“What the hell? I live here! Dad, tell them!”
The cops looked back at me
“I’ve never seen you before in my life!” I shouted
Her face looked like my words wounded her.
“Dad.. I..”
An officer interrupted her.
“Ma’am do you have anything proving you’re his daughter?”
“Yes! Just look at my home screen”
She handed her phone to him; he looked at it and passed it to me. It was a picture of the two of us, smiling. My arm wrapped around her as we both posed in front of the Statue of Liberty. I took that trip to New York City last year. Alone.
“Wha.. What is this?” I felt like I was in a dream.
I could feel the officer's eyes shift to me; the girl chimed in
“I can do even better; we have the same last name.”
She disappeared inside before returning half a minute later with her driver's license. The officer stared at it.
“Is this you’re last name, sir?”
It was.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered
The officers both turned to me, a sympathetic smile on their faces.
“Have you been feeling alright lately, sir?” one asked
“If you need to talk to someone, it's ok, there's no shame in it.” Said the other.
I was in a daze; the words sounded distant and jumbled like I was underwater. The girl spoke up.
“He’s ok, officers, just some really long days at work lately; he needs his rest, I’ll take care of him.”
She stepped out of the house and took my hand; hers was cold. She led me inside. My house didn’t feel like mine. As she led me deeper within, I began to notice things: the women’s shoes by the door, the pictures in the hallway highlighting happy moments we shared, Marcus coming up to greet her as if he always did. Once in the living room, she let go of my hand, turned, and hugged me; she was strangely cold and stiff; it felt like hugging a mannequin. She looked at me.
“I’m sorry you’re so tired; why don’t you go upstairs and head to bed? I can take Marcus out tonight.” Her voice was far too chipper.
I clenched my teeth and slowly nodded, making my way to the stairs. The staircase documented her whole life, from me holding her at her birth, to a high school graduation just a few weeks ago. Had I really been working so far that I forgot my own daughter? How could that be, and why couldn’t I remember her name?
It was true, I was tired, completely exhausted; I practically collapsed on the bed and was out. My alarm went off at 5:30 the next morning; a yawn and a stretch brought back the memories of the night before. A twinge of fear ran down my spine. I still didn’t remember my daughter. Cautiously, I opened the door. The house was quiet. I made my way to the staircase; the pictures were gone, the wall was bare. The stairs brought me to the living room; it was just the way I always remembered. Marcus raised his head to greet me as he lay on his bed. No women's shoes, no happy pictures of a father and his daughter. It was my house.
I ran my fingers through my hair and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Weird dream,” I muttered as I started some coffee.
That day I presented my project to management; they loved it. I was relieved it meant the weeks of long hours were over, for the time being. On the way home, I stopped by the store to pick up some junk food to celebrate. I pulled into the driveway, carrying my grocery bag in one hand. I unlocked the door and entered. Shutting the door behind me, I was greeted by a happy bark from Marcus. But right after his greeting came the high-pitched greeting of a young girl.
“Daddy! You’re home!!”
My body stiffened; I didn’t want to turn around, but I did.
She was a young blonde-haired little girl, no older than six. She giggled and laughed as she skipped her way to me, wrapping my legs in a strong hug. Her hug felt wrong.
“I missed you so much!”
“Did you have a good day? My day was great!”
I was dumbfounded; her eyes noticed the bag in my hand.
“What’s that?” She dug into it.
To my shock, all that was in the bag was a bright pink soccer ball. She gasped in delight as she grabbed it.
“Oh thank you, Daddy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank youuu! Now Marcus and I can play soccer!”
She ran off to the backyard with a bark; Marcus followed. The house looked like a child lived there. Toys dotted the floor, crude drawings covered the fridge. I blankly stared out the sliding glass door. Watching my dog happily play with my ‘daughter’. The little girl laughed and jumped around; for a moment, her eyes noticed my stare. Her face went blank, and her eyes narrowed as she stared back at me. This lasted only a few seconds, until the spell was broken by Marcus jumping on her and licking her face; she laughed and returned to playing.
That night I found myself making boxed mac and cheese and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. I felt like I was in a trance. Everything about my home, everything in my fridge, tried to convince me that I had a six-year-old daughter, but I didn’t; I knew that; why was I going along with it? Why didn’t I run away? Why didn’t I leave the house and never come back? I don’t know; I wanted to, but there I was scooping mac and cheese into the bowl in front of the stranger with a toothy grin.
“Thank you, Daddy.” The girl said
I wanted to scream; I wanted to kick this ‘daughter’ of mine out and lock the door. But instead I said
“You’re welcome.”
Soon came bedtime; the girl insisted that I read her a bedtime story, and read ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ with clammy hands. She was asleep before I finished the book. I stood at the door of my home office, which was now a child’s bedroom, and flipped the light off.
It was after midnight when I awoke to the sound of my bedroom door creaking open. I looked to the half-open door and the silhouette of a little girl that stood there. The shadowed figure stood there frozen for a moment before saying
“Daddy, I’m scared. Can I sleep with you?”
My mind screamed no, but my mouth said
“Sure, darling.”
The shape crawled into my bed and fell asleep; I remained awake. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because when the alarm went off, I woke up. The girl was gone, and the house showed no sign of her ever being there. No toys, no drawings, and no mac and cheese.
This continued for weeks; every morning, my life was the same it had always been: a working man and his dog. And at night, someone was pretending to be my daughter. It was always different; sometimes it was a teenager, sometimes a child, a few times it was a middle-aged woman, a few days ago it was an elderly woman who croaked out
“Dad? Is that you?” when I returned for the day.
I still don’t know why I stay; every morning it was so easy to convince myself that the night before was just a bizarre dream and wouldn’t happen again. But the moment I stepped inside, I was drawn back into the lie. Sometimes I could see through it; I’d be horrified to find myself finishing a Disney movie with a strange little girl snuggling against me or come to my senses in the middle of giving my elderly daughter a sponge bath. These moments of cognition always terrify me, but what scares me the most are the moments I don’t remember, the nights when I had no mental resistance but just hugged and laughed with my ‘daughter’.
Two days ago I tried to leave; after work, I drove to a hotel. I sat in my car staring at the lobby door. I wanted to go in; I really did. But a thought in the back of my mind overcame my desires; it told me my daughter missed me, that she needed me, and I had to go home. I tried to resist but soon realized I was already back in my driveway. Like a stringed puppet, I made my way to the door. My daughter stood in the entryway as I entered. She looked to be about five. Her eyes pierced me.
“You’re late, Daddy.”
“Yes, I know.” Something in me urged me to tell her where I had been; it took everything I had to lie.
“Traffic was bad.”
Her head tilted slightly; she continued to stare at me, and my eyes fell to the floor. After a long while, she said.
“Okay!” she forced a smile
“I’m hungry!”
I don’t remember anything else from that night. Morning came, and the house was again the memory of a life nearly forgotten. I fed Marcus, pulling him in close for a hug. I whispered to him.
“At least we’re in it together.”
I then headed to work.
The workday flew by, and before long I was driving back to my cell. I opened the front door. And called out
“I’m home.”
The house was quiet. Normally I got a happy bark from Marcus and a hello from my daughter. The house seemed empty; a strange smell filled the air. I made my way to the living room and my stomach dropped. There on the living room floor was the lifeless body of Marcus, deep red blood soaked into the surrounding carpet, his chest cavity was ripped wide open, and piles of intestines dotted the floor. I stared in disbelief before fear filled my gut. I had to get out of there. I turned back to the door, but froze. My ten-year-old daughter was standing between me and the door.
She held her hands behind her back; her clothes were stained with blood and guts, and her face was dripping blood. A wide smile filled her face; her teeth were stained red.
“I got hungry, Daddy.” A happy little voice said.
I held up my hands and backed up. My mind screamed, ‘What the hell did you do?’ my lips said
“Baby girl, are you okay? Did Marcus hurt you?”
She giggled and stepped closer.
I didn’t see the knife or maybe I did and didn’t care. She pulled it from behind her back, and the moment it made contact with my skin it was as if the trance was broken. Pain and clarity simultaneously filled my mind; I screamed as I looked at the long cut gushing blood from my forearm. The thing in front of me no longer looked like a little girl; I saw it for what it was. It was thin and grotesque, its arms far too long; it had no mouth, but as its empty eye sockets stared at me, the high-pitched scream of a little girl filled my mind.
I ran. The living room's sliding glass door was behind me, and before the thing could grab me, I had it open and ran off into the evening.
I’m writing this at work. I don’t know why I came here; I remember driving here last night and waiting in the parking lot until the sun rose and my coworkers showed up. my boss asked about the cut on my arm, something inside me forced a lie
“My dog scratched me.”
As I write this, I feel myself slipping; it’s almost quitting time.
Please help me.
My daughter needs me; she’s been so sad since Marcus passed away, but today I’m going to surprise her and take her to the pet shop to pick out a new puppy. We’ll have so much fun.
#entertainment
source
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