Her smile was so big that it looked like her cheeks would break. In her dreams, she had imagined a million times how her little hands would wrap around her baby sister. Lina’s vivid red suspenders were significantly different from the yellow blanket that covered the infant. But she didn’t care about how things looked or what color they were. She was quite happy to be the older sister.
I fell back on the hospital bed, tired and in pain, with stitches and hormones running through me. My heart was both strong and feeble. For four chaotic years, Lina was our only child, and every night she kissed my big belly. “Is she here yet?” she would inquire every morning with huge eyes and excitement. “The baby was finally here.” I thought that maybe everything would be well now.
Lina leaned in gently, and her face was so near to her sister’s little nose that it almost touched. When her voice dropped to a whisper, it seemed like she was telling them a secret.
“Now I have someone to tell my secrets to,” she said.
I blinked in shock. “Secrets?”
She grinned and nodded. “Like the ones I don’t tell Dad.”
She glanced up at me with her big brown eyes and whispered, “It’s okay.” Before I could ask her what she meant, she said it. She won’t say anything either.
I made myself laugh, even though my chest felt like it was getting tighter. I said without thinking, “Well, babies can’t talk yet.” “But what kind of secrets?”
She thought about it for a moment, then kissed her sister on the forehead and sprang out of the chair. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Can I have a cookie?”
Back then, it appeared like nothing more than a child’s innocent fantasy. Lina was constantly full of ideas. She told stories about a dragon named Toffee and said that God’s pillows were clouds. But those words lingered with me and made me think of a question that I didn’t utter out loud.
That night, I didn’t tell James about it. I didn’t want to bother him with funny child whispering because Lina, the baby, and I were all getting well. His job was hard.
Two days later, Elsie arrived home, and Lina was the best big sister ever. She gave the baby diapers, sung nice lullabies, and told the toy giraffe to keep quiet while the baby slept. But after that first mention, no one remembered the “secrets.” I thought that too.
It was a damp Tuesday two months later when the whispering started again. I was half-asleep on the couch nursing Elsie when I heard Lina talking softly in the other room. She was having fun with her playhouse.
“No, we don’t tell Daddy.” That’s just how it is.
She was facing away from me and carrying dolls in both hands. She spoke in a calm and firm voice.
“Why can’t we tell Dad?” I asked, sitting up.
She turned around quickly, too quickly, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. “Nothing!” Things for dolls.
I laughed and said, “Hmm, you do have a lot of rules for dolls.”
“They have to follow them,” she said under her breath, and then she ran to her room.
Later that night, I told James. I said in a low voice, “She keeps telling me not to tell you things.”
He frowned. “Like what?”
“Not sure. “Secrets,” she said. Elsie has to keep them too. She even told her dolls not to tell you today.
James laughed. “She is four. It probably means something simple, like “I got an extra cookie” or “I didn’t brush my teeth.”
“Yes, maybe,” I answered, but I still felt uneasy.
A week passed by, and I heard Lina and Elsie talking on a blanket outside while I watered the hydrangeas nearby. I heard her say this while I was pretending to take care of the plants:
“Don’t forget to tell Daddy that the monster only comes when he’s not there.”
I felt my heart stop.
I went over. “What monster, Lina?”
She looked like I had caught her in a lie. “Just do it.” For our game.
“You said it only comes when Dad isn’t there.”
“Yes, those are the days we were heroes.” We fight it.
I sat next to her and tried to be calm. “What does the monster look like?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Big. In the dark. No face. Sometimes the thing bangs on the windows, and other times it hides in the kitchen.
I put a smile on my face. “You have a great imagination.”
“Elsie sees it too,” she whispered softly as she patted her sister’s belly.
That night, I didn’t get much sleep. James worked late at a call center two nights a week, and I continued whispering everything Lina had said.
I whispered, “Sweetie, do you ever hear strange noises when Daddy isn’t home?” “What games do you and Elsie play when Mommy is in the shower?”
She would tell stories like talking lights or flying socks, and then she would stop or change the subject.
I put a baby monitor in the hallway that can see in the dark and pick up on movement. James teased me for being too protective.
I could have been.
But three nights later, I saw something on the screen.
It was about 11:00 PM. I watched Lina on TV till she calmed down since she was restless. The hallway was dark because all the doors were closed. Lina unexpectedly appeared outside our bedroom door in her pajamas.
She didn’t knock on the door. She stood there for approximately fifteen minutes without moving.
After that, she turned around and went back to her room.
The next day, I asked her whether she had a bad dream.
“Nope,” she said as she ate her oatmeal.
“Did you come to our room last night?”
“No, Eyes Squ estimated.”
But I knew what I had seen.
That night, I looked through her room to feel more in control. Under her pillow was a piece of paper that had been folded.
Even though the lines were rough, it was evident that she had drawn on it.
There was a huge, dark figure with no face behind what looked like our kitchen table.
There are two miniature individuals next to it, one in red suspenders and the other in yellow.
Written in small letters below: “Don’t let him have her.”
My blood ran cold.
I showed it to James, and he turned white. “This is bad.”
“She says it’s a game.” But she did it herself.
He said, “We should talk to a professional.” A child psychologist. She might be apprehensive or on edge.
I agreed, and we made plans to meet the next week.
But we never made it.
Three days later, Lina was gone.
It was Sunday morning. We saw Lina dancing with her stuffed duck fifteen minutes before that. I cooked breakfast while James changed Elsie’s diaper.
Then there was silence.
No footsteps, no sounds, no sign.
We looked in every room, closet, and corner. The doors were locked, and the back gate was sealed tight.
We were in a panic.
They called the police. The area was exhaustively examined by dogs and drones.
Nothing at all.
Four hours later, when the search crews were going to tear down our garden shed, James unlocked it. There she was.
Holding Elsie close while sitting on the floor.
We didn’t notice that Elsie had gone out with her.
I couldn’t stand anymore, and tears flowed down my face.
James’s face showed how happy he was as he hurried inside with both girls.
I sat next to Lina on her bed once she calmed down.
“Why, sweetheart?” I questioned softly. “Why did you take Elsie?” “Why did you stay hidden?”
Her face got serious. “The monster said he’d take her if I didn’t hide her.”
My hands were shaking.
I asked in a hushed voice, “Did anyone come into the house?”
“No.” He doesn’t need doors.
I wasn’t sure what to think.
That week, Lina saw a psychologist for two hours.
He observed, “She’s smart and creative, but she seems anxious and maybe hurt.”
“Trauma?” James asked. “From what?”
The therapist took a break for a moment. “Did someone scare her? Did you hurt her? “Is anyone close to family?”
We shook our heads.
“She can’t stop thinking about this ‘monster’ because she thinks it’s her job to protect her sister.” It’s a lot for a kid her age to deal with.
That night, James and I didn’t sleep.
The next day, Lina and I went to get ice cream by ourselves. We had a good time in the park.
I whispered to her as she finished her cone, “Sweetheart, this monster… does he look like anyone you know?”
She looked down and, after a long time, said softly, “He smells like Daddy.”
What I witnessed was hard to believe.
“He doesn’t look like Daddy,” she said. “But he does sound like him sometimes.” Like when Dad yells at the TV or bangs on the door.
I couldn’t get any air. “Has Daddy ever scared you?”
She shook her head. “Only when you’re not here.”
That night, I faced James.
He lost it and revealed the full tale.
He began drinking when I was pregnant. He barely had a drink or two, but that was enough to make him lose control while I wasn’t home or was sleeping.
He told Lina that he yelled at her and even gripped her wrist too hard once when she dropped something.
He yelled, “She never told me.” “I didn’t think she would remember.”
But she did. She remembered everything.
In her scared and confused mind, she turned him into a monster.
James left that night.
He began to receive aid. Lina started going to therapy.
It took a long time, but the recovery did happen.
Lina stopped drawing monsters with no faces and disclosing secrets.
She laughed again.
James visits every Saturday with supervision. He hasn’t had a drink in half a year.
When I was putting Lina to bed one night, she looked at me and said, “I don’t need to keep secrets anymore.”
My heart broke and got better at the same moment.
The monsters aren’t always hiding under the bed. They’re in the individuals we love.
People may change. Kids also require families where there are no secrets.
If this story moved you, please share it. A child could be whispering something that someone else is hiding behind.