A Moonmausoleum original based on the well known urban legend

A girl was babysitting in a house in the neighborhood. It was all the way at the end of the street, but she had babysat for the same kids in the same house for years, and was used to it. It was her second home. She was sitting one evening doing her homework. The kids were already asleep and she waited for the parents to come home from their party. They had told her they would be late.

Her phone rang and she picked up, hoping it was the parents, telling her they were on their way home. She answered.


Nothing. It was silent. She listened for a couple of seconds.

“Hello? Who’s there?” she asked again, annoyed now. No answer. She hangs up, getting back into her homework that is due tomorrow. It rings again.


“Hallo? Who is this?” she asks, angry. A whispering voice.

“You should check on the children,” the voice says. She freezes.

“W-who is this?” she asks, more afraid now than anything.

There is no answer and the voice hangs up. She bolts out of the chair and runs upstairs. The kids are sleeping soundly in their beds. She goes backstairs again, shaken. She can’t focus on the homework again. She walks around the house, making sure every lock is on, every window is closed and the curtains are for. She blocks the number and sits on the couch, just listening. But the phone doesn’t ring. The screen lights up, notifying her on a mail she just received. She opens it.

black and white hand opening a door

“You should check on the children,” it reads. She calls her friend.

“Hello, what’s up?”

“Are you pranking me?” she asks, afraid and angry, all mixed up.

“What, no? What are you talking about?”

“An unknown caller kept calling me, knowing I am babysitting.”

“What? Have you called the police?”

“You think I should?”

“Yeah, you really should.”

“And someone sent an e-mail. I have never heard about this e-mail address before.”

“Have you checked the ip-adress?”

“What? Know, how do I do that?”

“Forward the mail, I’ll do it now.”

She forwards the mail, still on the phone. She can hear something upstairs and curses. She has woken the children. That is the last thing she needs right now.


“Are you there?” the friend says.

“Yeah,” she answers, worried. It’s something about her friend’s voice. It’s sort of uneven, sort of. Terrified.

“You need to get out.”

“What, why?”

The sound upstairs is getting louder. It can’t be the children, they are too small.

“The IP-address. I traced it. It leads right back at your house. Were you are, right now!”

The sound is growing louder. It’s the sound of heavy footsteps down the stairs.

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