When my 8-year-old son whispered that someone was watching him at night, I blamed nightmares and shadows. But after weeks of fear, I hid a camera in his room. What I saw at 3:17 a.m. made my blood run cold and changed how I saw my family forever.
Not the big kind. Not the kind that comes with sirens or hospital calls in the middle of the night. I mean the ordinary kind that comes with raising a child on your own instincts, hoping you are doing enough and not missing something important.
My son, Sam, is eight, and he has always had a vivid imagination. He turns shadows into dragons, creaks into secret messages, and rainy nights into adventure stories.
I used to love that about him.
Then he started saying something that made my skin crawl.
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