Flash Fiction Friday

Monitor

Sometimes I wake in the night and listen for something I know was there only a second ago. Standing beside my bed, watching me. And sometimes I roll over and check the camera on the baby monitor in my son’s room. When I’m not too afraid.

Because usually he’s there, sleeping peacefully beneath his blankets. But sometimes what lies in his crib looks nothing like him at all.

And sometimes it’s awake and watching me back.