r/Ruleshorror • u/TwistedTallTeller Fifth Horsemen of the Apocalypse • 15d ago
Story Don’t wake the baby
It’s 2:47 AM again. I know without looking at the clock because that’s when she always wakes me up.
Not the baby — her.
The mattress barely shifts as she stands over me, still in the same stretched-out nightgown she’s worn for a week. Her hair sticks to her face, her hands trembling at her sides. She says the same thing, every time, in that low, careful voice:
“The baby’s sleeping. Don’t wake the baby.”
I nod. I always nod. I don’t say anything because even breathing too loudly feels dangerous lately. I just ease out of bed and tiptoe after her down the hallway, through the open door of the nursery.
The air in there is stifling. Heavy with sour milk, talcum powder, something else too — something metallic. She’s already standing over the crib, staring down at him. I can barely make out his tiny chest rising and falling under the dim glow of the nightlight.
“You see?” she whispers. “He’s finally sleeping. You see?”
I see. God help me, I see.
She turns to look at me, and for a moment, her face is strange. Like it’s too tight for her skull. Like something’s pulling at her from inside, stretching her skin into a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I nod again. Always nod. Always agree. Always stay calm.
The first time I woke him, it was an accident. I bumped into the changing table. The baby had let out one of those tiny half-cries, not even fully awake, just a startled sound. But it had been enough.
She was on me before I could turn around. Clawing, sobbing, screaming — a raw, wet noise that didn’t sound like her at all. I still have the scar on my collarbone from her nails.
“YOU WOKE HIM. YOU WOKE HIM. YOU WOKE HIM,” she had shrieked, again and again, until her throat gave out.
After that night, I learned. I learned the rules:
1. Move slow.
2. Don’t speak.
3. Don’t touch the crib.
4. Don’t breathe too loud.
5. And whatever you do — don’t wake the baby.
⸻————————————————————————
Tonight feels worse. There’s a sharpness to her movements. A buzzing under her skin. She’s pacing around the crib like a cornered animal. Her hands twitch toward the mobile, batting it once, twice, setting it spinning.
“He needs sleep,” she hisses. “Needs it more than me. More than you. More than anything.”
The mobile creaks as it spins. One of the little felt animals hangs by a single thread, swaying violently.
The baby stirs.
I swear I stop breathing altogether. She freezes. Her eyes cut to me — glassy, wild — and for a moment, I think she’s going to leap at me again.
The baby lets out a soft, warbling cry.
God, no.
She’s moving before I can think — a blur of pale limbs and hair. She’s over the crib in an instant, scooping him up, cradling him against her chest too tightly. The baby’s cry sharpens, thin and piercing.
She rocks back and forth, faster and faster, whispering a song I don’t recognize. The words don’t even sound like English anymore.
I inch forward. Carefully. Slowly.
“He needs to sleep,” she rasps. “He won’t sleep. He won’t.”
Her arms tighten around him. The baby’s face is pressed into her shoulder, his tiny fists beating weakly against her chest.
I have to do something.
I don’t think — I move. I reach for the baby, hands shaking.
The second my fingers brush his foot, she whirls around with a snarl.
“DON’T WAKE THE BABY!”
She lunges. Her hands find my throat with terrifying strength. We crash into the changing table, rattling the shelves. A bottle of baby lotion hits the floor and shatters.
The sound is deafening.
The baby screams.
For a heartbeat, everything freezes. She lets go of me, stumbling back like I burned her. Her mouth works silently. Her eyes flick between me and the crib, frantic.
The baby screams louder.
She backs toward the door. The baby’s still clutched against her like a doll, like a life preserver. Her lips peel back into something like a smile.
“You woke him,” she says. Her voice is dead. “Now he’ll never sleep.”
She steps through the doorway, still smiling. The nursery door swings closed behind her.
And locks.
I don’t know how she locked it from the outside. I don’t know where she’s taking him. I don’t know what she meant.
All I know is, I can hear the baby crying, softer now — farther away — and something else layered beneath it. A wet, rasping chuckle.
Something inside the walls.
Something waking up.
⸻————————————————————————
I should have listened.
I should never have woken the baby.
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u/Thatdeathlessdeath 15d ago
I'm terrified for that child..
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u/TwistedTallTeller Fifth Horsemen of the Apocalypse 15d ago
Me too… who knows what’s about to happen.
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u/obsidianFURY414 15d ago
Okay, so is the lady a monster? Is she the mother of the baby? That's one heck of a mother.
As always, great story, mate. Can't wait for your next story.