The Shadow in the Nursery

Hina had dreamed of motherhood for years. When she finally held her baby daughter, Maryam, in her arms, she felt a joy so complete that she believed no darkness could touch her life again. Their house, a quiet two-story cottage on the edge of the city, seemed like the perfect place to raise a child. Nothing about it felt threatening during the day—sunlight poured through the windows, birds chirped in the yard, and neighbors waved as they walked by. But at night, the house changed.

It began slowly. The first night after bringing Maryam home, Hina thought she saw movement from the corner of her eye. The nursery door, which she had closed tightly, seemed to sway slightly, though the latch was secure. She told herself it was exhaustion, that the mind plays tricks when the body is running on adrenaline and lack of sleep. But even as she tried to convince herself, she felt it—an uncomfortable presence lingering in the room, something that did not belong to the baby, to the furniture, or to the walls.

By the third night, Maryam had begun waking in the middle of the night. She would cry inconsolably, pointing at one corner of the nursery with tiny, trembling fingers. Hina and her husband, Adeel, assumed it was the normal fear that comes when children are adjusting to new surroundings. Yet every time they entered the room, nothing was there. The shadows on the walls were ordinary shapes cast by the moonlight—or so they tried to believe.

Then Hina started seeing it more clearly. A shadow, darker than the rest, lingered in the corner of the nursery. It did not move like a person; it shifted in ways that made no sense, condensing and stretching, almost aware of her presence. She would glance away, hoping her eyes were playing tricks, only to find it closer the next time she looked. Sometimes it felt like it was watching her even when she wasn’t in the room. A chill would settle over her shoulders, a coldness that no blanket could chase away.

One night, she woke to the sound of Maryam laughing softly. It was strange because the baby’s crib was empty. Hina’s heart pounded as she rushed into the nursery.

Hina screamed, rushing to the crib. The moment she touched her daughter, the shadow recoiled as if startled, slipping into the corner and freezing. Maryam clutched her mother’s hand, smiling innocently, but the feeling of being watched remained. Hina and Adeel could not sleep after that. They began searching online for explanations—ghosts, sleep paralysis, or some psychic residue tied to the house’s history. The previous owner had vanished mysteriously, leaving the nursery untouched for months. Hina wondered if that absence had left something behind.

Over the next few weeks, the shadow became bolder. Doors creaked open on their own, baby toys moved across the floor without anyone touching them, and the baby’s laughter often continued when no one else was in the room. Hina’s reflection in the mirror would sometimes show the shadow standing just behind her, taller than she remembered, with an indistinct, twisted shape that seemed to pulse. Adeel remained skeptical but could no longer deny the strange occurrences. Even the dog refused to enter the nursery at night, whining and growling at something invisible.

One evening, Hina found a photo hidden under the crib. It was yellowed and old, showing a small child standing in the same nursery corner—smiling—but with eyes dark and hollow. Scribbled in faint handwriting on the back were the words: “I am still here. Don’t take her.” A chill ran down Hina’s spine. She realized that this shadow was not just an ordinary haunting. It had a purpose. It wanted Maryam, or at least to scare her family into submission.

Terrified but determined, Hina and Adeel tried to protect the baby. They moved the crib, blocked the corners with furniture, sprinkled salt in every doorway, and even recited prayers aloud, but nothing worked. The shadow would shift, finding new ways to enter their vision, always keeping its focus on Maryam. Every night it grew stronger, as if feeding on their fear, pulsing and stretching closer with every passing hour.

Eventually, Hina understood that the shadow was patient. It could wait. It had waited for the previous child. And now it had found another.