Ghost Story

Don't turn on the lights tonight. Coming home late after working overtime, I found my wife standing motionless by the crib. "Did the baby finally fall asleep?" I asked softly. She slowly turned her head, her face deathly pale: "Shh... the crib... it's empty..." As I walked closer, dark red bloodstains were seeping from under the bedding. Just then, my wife's gentle humming came from the bedroom— I tiptoed and pushed the door open. The living room was dark, with only a shadow cast from the crib area. My wife stood stiffly by the crib railing, her back to me. "Did the baby finally fall asleep?" I lowered my voice, afraid of waking the baby. She slowly turned around, her face like a crumpled piece of white paper, her lips trembling: "Shh... come look..." I walked over and peered into the crib—the bedding was bunched up, and dark red liquid was seeping out, dripping onto the wooden floor. "Blood?" My scalp tingled. I reached out to lift the covers. "Don't move!" she screamed, grabbing my wrist tightly. "The bed is empty... we don't have a baby..." I froze. That's right, we'd been married for five years, and we never had a child. Then... who was humming in the bedroom just now? I turned my head and saw, through the crack of the bedroom door, a long-haired woman holding a swaddled infant, gently rocking it and humming an off-key lullaby. And my wife was standing beside me, ice-cold.