Like a small fist, knocking five times on the door.
The video glitched. For a single frame, the camera swung around to face its own lens. And staring directly into the feed, as if he had always been there, was a small boy with empty eyes and a perfect, dark handprint pressed against the glass from the inside .
He should close the browser. He knew that. Instead, he hit the audio button. intitle webcam 5
Leo leaned closer to his monitor. The room was still, save for a single detail.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
For a moment, nothing. Then, a sound like wet breathing, and a small, distant voice—not from the nursery, but from somewhere inside his own speakers—whispered, "Five more minutes, mister. You said five more minutes."
A small handprint. It was on the wall, just beside the door. It wasn't drawn in paint or crayon. It was dark, almost liquid, and it was slowly, very slowly, sliding down the plaster, leaving a fresh streak behind it. Like a small fist, knocking five times on the door
The handprint was gone. But now, the door was slightly open. A sliver of darkness, where before it had been shut tight.