She heard her dead husband’s voice through the baby monitor… But the “ghost” had a very living agenda.
Emma froze in the kitchen, her coffee mug slipping from trembling fingers. Through the baby monitor, David’s voice whispered clear as day: “Don’t trust him.”
Her husband had been dead for three months.
“Mommy’s just hearing things, sweetheart,” she whispered to six-month-old Lily, but her hands shook as she climbed the stairs.
The nursery was empty. Lily slept peacefully in her crib, the monitor’s red light blinking innocently.
“David?” Emma’s voice cracked. “David, if that’s you—”
“Don’t trust him,” the voice repeated, static-filled but unmistakably her husband’s tone.
Emma stumbled backward, heart hammering. She’d been grieving, stressed about money, about Marcus constantly pressuring her to sell the house. Was she losing her mind?
The next morning, Marcus knocked on her door with coffee and his usual concerned smile.
“You look terrible, Em. Another bad night?”
“I heard David’s voice,” she said quietly.
Marcus’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. “What?”
“Through the baby monitor. He said not to trust someone.”
“Emma, honey, you need help. Professional help. This house is too much for you. The memories, the stress—”
“Don’t trust him.”
Both of them froze. The voice drifted down from upstairs, clear and cold.
Marcus went pale. “That’s… that’s impossible.”
Emma watched his face carefully. Something flickered in his eyes—not shock, but panic.
“Unless you know something I don’t,” she said slowly.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Marcus backed toward the door. “I should go. You’re obviously having some kind of breakdown.”
But Emma was already pulling out her phone, dialing 911.
“I need to report harassment and possible breaking and entering,” she told the dispatcher, never taking her eyes off Marcus. “Someone’s been using electronic devices to torment me.”
“Emma, don’t be ridiculous—”
“My brother-in-law has been pressuring me to sell my house for months,” she continued into the phone. “Now I’m hearing my dead husband’s voice warning me not to trust him.”
Marcus’s face crumbled. “You don’t understand. I need this sale. I’m in debt, serious debt. If I don’t get my commission—”
“So you thought you’d drive me insane?”
“It was just supposed to scare you a little. Make you think the house was haunted. People pay good money for Bluetooth voice devices that can hack baby monitors.”
The police arrived within minutes. They found the small device hidden behind Lily’s bookshelf, still connected to Marcus’s phone.
“Marcus Williams, you’re under arrest for stalking, harassment, and attempted fraud,” the officer announced.
As they led him away in handcuffs, Marcus looked back desperately. “Emma, please. I’m family. David would want you to forgive me.”
Emma held Lily closer, watching the police car disappear down the street.
“No,” she said quietly. “David would want me to protect our daughter.”
She disconnected the baby monitor and threw it in the trash. Some voices from the past were better left unheard.
The house felt peaceful for the first time in months. Just her, Lily, and the future they’d build together—no ghosts, no manipulation, just truth.
Marcus got eighteen months for stalking and fraud. Emma kept the house and started a blog about widow scams, helping other women recognize the warning signs.
David’s real voice—the one in her memories—had always told her to trust her instincts. She finally listened.
