“A mother’s worst nightmare: The chilling moment a simple phone call turns into a fight for survival. 😱📱”

… “He’s not walking right, Mommy. He’s walking on the ceiling.”

My blood ran cold. I spun around, expecting to see nothing—expecting this to be a fever hallucination or a twisted prank. But my breath hitched in my throat.

My husband was there. But he wasn’t standing on the floor. He was perched in the upper corner of the room, his limbs bent at sickening, impossible angles, clinging to the walls like a spider. His head was twisted all the way around, facing us.

He was smiling. But it wasn’t a human smile; it was too wide, stretching the corners of his mouth until the skin looked ready to tear.

“David?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The thing that looked like my husband tilted its head, a sharp crack echoing through the silent house.

“David is sleeping,” it rasped, using a voice that sounded like my husband’s, but distorted, as if spoken through a fan. “I am New Dad.”

Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was a text from my husband’s number.

Hey babe. Woke up feeling awful. Went to the urgent care down the street while Toby was napping. They’re keeping me for observation. Is Toby okay? I’m worried about him being home alone.

I looked from the phone back up to the corner of the ceiling. The creature dropped from the wall with a wet thud, landing on all fours, blocking the hallway. Its eyes were pitch black.

“Time to play,” it hissed.

I didn’t think. I grabbed the heavy lamp from the side table, hurled it at the thing, and scooped Toby up in my arms. I smashed through the patio door and didn’t stop running until I reached the neighbor’s house. We never went back. I don’t know what I married a month ago, but I know the real David never came home from urgent care, and the thing in our house is still waiting for us to return.