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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Interesting-Ad1848 on 2026-06-04 19:53:59+00:00.

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I want to start by saying my daughter is a completely normal kid. She's four. She draws horses that look like lumpy clouds, she asks why the sky is blue at least three times a week even though we've answered it, and her current thing is stickers. She puts them on everything. I found one on the bathroom mirror this morning. She is not a weird child, she is not an anxious child, she does not watch things she isn't supposed to watch. I want all of that on the record before I tell you what happened.

She was at the kitchen table when I came downstairs. She does this every morning, just gets herself set up with a piece of paper and her crayon box before anyone else is even awake. I'm used to walking down to find her mid-drawing, totally focused, not even noticing I'm there. I made coffee. She slid a piece of paper across the table at me without looking up.

It was our house. She draws it the same every time. Same boxy shape, same lopsided chimney in the corner that she's weirdly proud of. Our family lined up in front of it in a row. Stick figures with her little scribbled attempt at our names floating above each head.

I counted the figures.

Six.

I have three kids. My wife and I make five.

I counted again. Still six.

The extra figure was at the back, half tucked behind the house like it was leaning out from behind the wall. It was taller than all the others. She'd drawn it in black crayon and pressed down hard enough that the paper had torn slightly along some of the lines. She hadn't put a name above it.

I sat down across from her.

"Hey," I said. "Who's this one?"

She didn't look up from what she was working on.

"That's the one who watches from the yard," she said.

I kept my voice even. "What do you mean, watches from the yard?"

"At night," she said. Like it was obvious. "When you turn the lights off. She stands out in the yard and watches the windows."

I asked her what the figure looked like. She, I said, because my daughter had said she without hesitating.

My daughter looked up at me then. She does this thing when she thinks you're being slow about something, where she tilts her head a little to the side.

"She looks like Mom," she said. "But her eyes are wrong."

I picked up the drawing and went upstairs.

My wife was still in bed. I sat on the edge and handed her the picture without saying anything. I watched her look at it. Watched her face.

She went quiet in a way that wasn't normal quiet.

"I had a dream last week," she said. Her voice was slower than usual. "I was standing in the backyard. It was nighttime. I was looking up at the house, at the windows. Looking in at all of you." She stopped for a second. "I didn't think it was a dream."

We haven't said anything to the kids. I've been checking the locks at night. I don't know what else to do with this. I don't know how my four-year-old knew what my wife dreamed, or whether she did know somehow, or whether there's something else going on that I don't want to think about too hard.

The drawing is still on the kitchen table. I haven't moved it. I don't really want to touch it again.