This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Elegant_Butterfly_26 on 2024-11-07 20:52:47+00:00.

It started just after we moved in. Nothing dramatic at first - just my four-year-old Liam talking about “the man with no eyes.”

“Mommy, he was in my room again,” he said over breakfast, pushing his Cheerios around. I did what any mom would do - told him it was just a dream. But Liam wouldn’t let it go.

“No, he’s real. He stands in the corner and watches me. Even without eyes, he sees everything.”

Every morning brought another story about the man. I kept telling myself it was just the stress of moving, that kids get weird about new houses. The price had been surprisingly low, but in this market, I hadn’t questioned our luck. But then one morning, Liam said something that made my skin crawl.

“He told me his name,” Liam whispered, clutching his dinosaur. “He says he’s called Michael. He says he’s lonely here. He wants someone to watch with him.”

Michael. The name stopped me cold. The previous owner had been Michael - just another name buried in the paperwork I’d barely glanced at. The realtor had mentioned he’d moved out suddenly, leaving most of his furniture behind. But hearing that name from Liam’s mouth felt wrong.

Things got worse. Liam stopped sleeping through the night. He’d wake up crying, saying Michael was getting closer. First the corner, then the foot of his bed, then right next to his pillow. He started talking about “the watching game” - how Michael wanted him to watch things with him, all the time, never blinking, never stopping.

One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited outside his door after bedtime, listening. At 3 AM, I heard him.

“Please… please don’t come closer. I don’t want to play the watching game anymore.”

His voice was so small.

I burst in and hit the lights. Liam was huddled against his headboard, tears running down his face, staring at the corner by his toy chest.

“He’s still there,” he whimpered, grabbing my nightgown. “He doesn’t like the light, but he’s still there. I can see where his eyes should be. He says if I keep watching with him, I’ll see everything too.”

I called the realtor the next morning. To hell with the mortgage - we needed out. She seemed unsurprised, almost like she’d been expecting my call.

We packed in a rush, throwing everything into boxes. As we drove away, I felt like I could breathe again. Then Liam looked out the window.

“Mommy… Michael says he’s sad you’re leaving. He says he liked it better when he wasn’t alone. He needs someone to watch with.”

Days later, I couldn’t help myself. I waited until Liam was playing with his blocks and looked up our old house. The first result made my heart stop - a news article from just six months ago about Michael Andrews, the previous owner.

Police had found him in the crawl space after neighbors complained about a smell. They’d ruled it a suicide, but the details were strange. He’d been a night security guard at an art gallery, and his final log entry mentioned “learning to see everything” and “watching without eyes.” They found him surrounded by photographs of people sleeping, watching, always watching. His body was mutilated, especially his eyes. In his final note, he wrote about achieving “true sight” and needing to “share it with others.” I slammed the laptop shut, but the damage was done.

I must have made some sound, because Liam looked up at me then. His smile was… different. Wrong.

“Michael says we’re his new family now,” Liam whispered, still smiling that awful smile. “He followed us here because he needs us to learn to watch like he does. He says once you start watching, you can never stop.”

That night, I caught Liam staring at me while I slept. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Watching. Always watching.