Has anyone else's child started doing weird things after a new baby?

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Tyler started bringing me dead insects after Sarah was born.

Wilted flowers. Small rocks.

He'd place them next to her bassinet and whisper:

"For when she goes to sleep forever."

I thought it was just his way of showing love... until I found the list.

Hidden under his mattress. Written in crayon. In handwriting too advanced for a three-year-old:

"Ways to help Sarah go home:

No food for 3 days
Cold bath water
Pillow over face when Mommy sleeps"
Tyler couldn't even write his own name yet.

When I confronted him, he looked confused.

"What list, Mommy?"

That night, I heard him talking to someone.

"She's getting suspicious," he whispered. "We need to hurry."

I crept to his door.

Tyler was nodding at empty air.

Like someone was giving him instructions.

"Tyler, who are you talking to?"

"My friend. He says Sarah took his place. He was supposed to be born instead of her."

I installed cameras.

At 2 AM, Tyler would stand up. Walk to the corner. And have full conversations with nothing.

But on the audio...

I could hear two voices.

Tyler's baby voice. And something else. Deeper. Angry.

"Tomorrow night," the other voice said. "When they're both asleep. Take the pillow. Press down until she stops moving. Then I can have her body."

I pretended to sleep the next night.

At exactly 2 AM, Tyler's door creaked open.

I followed him to Sarah's nursery.

He was standing over her crib, holding his pillow.

"Do it now," I heard the voice whisper.

Tyler raised the pillow above Sarah's face.

"TYLER, NO!"

I grabbed him.

His eyes were completely black.

Not Tyler's brown eyes. Solid black.

"You're too late," he said in a voice that wasn't his. "I'm already here."

Tyler's body went limp.

When he opened his eyes again, they were brown. Normal. Confused.

"Mommy? Why am I in Sarah's room?"

We rushed to the hospital.

The doctors found nothing wrong.

But the psychiatrist showed me Tyler's drawings.

A boy standing in a grave. With Sarah's name on the headstone.

"Tyler, who is this boy?"

"That's me," he said happily. "After Sarah goes away. My friend promised I could be the only baby again."

That night, I sat in Sarah's room with a baseball bat.

At 2 AM, Tyler appeared in the doorway.

But he wasn't walking.

He was floating.

Three feet off the ground.

"You can't stop this," he said in that wrong voice. "I've been waiting in these walls for twenty years. Sarah's body is young. Perfect for me."

Tyler floated to Sarah's crib.

"I died in this house. In this very room. When it was my nursery. And I've been so lonely."

Tyler reached into the crib.

Sarah's eyes opened.

She looked directly at Tyler.

And smiled.

Not a baby smile.

Something ancient. Evil.

"Hello, brother," Sarah said in a voice like grinding glass. "I've been waiting for you too."

Tyler stumbled backward.

"No," the voice whispered through him. "You're supposed to be empty. I was going to fill you."

Sarah sat up in her crib.

A two-month-old baby. Sitting up perfectly straight.

"This body already has an owner," she said. "Someone much older than you. Much stronger."

Tyler started screaming.

The other voice. Terrified.

"She's not a baby!" it shrieked. "She's something else! Something that's been waiting much longer!"

Sarah stood up in her crib.

"I've been dead for a hundred years," she said calmly. "This house is mine. And you're just a pest."

She pointed at Tyler.

Tyler collapsed.

When he woke up, he was normal again.

No memory of anything.

But Sarah never acted like a baby again.

She walks. She talks. She stares at me with ancient eyes.

And sometimes, late at night, I hear her laughing.

Not baby giggles.

The laugh of something very old.

Very hungry.