At first, I thought David was just being fussy.

He had always been fine with Linda, our babysitter. She was in her 60s, soft-spoken, always carrying around that old grey cat of hers. She had been watching him for months without a problem.

But then, out of nowhere, he started crying every time she came over. Clinging to me. Begging me not to leave.

I asked him what was wrong, but he just shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I don’t like her,” he whispered. “She’s mean.”

That didn’t make sense. Linda had always been so gentle, so patient.

Still, something in my gut told me to check.

That night, after putting David to bed, I pulled up the nanny cam footage from earlier. I expected to see nothing. Maybe she was just being a little firm with him? Maybe he was misunderstanding something?

But then I saw her.

Sitting in the rocking chair, her grey cat curled in her lap.

David was standing in front of her, eyes wide, shoulders tense. And Linda… she was smiling.

Then she leaned forward, gripping the cat a little tighter, and said something in a low, slow whisper.

I turned the volume up.

And when I heard the words, my blood ran cold.

“If you don’t behave, my cat will steal your breath in your sleep.”

My stomach twisted. My fingers trembled over the laptop keyboard.

David flinched in the footage, his little hands gripping his shirt.

“N-No, he won’t,” he whimpered.

Linda smiled wider. “Oh, but he will,” she said, stroking the cat’s back. “He likes little boys who don’t listen to their elders.”

I slammed the laptop shut, my breath shallow, heart pounding.

How could I have missed this?

She had been babysitting him for months.

How long had this been going on?

I felt sick.

My hands clenched into fists as anger swelled inside me.

That woman had been terrorizing my son, filling his head with nightmares, and I had left him with her.

I barely slept that night.

By morning, I had already made up my mind—Linda was never coming back.

I called her first thing, my voice tight and controlled. “We won’t be needing your services anymore.”

She barely reacted.

“Oh? Is everything alright?” Her tone was light, almost amused.

I swallowed my anger. “Yes. We’ve just decided to make some changes.”

A pause.

Then, that soft, patronizing chuckle. “Alright, dear. If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

My skin crawled.

I hung up.

I blocked her number.

I thought that was the end of it.

But I was wrong.

That night, David had a nightmare.

I rushed to his room after hearing him scream. He was sitting up in bed, shaking, his tiny hands clutching his blanket.

I wrapped my arms around him. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I promise.”

He sobbed into my shoulder. “Mommy… I saw the cat.”

My heart lurched. “What do you mean, baby?”

He hiccupped, rubbing his eyes. “He was sitting at the window. He was staring at me.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Linda’s cat? That was impossible.

I walked over to the window and peered outside.

Nothing.

Just the empty street, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

Still, something about his words unsettled me.

I tried to shake it off, reminding myself that kids have wild imaginations.

But when I walked outside the next morning to take out the trash, I stopped cold.

There, on the porch, was a small pile of dead leaves.

And right in the center of them…

A dead bird.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

I knew it had to be Linda.

A sick message. A warning.

I wanted to report her. But what would I even say?

“Hi, my babysitter told my son a creepy story, then left a dead bird on my porch”?

Even if she had done it, there was no proof.

So instead, I did the only thing I could.

I made sure David knew he was safe.

We got rid of every reminder of Linda—his old toys at her house, the books she used to bring him.

And slowly, he started sleeping through the night again.

He stopped looking over his shoulder.

He started smiling again.

And I swore—I would never ignore my gut feeling again.

Life moved on.

David was thriving. I hired a new babysitter—a kind, young woman named Carla who treated David like family.

One day, I was at the grocery store when I heard two women talking in hushed voices near the dairy aisle.

“…did you hear about Linda?”

My ears perked up.

“She got arrested.”

I turned sharply.

“What happened?” I asked, barely containing my curiosity.

The woman frowned. “Oh, she was reported for neglecting some animals. A neighbor found her cat dead in the backyard… turns out she had a bunch of others locked in cages. Malnourished, sick. It was horrible.”

I stared at her, my heart pounding.

Linda—who had once threatened my son with her cat—had lost the very thing she used to scare him.

Karma.

I felt a strange mix of relief and something else—closure.

And then, something even stranger happened.

A week later, Carla showed up to our house with a small, rescued kitten in her arms.

“David’s been doing so well,” she said with a smile. “And I was thinking… maybe it’s time he had a pet. A real one. One that loves him.”

David’s eyes lit up.

And in that moment, I realized—maybe everything had led us here.

We took in that kitten.

David named him Lucky.

And for the first time since Linda, I felt peace.

If something feels off—trust your instincts.

If your child is telling you something, listen.

People like Linda can seem harmless, but darkness hides behind the most unexpected faces.

But most importantly—karma always comes back around.

And sometimes?

It gives you a second chance to make things right.

If this story resonated with you, share it. Someone out there might need the reminder.