I had been counting down to date night like it was a vacation.
Three kids will do that to you. Three kids under seven turns time into something you ration, like water. My wife, Erin, and I hadn’t eaten a hot meal together in over a year, unless you count standing over the sink at midnight, chewing quietly so we wouldn’t wake the baby.
So when we finally circled a Friday on the calendar and wrote MOVIE in all caps, it felt monumental.
The hardest part, honestly, was the babysitter.
Everyone we trusted had moved, gotten busy, or burned us. The last one showed up forty minutes late and spent the entire night FaceTiming someone named “Jaxxon” while our middle kid colored the dog with permanent marker.
This time, though, people kept recommending the same girl. Not glowing praise—just calm, confident approval. The kind that sticks.
“Marcy Hale,” one mom said.
“She’s great,” another added.
“Old soul,” someone else called her.
Sixteen. Honor roll. Worked the church nursery. Babysat for half the congregation.
When Marcy texted me her rate, I winced, but Erin squeezed my hand and said, “Cheap sitters cost more in the long run.”
Fair enough.
The night of the date, I’d just finished wrestling our youngest into pajamas when my phone buzzed.
Hey Mr. Collins! I’m really sorry—my appointment is running late. I might be about 15 minutes behind. Is that okay?
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Fifteen minutes shouldn’t matter. Still, the word appointment rubbed me wrong. Erin noticed my face.
“She’s probably at the orthodontist,” she said. “Relax.”
I texted back a polite No worries, see you soon and tried to unclench my jaw.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I opened it to a girl with neatly braided hair and a cardigan that looked like it belonged to someone twice her age. She stood straight, smiling, eyes alert.
“Hi! I’m Marcy,” she said brightly.
Her voice was warm. Confident. Not teenage-mumbly at all.
“Well, you’re right on time,” I said, shaking her hand. Firm grip. That surprised me.
She stepped inside, glancing around—not snooping, exactly, just… cataloging.
The kids barreled into the room. She knelt immediately, greeting them by name. They loved her instantly. Even the baby settled when she picked him up, which almost never happened.
I felt something loosen in my chest.
“Mac and cheese is in the fridge,” Erin said. “Bedtime at eight. Call if anything comes up.”
“Of course,” Marcy said. “You go enjoy yourselves.”
We did. Or tried to.
Halfway through the previews, my phone buzzed.
Then again.
I ignored it until a third vibration rattled against my thigh.
It was Marcy.
Hey! I’m so sorry, I’m outside. Traffic was awful. Are you almost home?
My stomach dropped.
I stood up so fast Erin hissed, “What is it?”
“I think… something’s wrong.”
I stepped into the hallway and called the number.
She answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Collins?”
Her voice was younger this time. Higher. Nervous.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Outside your house,” she said. “The door was open. I didn’t want to just walk in.”
My throat went dry.
“Marcy,” I said slowly. “There’s already someone in my house.”
Silence.
“…What?”
I hung up and ran.
The drive home felt endless. Erin kept calling my name, asking questions I couldn’t answer.
When we pulled into the driveway, the porch light was on.
The front door was closed.
Unlocked.
Inside, the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
The living room lights were off. The TV was paused on a Netflix menu. The couch cushions were perfectly arranged.
“Kids?” Erin called.
No answer.
Then I heard it—soft humming. Coming from the kitchen.
She stood at the counter, back to us, stirring something in a pot.
Marcy.
Or at least, someone wearing her clothes.
She turned slowly and smiled.
“Oh good,” she said. “You’re home early.”
My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
“Where are my children?” Erin whispered.
Marcy tilted her head. “Safe.”
“Where,” I demanded.
She gestured toward the hallway. “Asleep. All three. Right on schedule.”
I took a step forward, and something in her expression changed—not fear, not anger. Disappointment.
“You weren’t supposed to come back yet,” she said.
That’s when I noticed the smell.
Not mac and cheese.
Bleach.
Sirens wailed in the distance—closer than they should have been.
The real Marcy screamed from the porch.
The girl in front of us sighed.
“Every time,” she murmured.
Her face… shifted. Just slightly. Like a mask settling.
“They never follow the schedule.”
She walked toward the back door as police lights flashed through the windows.
“I really did like your kids,” she said. “Such easy sleepers.”
Then she was gone.
The police found our children unharmed.
They never found her.
Two weeks later, a neighbor mentioned a girl matching her description had been recommended all over town.
Different names.
Same smile.
Always punctual.
Almost.
