When my four-year-old daughter, Chloe, begged to leave my girlfriend Lily’s house, I knew something was wrong. Her fear was real, and I couldn’t ignore it.
Chloe and I had been on our own since her mother left, and three months ago, I met Lily. She was warm, kind, and Chloe seemed to like her—until that night.
We arrived at Lily’s cozy apartment, and Chloe was excited. Lily invited her to play an old video game in her room while we prepared dinner. Moments later, Chloe returned, pale and trembling.
“Daddy, we have to go,” she whispered. “There are… heads in her closet. Real heads.”
My heart pounded. Was it her imagination, or had she seen something terrible? I didn’t take chances—I scooped her up and left, making an excuse to Lily.
Later, after dropping Chloe at my mom’s, I returned to Lily’s under the pretense of playing the game. My hands shook as I opened the closet.
Four heads stared back. My breath caught—until I realized they were rubber Halloween masks.
Relief hit me, but so did guilt. Back in the kitchen, I confessed to Lily what Chloe had seen. Her face fell as she realized why we’d left so suddenly.
“You went through my closet?” she asked, stunned.
I nodded. “I had to be sure.”
Chloe’s terror was real, even if her fear was unfounded. Now, I just had to figure out how to explain it to her.
