Feed The Baby


 The first time they heard about the baby, it sounded like a joke.

“Just leave food outside your door every night, it keeps the baby calm.”


They said casually. Marcus laughed.


“What baby?”


The neighbor didn’t smile.


“You’ll hear it.”


That night, around midnight, they did. A soft crying drifted through the corridor. Elena clutched Marcus’ arm.


“That doesn’t sound like a normal baby.”


He nodded slowly. It didn’t. The crying stretched too long without breath, warping into something almost human. Then came a faint knock on their door. Three soft taps. They froze. Another knock. Slower this time. The crying stopped. Silence swallowed the hallway. Marcus exhaled.


“Probably someone messing with us.”


But Elena wasn’t convinced. The next morning, they found a small plate outside their door. Empty. Clean. No crumbs. No residue. Just empty.


That evening, their neighbor knocked.


“You didn’t leave food,”


He said. Marcus frowned.


“We thought you were joking.”


“I wasn’t.”


Elena crossed her arms.


“So what, we’re supposed to feed some random crying thing every night?”


The neighbor leaned closer.


“Yes.”


A pause.


“Or it comes inside.”


They tried to ignore it.That night, they didn’t leave anything out. At 12:13 AM, the crying returned. Louder. Closer. And then a loud bang. Something slammed against their door. Elena screamed. Another hit. Harder. The doorframe rattled.


“Open…”


A voice whispered from the other side. Not a baby. Not even close. Marcus grabbed a chair and braced the door.


“Open…”


The voice repeated, softer now. Gentler. Almost pleading.


“I’m hungry…”


The handle slowly turned. Then stopped. Silence. After a long, shaking minute, the presence faded.


The next day, Marcus didn’t argue. He placed a plate outside the door before midnight. Rice, meat, whatever they had. At exactly 12:00, the crying started. Then stopped. Soft footsteps shuffled outside. Something dragged across the floor. Eating. Messy. Wet. Fast. Elena covered her ears.


In the morning, the plate was empty again.Perfectly clean. For a week, they followed the routine. And for a week, nothing happened. No banging. No whispers. Just the crying… and the feeding. Until Elena made a mistake.


“We’re out of food,”


She said one night. Marcus checked the kitchen. Nothing.


“Just skip one night,”


He said.


We’ll be fine.”


Elena hesitated. Then nodded. At 12:07 AM, the crying began. Angrier this time. Louder and closer. The knock came immediately after.


“Open…”


The voice said. Marcus shook his head.


“No.”


Silence. Then a slow, deliberate scratch across the door. Like fingernails. Or something sharper.


“I know you’re there.”


Elena started crying.


“Please,”


The voice said softly. Not like a baby. Like a man trying very hard to sound like one.


“Don’t be mean.”


The door creaked. Not opening but bending. Something heavy leaned against it.


“Feed the baby.”


Marcus grabbed the chair again, heart pounding.


“GO AWAY!”


The voice stopped.For a moment, everything was still. Then, from right outside the door a low chuckle. Deep.Adult.


“You finally hear it.”


The wood splintered slightly under pressure.


“Good.”


Marcus backed away.


“What are you?”


He whispered. The answer came calmly.


“I’m what they call me.”


A pause. Then,


“Baby.”


The next morning, the hallway was clean. Too clean. Their door was slightly scratched, but intact. The plate outside Empty. Polished. And down the corridor, their neighbor watched silently.


“You forgot,”


He said. Marcus swallowed hard.


“What is that thing?”


The neighbor sighed.


“Not a baby.”


He glanced down the hall.


“It just… likes the name.”

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