We hired her off a neighborhood app. No red flags. Background check came back clean. Her name was Odette—sweet, older, the kind of woman who wore cardigans with brooches and smelled like cinnamon tea.
From day one, our son adored her. He slept better after her lullabies. Stopped fussing at nap time. Even our dog, who hates everyone, curled up at her feet like they’d known each other for years.
But then the weird little things started.
First, I noticed she never used her phone. Ever. Said she didn’t “trust screens.” I shrugged it off.
Then she brought a handmade doll and said, “He liked this one last time.” I asked, “Last time what?” She just smiled.
Then one day, I came home early from work. I didn’t announce myself—I wanted to surprise her, see how things were going when she didn’t know I was around.
As soon as I stepped inside, I froze. The air was thick, quiet, almost suffocating. Odette was sitting on the couch, with my son—Ben—on her lap. She was singing to him in a soft voice, but the words didn’t make any sense. It was like a language I didn’t recognize, not that I’m an expert on languages, but it felt… wrong. And as she gently rocked him, I noticed her eyes—distant, unfocused, like she wasn’t fully there with him, like she was somewhere else entirely.
My heart skipped a beat, and I didn’t know what to do.
I coughed, a small sound that I hoped wouldn’t startle them. But when Odette turned her head to look at me, her smile was calm, too calm, almost as if nothing unusual was happening.
“Hello, dear,” she said, as if she hadn’t been singing an unfamiliar lullaby just moments ago. “Ben’s just having a little quiet time. He’s a good boy, isn’t he?”
I nodded, still unsettled. Ben, thankfully, seemed content—too content. There was a sense of peace that felt a bit too serene, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I excused myself to the kitchen, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping over me. But the doubts lingered.
That night, I told my husband about the odd behavior. Of course, he brushed it off. “You’re probably just tired. She’s been fine so far, hasn’t she?”
I wanted to believe him, but something in my gut told me there was more going on.
A few days later, things took a darker turn. I went through my usual routine of checking in on Ben’s day with Odette, asking him how he was doing, what they had been up to. He was barely able to tell me anything specific, but when I asked about the doll, the one she brought with her, his eyes widened with excitement.
“I love the doll, Mommy! Odette makes it talk to me. She’s teaching me how to make it talk too! It says funny things.”
My stomach twisted.
“The doll talks?” I asked, feeling a little stupid. “How?”
Ben looked confused. “I dunno, it just talks. It says that I need to listen. Odette says it’s important to listen, Mommy.”
I tried to mask my growing concern, but I couldn’t ignore the chill running down my spine. I had to do something.
The next morning, I pretended to leave for work but actually hid in the hallway, just out of sight of the living room. I watched as Odette came in, carrying the doll, that same one with the little stitched smile, and placed it on the couch beside Ben.
She whispered something to him—too low for me to hear. Ben giggled, a nervous, too-quick laugh. I felt my heart racing, pounding in my chest. I needed to see more. I needed to know what was going on.
But then I heard it.
In the stillness of the house, Odette’s voice—a soft, lilting tone, as though speaking to someone—started. She spoke as though the doll were alive, as though it were answering her. But it wasn’t a normal conversation. It wasn’t anything that made sense. Her words, the way she spoke to it… it felt like a ritual, like something older than just a harmless game.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst into the room.
“Odette, what are you doing?” I demanded, unable to keep the panic out of my voice.
Odette froze, the doll in her hands. She looked up at me, and there it was again—the calm, eerie smile, the look in her eyes as if I was the one who had done something wrong.
“I was just showing him how to listen, dear. It’s a special thing. Sometimes, to understand, you have to let the doll help you.”
I felt like I was suffocating. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. There was something so deeply wrong about the way she spoke, like there was a hidden agenda behind everything.
I didn’t know what to do. But in the quiet of that moment, with Ben sitting there looking confused and calm, I realized—I had to get Ben away from her.
That afternoon, I called in my husband, making sure he could see everything I had witnessed. He watched Odette and Ben, quietly observing. But when I mentioned the doll, and the way it seemed like Odette was speaking to it, something shifted in his face.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, leading Odette into the kitchen. I overheard snippets of the conversation, her calm voice, and his increasingly sharp tone. It wasn’t a long talk, but I could tell it wasn’t a good one.
When he came back to me, his face was pale, but there was something else too—relief? Regret? I couldn’t read it.
“She’s gone,” he said simply. “I told her she needed to leave, and she didn’t argue.”
I exhaled deeply, like I’d been holding my breath for hours. But the relief was short-lived.
The next day, we found something unexpected in the trash, buried deep beneath discarded food wrappers—a journal. It was Odette’s. We hadn’t seen it before. I had no idea when she had written it, but flipping through it, the contents made my blood run cold. There were drawings, symbols, and mentions of “protecting the house” and “preparing the boy.” I could barely stomach the thought of it.
That’s when I realized the truth: Odette hadn’t just been a sweet nanny, she had been trying to manipulate Ben. It wasn’t just that she’d been playing games with him—it was something deeper, something darker. She’d been preparing him for something.
I still don’t know exactly what she was trying to do, but I can’t shake the feeling that there was some larger force at play. What I do know is that her presence in our home had a strange power, and when she left, it seemed like the air cleared. Ben went back to his usual, happy self—more energetic, more playful than he had been before.
It’s strange to think about what happened, especially since I can’t figure out exactly why she acted the way she did. But in the end, I learned something important: trust your instincts. If something doesn’t feel right, no matter how kind someone seems, don’t be afraid to question it. Sometimes, the smallest signs—things that seem unimportant at first—can be the most telling.
As for Odette, well, I hope she finds whatever she’s looking for. But I’ll never forget the lesson she taught me: the importance of listening to the whispers of your own heart.
Please share this post if you’ve ever felt that something wasn’t quite right, and remember: your intuition is a powerful tool—never ignore it.
