Chapter 1: The Wrong Daddy

Chapter 1: The Wrong Daddy

The holy grail of Alex Mercer’s week was the smell of burnt cheese and pepperoni. It was the scent of Friday night, the sacred ritual that marked the beginning of his 48 hours of being a father again. Lily, all of eight years old and the undisputed center of his universe, directed the pizza-making operation with the seriousness of a five-star general, her small hands carefully arranging pepperoni slices into a lopsided smiley face.

“More cheese, Daddy,” she commanded, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Any more and it’ll be a cheese pizza with a hint of crust,” Alex chuckled, but he obliged, shaking another mountain of shredded mozzarella over the top.

His apartment was small, a two-room box that felt both cavernous and cramped since Sarah and Lily had moved out six months ago. The silence during the week was a physical weight, a constant reminder of the life that had been dismantled. But on weekends, Lily’s laughter filled the space, chasing the ghosts out of the corners and making it feel like a home again. They’d built a sprawling Lego castle that was slowly taking over the living room floor, and watched an animated movie with the volume turned up too loud, Lily’s head resting on his chest.

For those few hours, Alex felt the familiar warmth of his old life seeping back into his bones. The gnawing loneliness receded, replaced by the simple, profound joy of his daughter’s presence. He wasn’t just a guy who soldered circuit boards for a faceless corporation anymore, or the guy whose YouTube channel about custom drone builds had a paltry 137 subscribers. He was Daddy. It was the only title that mattered.

Later, after a final story about a dragon who was afraid of heights, he tucked Lily into the makeshift bed on the pull-out sofa. She was already half-asleep, her breathing soft and even, clutching the worn teddy bear she called Barnaby. He smoothed her long brown hair, so much like his own, away from her face.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. “I love you.”

She mumbled something back, a sleepy echo of “love you too,” and burrowed deeper into the fortress of blankets.

Alex retreated to his bedroom, leaving the door ajar, a habit from a life he no longer lived. The apartment settled back into its usual oppressive silence, but tonight it was different. It was a peaceful silence, filled with the soft sound of his daughter’s breathing. He sat on the edge of his bed, the familiar melancholy held at bay. Maybe this was enough, he thought. Maybe I can get used to this. He fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, the first in what felt like a lifetime.

The scream shattered it all.

It wasn’t a child’s cry from a nightmare. It was a single, saw-toothed shriek of pure terror that sliced through the darkness and clawed at his heart.

Alex was out of bed before he was fully awake, his mind a frantic mess of confusion and adrenaline. He stumbled into the living room, his hand fumbling for the light switch.

“Lily? Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

The lamp flickered on, casting long, menacing shadows across the room. Lily wasn’t in the bed. She was pressed into the far corner of the room, as far from the sofa as she could get, her small body trembling. Barnaby the bear lay forgotten on the floor. Her eyes, wide and glistening with tears, were fixed on him. Not with the look of a child seeking comfort, but with the raw, primal fear of a cornered animal.

“Lily, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me,” he said, taking a slow step forward, his hands held up in a placating gesture.

“Stay away!” she shrieked, scrambling backward, pressing herself harder against the wall.

His heart fractured. This was a new and terrifying kind of pain. “It was just a bad dream, sweetie. Daddy’s here.”

“No,” she whimpered, shaking her head violently. The word was a choked sob. “It wasn’t a dream. It was you.”

Alex stopped, his blood turning to ice. “What are you talking about? I was asleep. I just woke up.”

“No,” she insisted, her voice gaining a strange, chilling certainty. “The other you.”

He knelt down, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. The logic circuits in his brain were sparking, trying to find a rational explanation. A nightmare. She was just confused. Maybe Sarah had been saying things, poisoning her mind against him. But the terror in his daughter’s eyes was too genuine, too visceral to be faked or coached.

“Lily, there is no other me. It was just a nightmare,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

“You were walking around,” she whispered, her gaze darting from him to the dark doorway of his bedroom and back. “All night. Just… walking.”

A cold dread began to seep into Alex’s veins, slick and oily. He kept his face calm, a mask of paternal concern. “Walking where?”

“From your room. To here. Back and forth. You didn’t make any sound.” She hugged her knees to her chest, her small frame wracked with shudders. “I thought you were checking on me. But you just stood in the doorway. For a long, long time.”

Alex’s throat was dry. The Lego castle on the floor suddenly looked like the ruins of some ancient, cursed city. “And what was I doing?”

Lily’s breath hitched. “You were whispering.”

“Whispering what?”

“It wasn’t words,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper. “It was just sounds. Like a broken radio.”

The image was so bizarre, so specific, that it sent a jolt of pure fear through him. This wasn’t a monster-under-the-bed story. This was something else.

“And then…” she trailed off, another wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. “You looked at me. You knew I was awake. And you smiled.”

He waited, the silence in the room stretching until it was thin enough to snap.

“But it wasn’t your smile, Daddy,” she finally choked out, the final words a death knell to any rational explanation he might have had. “It was wrong. It was too big for your face.”

He stared at his daughter, cowering in the corner, terrified of his own face. Her words hung in the air, painting a portrait of a grotesque mimic, a silent, smiling imposter that wore his skin and walked the halls of his home while he slept. The fragile peace of his weekend, his fleeting moment of feeling whole, was utterly and irrevocably shattered. The silence that pressed in on him now wasn't empty anymore. It was watchful.