The young parents observed their eldest son going into his younger brothers room each morning at

The mother froze in the dim morning light, her pulse thudding in her ears. She had been quietly watching her eldest son slip into his younger brother’s room every dawn, curious about the ritual that had become as consistent as sunrise. Today, she finally decided to ask him why.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and strangely serious for a boy his age. The innocence in his face was tempered by something else—resolve, maybe even fear.

“I have to keep him safe, Mom,” he whispered. “The shadow man comes at night.”

The words punched through her like ice. She searched his expression for mischief, for imagination, for something that could explain away what she just heard. But there was none. Only sincerity—and fear.

She tried to steady her voice. “What do you mean, sweetheart? What shadow man?”