The Kid I Was Babysitting Went Missing
- 15 years ago, a night of babysitting
turned into one of the scariest nights of my life,
and This is That Story.
(playful strings music)
All right, so this story goes back to 2005, 2006-ish.
It was a Saturday night and I'm 16 years old.
So of course, you know, I'm living it up by, um,
uh, babysitting.
I didn't really go to a lot of parties in high school,
so most of my weekends were just spent
getting paid to watch kids.
You know, it was family friends, neighbors,
neighbors of family friends, family friends of neighbors,
I was everywhere!
I was cleaning up, I was just raking in the money,
and I don't mean to brag, but, um,
I think it's because I was good at it.
Oh, you're good at babysitting?
What does that even mean?
I will tell you what it means, two reasons:
one, kids have this amazing ability to not give a (bleep)
about what anyone thinks about them,
and for me, it's just so easy to get swept up in that.
And then it just becomes legitimately fun
when you let yourself be dumb and silly
and talk in weird voices
and do all the kid stuff you forget about.
Then the kids start having more fun,
AKA, they're more likely to listen to you
because you've infiltrated the way they communicate.
Now reason number two,
which is arguably the more important reason,
I always get the parent tasks done.
Make sure everyone eats dinner,
no one has a meltdown, everyone's in bed by 10:00 p.m.,
whatever it is.
Basically maintain order.
I like to think I've seen it all until this
one specific night,
(tense music)
which brings us to this story.
So like I said, it was a cool fall night,
I show up at this house at like 6:00 p.m. or something.
It was actually my first time babysitting for this family,
so I kinda had my work cut out for me.
We're talking three kids and a dog.
I meet the kids, and honestly, they all seem super chill,
like suspiciously chill, like the second that door closes,
they're all gonna turn their heads
at me and attack me chill.
(ominous music)
Age-wise, the oldest boy is like eight, nine,
then there's a girl that's like six, seven,
and then the littlest boy
could not have been older than four.
Eh, I can handle that.
Then I meet the dog, this little white, poofy dog,
I have no idea what breed it is.
They tell me the dog is new
and they've only had this dog for three months.
"She's pretty mean," the dad says,
"So prepare yourself for that."
Now look, I love dogs,
I've grown up with dogs my entire life,
but I don't think I've ever heard a dog introduced as
pretty mean.
If she tries to bite you,
just shake this can of quarters at her.
Okay.
I get the rest of the info I'll need for the night.
They ordered pizza, it'll be there in an hour,
everyone can watch TV, in bed by 10, 10:30,
they'll be home at midnight, whatever.
Overall, this seems pretty by the books.
And eventually the parents leave and uh,
the night has begun.
I'm sure anyone watching this who has babysat before
is all too familiar with that awkward moment
when the night starts.
The kids are definitely thinking,
"Who is tall weirdo in my house?"
And I'm just thinking,
"Please don't let this night spiral out of control."
But turns out those chill vibes I was getting
were in fact very real chill vibes.
The little girl starts coloring at the kitchen table,
the two boys ask if I want to play video games,
and the dog is just...
I don't know what other word to use besides lurking.
(ominous music)
An hour or two goes by,
the kids are perfectly nice to me,
they're perfectly nice to each other.
(doorbell rings) The pizza comes,
everyone eats, no one makes a mess,
then the oldest boy suggests
that we should all watch The SpongeBob Movie.
So of course I'm like,
I don't want to watch The SpongeBob Movie.
I want to watch The SpongeBob Movie.
- [Both] Twice.
- Sorry if that scared anyone watching,
I can assure you that I love SpongeBob very much.
We watch the movie, we all have ice cream.
I honestly forget that I'm even babysitting,
I'm just having a delightful evening
and there just so happens to be three children
and a pretty mean dog with me.
So it's nearing 10, 10:30,
and we're almost at the point where you have to have
the conversation of it's time to go to bed.
They all voluntarily put themselves to bed!
What is happening?
Yeah, I know, I don't know.
And sure enough, they all put on their pajamas,
brush their teeth, head into their bedrooms,
and go to sleep.
We're independent, you're not even babysitting us.
At this point,
I'd feel bad accepting any money from the parents,
like what am I even doing here?
I don't know, I'll just go downstairs
and watch TV until the parents get home.
Okay, now you're absolutely thinking,
"Cool story, nice tale, you babysat nice children."
Please relax.
So there I am just sitting on the couch,
flipping through channels, texting friends,
when the little dog enters the room.
Now if this dog could talk, it absolutely would have said,
"Hey, it's a nice night, isn't it?
"It'd be a real shame if someone were to come in here
"and (bleep) everything up."
I try my best to not make any eye contact.
As a dog lover, I am really conflicted.
I want to pet the dog,
but the dog has been introduced as pretty mean.
I decide it's not worth the risk
and I just keep my eyes glued to Iron Chef on the TV.
But then something catches my peripheral vision,
and it's this goddamn dog.
It's just laying on its back at my feet.
What, I'm not supposed to pet this dog now?
I look down and it's just staring back up at me.
I reach down, immediately flips over,
tries to bite my hand, and runs away.
I knew it, I (bleep) knew it.
God damn it, why do I love dogs so much?
Lesson learned, this dog is in fact pretty mean.
Oh, cool, you got bit by a dog, good story.
No, that's not the story, you need to calm down,
the best part's still coming.
So I'm still on the couch, still watching Iron Chef,
this time with a can of quarters in my hand.
At this point, it's maybe 11:30,
the parents are gonna be home soon.
I probably should go upstairs,
turn off any TVs that were left on,
turn some lights off, you know, shut down the house,
just nighttime stuff.
I poke my head into the oldest boy's room,
he's passed out, TV's off, lights off, check.
I peek into the girl's room,
she's asleep, lights off, check.
Finally, I check the youngest boy's room.
The lights are on and he's not in his bed.
I have a little glimmer of panic.
Just relax, I'm sure he's in the other bed
that's in the oldest boy's room.
So I check that room and he isn't there either, okay.
I pick up the pace and dart over to their parents' room
and he's not in there, oh god.
At this point, my heart is really starting to pound.
Please don't yell at me for this next part.
You know what I do?
I go back downstairs and watch TV.
I know, I know, but in my head I'm thinking
he's gotta be somewhere in this house, everything's fine.
I sit there for probably two minutes.
(clock ticks rapidly)
I should find this kid.
So again, I head upstairs.
I felt like I was going crazy,
I'm flipping all the lights on
just to make sure I wasn't missing something.
We were playing video games in the basement,
maybe he went to sleep down there?
I wasn't gonna rule anything out at this point.
He's not in the basement.
I go back to the couch, my brain is spiraling.
What am I supposed to do?
Call the parents and be like,
"Hey, um, one of the kids is missing."
I don't want to freak them out.
Do I call my parents and ask them to come help me?
No, no, no, that doesn't make any sense either.
Calling anyone would have involved telling them
what is going on, and it was too scary, I couldn't do it.
Where is this little boy?
Now I'm checking under beds, in closets, in bathrooms,
literally everywhere,
and obviously those things don't make sense,
but he wasn't anywhere else!
I turned the outside lights on to check the backyard,
making sure a child wasn't squeezing in
a midnight jungle gym session.
I was so paralyzed with fear,
so unsure of what was going on that,
and I'm not joking when I say this,
I debated waiting for the parents to get home
and just acting like everything was fine.
Oh, right, the payment,
I'm actually gonna give you a 30% discount
'cause I know we started with three kids
and we've only got two now, so, uh.
I know that's bad.
I obviously ruled that out,
but I needed to figure something out
because this was getting terrifying.
I turn on every light I can find,
I'm looking behind couches, under tables.
At a certain point, it was time to call their parents.
Was he taken from his room without me knowing?
There's no way someone could have gotten into the house,
but that was becoming the only explanation.
I'm pacing around and I just feel sick to my stomach.
I walk by the dining room and the dog is laying there
on her back, staring at me.
Not a good time.
My phone is in my hand,
this is the worst thing that could have happened,
this little boy is gone.
How did everything go so well and just 180 to this?
I wander into the parents' bedroom just dumbfounded
and I sit down on their bed.
This is bigger than me messing up,
someone could be in danger, and I need to grow up right now.
Suddenly, there's movement under the covers.
It scares the absolute (bleep) out of me
and I whip the comforter back.
There he is, sound asleep,
under the thickest blanket I have ever seen.
Every time I had looked in the parents' bedroom,
that bed looked completely undisturbed.
And when you cover a toddler with a giant blanket,
to the naked eye,
it looks like nothing is out of the ordinary.
I exhaled this sigh of relief that is just unimaginable.
And I'm sorry if this story is anticlimactic in that sense,
but it's the truth.
I was 100% convinced this boy was gone
and that I had lost someone's child.
And just like that,
he was simply sleeping in his parents' bed.
So I scoop him up and put him back in his own bed.
So I head downstairs to the kitchen, sit down, and just...
Breathe.
There's a small lick on my hand, I look down and,
of course, the pretty mean dog has returned once again.
Instinctually, I reach down,
and before I can remember to pull away,
she nuzzles her head into my hand.
It's like she knew that I was on the verge
of a full mental breakdown.
The parents eventually get home.
I smile, tell them everyone was well-behaved,
and walk out the front door.
As I'm headed down the driveway,
I remember that I completely forgot to collect the money.
So I turn back towards the house,
but I see the little dog in the window
just staring at me, unblinking.
You know what?
I don't even want the $60, I just want to go home.
And that's exactly what I did.
(haunting music)