Abby was sitting at the kitchen island with her head in her hands, tears staining her cheeks. Her husband, Walter, entered the house and immediately heard the piercing cries of their newborn baby boy echoing down the hallway. The noise filled every corner of their home, making it impossible to think. When Walter spotted Abby, hunched over in exhaustion, his heart twisted with worry.

“Oh, honey,” he said softly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “How long has Logan been crying like that?”

“All day,” Abby wept, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “He’s been crying all day, and I’ve tried everything! His diaper is clean, he’s had his bottle, I’ve bathed him and burped him. I don’t know what to do anymore! Why won’t he stop crying?”

Walter pulled over a stool and sat down beside her, holding her hand. “We’ll go check on him together,” he reassured her. “Maybe the two of us will figure out what the little guy wants.”

Abby sniffed and nodded, allowing Walter to help her to her feet. Together, they walked down the hallway to the nursery where their son was screaming relentlessly, his tiny face red with tears and frustration.

“Hey, Logan,” Walter said gently as he approached the crib. “It sounds like you and Mama have been having a rough day, little man. Maybe Daddy can help figure out why you’re so upset.”

Abby leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She watched Walter reach into the crib, ready to scoop up Logan and hold him against his shoulder like he often did. But before he could, Walter’s gaze shifted to something lying near the baby’s feet. His eyes narrowed with confusion.

“Abby,” he said, his voice uneasy. “Come here. Look at this.”

Abby stepped closer. Lying under Logan’s soft blanket was an old-fashioned dictaphone—one of those handheld recording devices people used before smartphones. The tiny screen glowed faintly, and the record light was on. Next to it, hidden partially by the blanket, was a small slip of paper. Walter lifted Logan gently and handed him to Abby, then picked up the strange device and the note.

“Why is there a dictaphone in Logan’s crib?” Abby asked, shifting the baby in her arms. Logan continued to fuss, but his cries were less piercing now that he was near his mother.

Walter studied the gadget carefully, then glanced at the note. It was a single scrap of paper with hurried handwriting that read: “Listen to me if you want him to stop.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “Listen… to what?” she whispered, glancing at the dictaphone.

Walter pressed the “Stop” button, ending whatever recording was in progress. He then played the file that was stored. At first, only static came through the tiny speaker, but then a low whispering voice echoed out: “You won’t be able to calm him. Nothing you do will work. Only I know how to make him stop.”

A chill ran down Abby’s spine. She could feel Logan’s heartbeat against her chest. The voice on the tape continued, barely above a hiss: “Leave the money behind the house by midnight, or your baby’s crying will never end.”

Abby gasped. “This must be some kind of sick joke. Could someone actually be threatening us? Is that why Logan won’t stop crying?” She clutched Logan closer. “But how? And who would do such a thing?”

Walter exhaled slowly, trying to keep calm. “It doesn’t make sense. We don’t have problems with anyone. Nobody’s asked us for ransom money. It’s not like we’re rich.” He glanced at the screen on the device. “Is this even real, or is someone playing a cruel prank?”

Logan’s cries rose again, as if the tension in the room was affecting him too. Abby bounced him gently in her arms, her pulse racing. She thought about the day’s events: the constant crying, the confusion, the strange device in the crib. Was Logan’s nonstop wailing truly linked to some outside force? Or was the baby simply colicky, and the dictaphone was left by a friend or relative as a bizarre prank?

Walter shook his head, trying to think. “First, we calm down,” he said. “We don’t want to panic. Let’s see if there are any more clues.”

He turned the dictaphone over, looking for any labels or identifying marks. Nothing. He glanced around the nursery, searching for a package or sign that someone had entered the house. The window was locked. The door was closed. The only people who had been around all day were Abby, the baby, and the part-time babysitter who left earlier. But she’d worked for them for months and seemed trustworthy. Could she have done this?

Abby rocked Logan, who let out little hiccupy cries. “He’s calmer, but still so restless,” she mumbled, tears pricking her eyes again. “Walter, we have to do something.”

Walter nodded. “Yes. But we can’t just do what the note says if we’re not even sure this is real. Maybe I should call the police. If it’s a real threat, they’ll know how to handle it.”

At the mention of the police, Abby looked worried. “Will they think we’re making it up? We only have a weird note, a creepy recording, and a crying baby.”

Walter slipped the note and the dictaphone into a plastic zip bag. “We can at least show them this. If it’s a prank, they’ll figure out who’s responsible. If it’s something more serious, we’ll need their help.”

Abby nodded, pressing her lips together. She glanced down at Logan, noticing how he was drifting off to sleep at last. The house was suddenly quiet, the hush feeling both a relief and something eerie—like the calm before a storm. She remembered how helpless she felt all day, unable to soothe her newborn. Could this entire day have been part of some twisted plan by someone out to scare them? Or was it just a big coincidence?

Walter placed a gentle hand on Abby’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he promised. “For now, let’s let Logan rest, and we’ll call the police in the morning. We won’t do anything rash, but we won’t ignore it either.”

That night, neither Abby nor Walter got much sleep. They took turns checking on Logan, worried he might suddenly wake up screaming again, or that they’d find something else strange in his crib. But the night passed without further incidents. By morning, Logan seemed calmer, though his parents were anything but.

And so began a new worry in their lives—unraveling the mystery behind this dictaphone message and the constant crying that had plagued their baby. Abby clung to Walter’s reassurance, but a nagging fear grew in her heart: who would target their family, and why?

Now here is my question: if you found a strange device and threatening message in your baby’s crib, would you contact the police right away, or would you try to figure it out on your own first?