You find yourself in a small, cozy two-story apartment. The dim lights cast soft shadows in the main room, where a crib stands in the corner and a television murmurs a children's show. The decoration is simple, almost comforting, yet something about the atmosphere feels slightly off. It’s your first night as the babysitter, and your only task is to watch over a baby who gazes at you from its high chair with an unsettling stillness. It doesn’t move, doesn’t whine. It just stares, motionless, as if waiting for you with unnatural patience.

The air, though warm, feels heavy. There's an uncomfortable silence between the hum of the television, as if time itself hesitates to move forward. The baby doesn’t speak, obviously, but its fixed stare pierces through you, far too intense for someone so small. For a moment, you think you see something in its eyes—a dark flicker, perhaps red—but you blink, and the vision fades. You decide to brush it off.

You rise from your chair, hands slightly trembling, and head to the kitchen. The baby remains in its high chair, waiting in silence for you to feed it. You’ll feed it... won’t you?