My 5-year-old has names for everything: her stuffed rabbit is Gerald, her favorite blanket is Princess Cloud, and apparently, the man who visits her at night is “Mr. Tom.” I didn’t know anyone named Tom. So I set up a camera in her room, and what I saw knocked the breath out of me.It started the way all terrifying things do. Casually, over cereal, on an ordinary Wednesday morning.Ellie was working through a bowl of Cheerios with the focused intensity she brings to everything, and without looking up, she said, “Mr. Tom thinks you work too much, Mommy.”I set my coffee mug down. “Who’s Mr. Tom?””He checks on me!” she said as if that answered it.

I figured it was an imaginary friend. Ellie has a whole world living in her head. I let it go. That was my first mistakeIt was about a week later that she stopped me cold. I was brushing her hair before bed, both of us looking at each other in the bathroom mirror, when she frowned at her reflection and asked, “Mom, why does Mr. Tom only come when you’re asleep?”The brush stopped in my hand.”He comes at night,” she said, perfectly calm. “He checks the window first. Then he talks to me for a bit.”My whole body went still.”Ellie, sweetie, what does Mr. Tom look like?”She thought about it seriously, the way she thinks about everything. “He’s old. He smells like a garage. And he walks real slow.” She paused. “He says not to wake you.””Will he come tonight?” I asked, trying not to sound afraid.”I think so, Mommy,” Ellie replied.