I was babysitting for a lovely family I met through Facebook. I was putting the kids to bed and was pulling a diaper from the drawer when I noticed a piece of paper with bold letters that stated, “Don’t babysit for them, run!” It turned out that the parents were scary and had a really strange manner of testing their babysitters.
At first, I assumed one of the kids had penned that message as part of a game, or that it was an old shred left behind. But something about the weak handwriting and hurried language made my skin crawl. I placed it into my back pocket without thinking, intending to examine it later.

An hour has elapsed. The children were asleep. I was cuddled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, when I heard the distinctive sound of glass breaking. My heart almost stopped. It sounded like it had come from the rear door. I froze, my ears strained for any additional disturbance. A few seconds later, I noticed slow, methodical footsteps. The sound of someone entering the house. I grabbed my phone, shook, and tiptoed to the stairs, ready to pick up the kids. But something felt odd. The steps were neither sloppy or hasty, as a burglar’s would be.

They were peaceful. Purposeful. Then came a whisper: “Hello?” I held my breath. “Is anyone home?” I was going to dial 911 when a shadow crossed the corridor.
A tall figure. I retreated behind the stairs, clutching my phone to my chest, my finger lingering over the emergency call button. And then, laughing. The lights flickered on. The “intruder” stood fully erect now, removing a black sweatshirt.

It was the father. He grinned at me, as if he had just pulled a harmless prank. “Good reaction time,” he stated. “Not bad.” I stood there shocked. Then the mother emerged from the basement, beaming as if nothing had occurred. “We like to simulate a break-in,” she remarked. “Just to see how babysitters handle high-pressure situations.”

I didn’t say anything. My thoughts turned back to that red note. “Don’t babysit for them, run away.” “How many babysitters have you done this to?” I asked slowly. “Oh, a few,” the father chuckled. “Some people scream and run. Some people call the police, and we never return their calls. You’re tranquil. That is promising.
I couldn’t believe what I heard. This was not a test; it was a psychological trial.