In The Middle Of The Night, His Little Girl Kept Waking Up Screaming And Repeating Words Like “No, It Hurts”. The Father Decided To Investigate The Cause Behind The Nightmare And Was Horrified To Discover…
Michael Reynolds had never considered himself a paranoid father. He was a 38-year-old accountant living in the suburbs of Dallas, Texas, raising his eight-year-old daughter, Emily, alone after his wife’s passing two years ago. He tried to keep life steady—school drop-offs, soccer practice, bedtime stories. Everything was structured, calm, and predictable. At least, it used to be.
Lately, things had changed. Almost every night for the past week, Emily would wake up screaming. Her little voice carried through the darkened hallway, always repeating the same desperate words: “No, it hurts! Please, stop!”
At first, Michael told himself it was just nightmares. Kids processed trauma in strange ways, and losing her mother had been devastating. But something about Emily’s cries unsettled him. These weren’t the vague whimpers of a bad dream. They sounded real—urgent, almost as if she were reliving something that had actually happened.
One night, after rushing to her room, he held her trembling body in his arms. Her face was wet with tears, her pajama shirt sticking to her skin with sweat. “Daddy, make it stop,” she whispered, still half-asleep.
Michael stroked her hair, whispering back, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” But deep down, his chest tightened with unease. The words she kept repeating didn’t feel random. They sounded like echoes of an experience.
The next morning, Michael asked gently, “Emily, do you remember what you were dreaming about?” She shook her head. “No, Daddy. I don’t remember. Just… it hurt.” Then she clammed up, refusing to say more.
He thought about talking to her teacher, Ms. Jacobs, to see if Emily had been bullied at school. Maybe she had fallen on the playground, or maybe some older kids had teased her. But Ms. Jacobs reported nothing unusual. Emily was quiet but polite, a little reserved compared to her classmates, but otherwise fine.
That night, when the screaming happened again, Michael sat at the edge of her bed instead of rushing to comfort her. He wanted to see if anything triggered it. Emily tossed and turned violently, clutching her blanket, whispering, “Don’t touch me… no… stop…” The look on her face nearly broke him.
Michael knew then this wasn’t just random night terror. Something was haunting his daughter, and he had no choice but to uncover what it was.
Michael started with the basics. He combed through every part of their home. Maybe Emily had overheard something on TV, or maybe the neighbor’s late-night arguments had seeped through the walls. He checked her tablet’s browsing history, searched for anything she might have seen that could have disturbed her. Nothing stood out.
But the nightmares persisted, always circling back to those same gut-wrenching phrases. “No, it hurts.” “Please stop.”
One night, while sitting beside her bed, Michael noticed something different. Emily flinched violently in her sleep when the bedroom door creaked open. Almost as if the sound itself was tied to her terror. His stomach dropped. Why would a simple door opening frighten her?
The next morning, Michael pressed a little harder. “Emily, honey, I promise you can tell me anything. Is someone bothering you? Did someone hurt you?”
Emily’s eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she whispered, “Daddy… can you not leave me with Uncle Greg anymore?”
Michael froze. Uncle Greg—his brother—had been helping out with babysitting since his wife’s death. A trusted family member, someone who had been around Emily since she was born. Michael’s mind reeled. He wanted to dismiss the thought immediately. Surely not Greg.
But the more he thought about it, the more pieces clicked into place. The nightmares had begun shortly after Emily had spent a weekend at Greg’s house. The flinching when doors opened. The way she had become quieter, more withdrawn.
Michael’s stomach churned with a mix of rage and denial. Could his own brother be the reason his daughter was screaming at night? He needed proof.
That evening, before bedtime, Michael placed a small camera on Emily’s nightstand. He told her it was just to help Daddy figure out what made the nightmares happen. She nodded, trusting him completely.
What the footage revealed the next morning left Michael’s hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped his coffee mug.
On the screen, Emily was tossing in bed, her small body tangled in the sheets. Then, around 2:15 a.m., she shot upright, screaming, “No, it hurts!” But her eyes were still shut. She was asleep, trapped in the same nightmare.
Michael leaned closer. Suddenly, her words became more specific. “Greg… stop…”
Michael felt the blood drain from his face. His worst fear was confirmed. Emily wasn’t screaming at shadows in her imagination. She was reliving something real.
He paused the video, his breathing shallow. Every fiber in him wanted to storm over to Greg’s house right that second. But he forced himself to stay calm. If he confronted Greg without evidence, he might deny everything, and Emily might never get justice.
Michael contacted Child Protective Services and the local police. He provided the video and explained Emily’s recurring words. It was enough to launch an investigation.
When the detectives questioned Emily with a child psychologist present, she finally broke down. “Uncle Greg touched me,” she admitted, crying into her stuffed bear. Michael’s heart shattered. He wanted to wrap her up, shield her from every hurt. At the same time, fury burned inside him like wildfire.
Greg was arrested within days. He tried to plead innocent, but the combination of Emily’s testimony and the behavioral red flags Michael had documented left little doubt.
For weeks afterward, Emily still had nightmares, but with therapy, her voice grew stronger. Michael sat by her side every night, whispering, “You’re safe now, sweetheart. Nobody can hurt you anymore.” Slowly, her sleep became peaceful again.
Michael hated himself for not seeing the signs sooner, but he knew he had done the one thing that mattered most: he had listened, believed, and fought for his daughter when she needed him most.
Sometimes, the monsters that haunt a child’s dreams aren’t imaginary. Sometimes, they’re flesh and blood. And it takes a parent’s love to bring the truth into the light.
