Hoda Kotb has never spoken publicly about that night — the night she believes everything in her life changed forever. To the world, Hoda is the warm, smiling face of morning television, a source of optimism and calm. But behind that familiar smile lies a story that still sends chills down her spine. It began quietly, in her New York apartment, with her daughter Hope — a cheerful, bright little girl whose laughter once filled every corner of their home.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Hope had always been imaginative, often talking to her dolls or inventing stories about invisible friends. But then, one night, Hoda noticed her daughter waking up at exactly 2:13 a.m., whispering softly into the dark. When she asked who Hope was talking to, the girl simply replied, “They said not to worry.” Hoda brushed it off as a dream, but the strange routine repeated itself night after night.
Then came the drawings. Hope began sketching people — or rather, figures — tall, faceless silhouettes standing beside her bed. “They watch me sleep,” she said one morning with a giggle, holding up a picture covered in swirling black lines. Hoda’s heart tightened, but she tried not to show fear. She told herself it was just a phase, a child’s imagination running wild. Still, something about Hope’s calmness unsettled her. The little girl seemed too sure, too certain that these “visitors” were real.
Days turned into weeks, and Hope’s health began to fade. She grew pale and tired, often waking from nightmares with marks on her arms that looked like faint handprints. Doctors could find no explanation. That was when Hoda decided she needed proof — or reassurance — that nothing was truly wrong.
One evening, after putting Hope to bed, Hoda quietly placed a small camera on the dresser facing her daughter’s crib. She kissed Hope goodnight, turned off the lights, and left the room. For the first time in weeks, she slept soundly — until she woke with a jolt just after 3 a.m. Something inside her told her to check the footage immediately.
The video started normally: Hope sleeping peacefully, the curtains swaying with the wind. Then, at exactly 2:13 a.m., the temperature in the room seemed to shift. The camera lens flickered. Hope stirred and turned her head toward the corner — the same corner she always spoke to. And then, for a split second, the image blurred… before revealing a faint outline, a figure taller than the door, standing perfectly still beside her bed. Hope sat up, smiled, and whispered, “I told you she’d come.”
Hoda dropped the laptop. Her hands shook as she replayed the video over and over, hoping it was just a trick of light. But every time, the same shadow appeared — closer, clearer. When she ran to Hope’s room, the little girl was fast asleep, clutching a drawing she’d made earlier that day. It showed two people holding hands: Hope… and a tall, faceless figure.
Since that night, Hoda has never been able to sleep alone again. She never spoke about the footage publicly — not on air, not even to her closest friends. Some say she deleted it. Others believe she still keeps it, hidden deep in a drawer she never opens. But those who have seen Hoda’s eyes when someone mentions Hope’s “imaginary friends” say it all — a flicker of fear, a memory that refuses to fade, and a story that might be far darker than anyone will ever know.
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