It was a quiet evening in the neighborhood when passersby first noticed the little girl standing on the sidewalk. She was alone, her small figure almost lost in the shadows, wearing an elegant white dress that looked far too formal for the time of day. To anyone who happened to glance in her direction, she appeared as though she had just left a party, her dress crisp and neat, though her expression was anything but joyful.
Curious glances were exchanged among the few people walking down the street. Some of them stopped to watch, while others whispered among themselves, unsure of what to do.
“Should we get her some water?” one woman asked, noticing how the girl stood still, her tiny hands folded tightly in front of her.
“Maybe we should call social services,” another person suggested. “She looks well taken care of, but where’s her family?”
The girl didn’t speak, her eyes darting nervously around, as if she were waiting for something — or someone — to appear. She appeared calm, though the longer she stood there, the more uneasy people became. There was something unsettling about her presence, something that made the air feel heavier, as though something was just beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.
It wasn’t until a few minutes passed that someone took action and called the police.
Fifteen minutes later, a young sergeant arrived, his face drawn with exhaustion, a look that came from too many long shifts. He stepped out of his patrol car, his boots tapping on the concrete as he approached the group of bystanders. His eyes scanned the scene quickly, noticing the little girl still standing motionless on the sidewalk, her hands clenched in front of her.
He crouched down beside her, offering a kind smile as he tried to put her at ease.
“Hey there,” the officer said, his voice soft and comforting. “What’s your name? Where are your parents? Why are you out here all alone?”
The girl didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Her gaze seemed distant, almost as if she wasn’t fully present in the moment. Finally, in a barely audible whisper, she spoke.
“The voices… told me to leave the house.”
The words were quiet, but they cut through the officer like a chill wind. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He glanced around, noting the concerned faces of the bystanders, all waiting for answers.
“What voices, sweetheart?” the officer asked gently, his concern growing. “Where were they coming from?”
The girl hesitated for a moment, then pointed toward the end of the street, her finger trembling slightly as she gestured toward a large, decaying house that stood there. It had been abandoned for years, its windows shattered and the paint peeling away in long strips. No one in the neighborhood had paid much attention to it lately, except to remark on how eerie it looked at night.
“There,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The voices are coming from that house.”
The officer followed her gaze, his heart beginning to race. It was not uncommon for children to have vivid imaginations, but there was something in the girl’s voice, something in the way she pointed toward the house, that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Do you know anyone who lives there?” he asked, his voice steady but his mind racing. “Is there anyone inside?”
The girl shook her head slowly, her expression unreadable.
“No one lives there,” she murmured. “But the voices… they come at night. They told me to leave, or something bad would happen.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He tried to make sense of her words, but nothing about the situation seemed to add up. He could feel the weight of the moment, the strange tension in the air. There was something about the house, something about the girl’s words, that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He stood up slowly, keeping a calm exterior, but inside, his mind was racing. He glanced back at the house, then down at the little girl, who had lowered her gaze and was staring at the ground. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted as if she were still listening to something only she could hear.
“Do you hear them now?” the officer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the question itself might make the voices louder.
The girl nodded, her eyes flicking toward the house once more. She seemed detached, almost in a trance.
“Yes,” she whispered. “They’re telling me to go back.”
The officer’s heart pounded in his chest. The situation was growing stranger by the second, and he could feel the weight of the girl’s words pressing down on him.
“Stay here,” he said, his voice firm now. “I’m going to check out that house. Stay with the people here, okay?”
The girl didn’t respond. She simply stood there, her eyes fixed on the house in the distance, as if she were locked in some kind of trance. The officer turned and motioned to the group of bystanders to keep an eye on her. They nodded, some exchanging uneasy glances as they moved closer to the girl.
With a deep breath, the officer made his way toward the abandoned house, his feet heavy with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The closer he got, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The house loomed larger, the broken windows staring down at him like hollow eyes. As he approached the front door, he felt a cold breeze wash over him, despite the warm evening air.
He reached for the doorknob, and just as his fingers touched it, he heard a faint sound — a whisper, so soft he could barely make it out. He stood still, straining his ears. It was a voice. A low, guttural murmur, as though someone was speaking from within the house.
The officer’s hand froze on the doorknob.
The voice wasn’t just a figment of the little girl’s imagination. It was real. And it was coming from inside the house.
He stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no idea what he was dealing with, but one thing was certain: something dark and dangerous was hiding within those walls.