No one immediately understood where she had come from. A little girl, around six years old, stood barefoot on the sidewalk, wearing an elegant white dress — the kind you’d expect to see at a wedding or a fancy party.
Passersby slowed their steps. Someone suggested buying her water, another murmured about calling social services. The girl looked well cared for, not like a homeless child — but she stood frozen, wide-eyed, clutching the hem of her dress.
At first, she said nothing. Then, barely audible, she whispered:
— I heard voices…
The words unsettled everyone. Within minutes, someone dialed the police.
Fifteen minutes later, a young sergeant pulled up in a patrol car. He stepped out, his uniform slightly rumpled, dark circles under his eyes. Kneeling to meet her gaze, he softened his tone:
— Hi there. What’s your name? Where are your parents? Why are you out here alone?
The girl slowly turned her head toward him, her voice trembling but clear:
— The voices told me to leave the house.
The sergeant frowned.
— What voices, sweetheart?
The girl’s tiny hand rose, her finger trembling as she pointed toward the very end of the street — to a house with drawn curtains and a porch light that flickered despite the bright afternoon sun.
Her next words sent a chill through the sergeant’s spine:
— They said… someone’s still inside.
The officer exchanged a quick look with bystanders, then radioed for backup. He asked softly:
— Who’s inside, honey?
The girl hesitated, her lips quivering before she spoke:
— Mommy didn’t wake up. Daddy… didn’t move. And the voices said I should go before it comes back.
The crowd fell silent. A few people backed away instinctively, staring at the house as if expecting something — or someone — to emerge.
Within minutes, two more patrol cars arrived, sirens silenced but lights flashing. Officers moved cautiously toward the house, weapons holstered but ready.
The sergeant turned back to the girl:
— What do you mean “before it comes back”?
She stared past him, eyes fixed on the darkened doorway of the distant house, and whispered one final, haunting sentence that made the officer’s stomach drop:
— The voices said… it’s still hungry.
