I’ve been a cop for over a decade, and this call still haunts me. The girl opened the door in a stained nightgown, barefoot, holding a cracked tablet. “Mommy’s sleeping,” she whispered. The house smelled like rot; dishes piled high, diapers overflowing. But when we opened the bedroom door and saw what was on the bed… we lost it. We pulled back the bedsheets and what we found underneath made the youngest officer run outside and throw up.
We stood outside the house, my hand poised to knock, but the screams of cartoons from within caught our attention. Every knock echoed strangely as if somehow swallowed by the chaos inside. Officer Jenny gave me a concerned look, her brows knitted tightly. We waited a few tense moments, exchanging glances, and could hear more cartoon voices blaring, then footsteps pattered closer. Whoever was about to answer, I hoped they could explain this.