A little boy pleads with the police to help him, insisting that a “creature” kidnapped his baby sister. They dismiss what he says—until he shows them a picture no one can explain. The coffee in the breakroom tasted like burned plastic mixed with old bitterness.
I’ve learned something important over the years: true silence is never harmless. It usually means trouble is inhaling deeply before it explodes. I was drowning in reports—shoplifting cases, noise complaints, all the small scraps of everyday chaos—when the station doors flew open with a force that sent the dust floating in the sunlight scattering. Continue reading…