My Little Neighbor Didn’t Let Anyone Into His Home Until a Police Officer Arrived and Stepped Inside

“Jack?” I called.

“It’s Mrs. Doyle. I brought pie.”

Silence.

I knocked again.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to open,” I said.

“Just say something so I know you’re okay.”

Nothing.

No footsteps. No TV. No “go away.”

Just a closed door.

I went home, set the pie on my table, and stared at it.

By morning, I’d made up my mind.

I called a taxi and went to the police station because I don’t drive anymore, and frankly, at ninety-one, I shouldn’t.

The officer at the front desk looked about 12 himself.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” he asked, standing up.

“I hope so,” I said.

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