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

We walked inside.

The place felt wrong.

There was one ancient couch. A wobbly table.

A couple of boxes. No pictures. No lamps.

No sign of grown-up life.

“Police!” Murray called. “Anyone home?”

The kitchen sink was full of dishes. Trash overflowing.

A pot on the stove with something burned solid in it.

He checked the short hallway.

Bathroom. Empty.

Bedroom. One mattress on the floor.

Thin blanket. Pillow. A backpack and a skateboard.

That was about it.

Murray came back and faced Jack.

“How long has your mom been gone?” he asked.

Jack stared at the floor.

“A while,” he mumbled.

“How long is ‘a while’?” Murray pressed.

Jack shifted, tugging at his sleeve.

“A week,” he said.

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