People spotted a little girl on the street and called the police—she told the officer voices told her to leave and pointed to a house down the road.
No one knew where she’d come from. Just a six-year-old girl, standing there on the pavement in a fancy white dress, like she’d just stepped out of a party.
Passers-by stopped. Someone offered her water, another suggested calling social services. She looked well cared for, nothing like a runaway. But she stayed quiet until she finally whispered,
*”I heard voices…”*
That set people on edge. Someone called the police.
Fifteen minutes later, a sergeant arrived—young, but with tired eyes. He crouched beside her and kept his voice gentle.
*”Hey, love. What’s your name? Where’re your parents? Why are you out here alone?”*
The girl looked up and said softly,
*”The voices told me to leave home.”*
*”What voices, sweetheart?”*
The officer was horrified by what she said next.
*”I didn’t see. I was behind the door… There was a bang first. Then the voices said, ‘Go. Or you’re dead.’”*
She paused, then asked,
*”Mister… what’s ‘dead’?”*
The policeman went cold.
*”Where do you live?”* he asked, struggling to stay calm.
She pointed down the street to a neat little terraced house, curtains drawn.
The sergeant walked in—the door was slightly open.
He took a few steps inside… then froze.
A woman lay on the living room floor. Pale. Not breathing. No pulse. No words needed.
Later, they figured it out. The girl’s dad had lost his temper and killed her mum. Hearing the scream, the girl had run to the bedroom door—but didn’t go in. Then a voice—her father’s—hoarse with panic, whispered,
*”Go. Run. Now.”*
He’d tried to shield her from seeing it. Didn’t realise she’d feel it all anyway.
So she left. Alone. In her white dress. Out to strangers—who listened.
And she got away. From the man who should’ve protected her most.
