On Halloween night, the knock at my door wasn’t from a trick-or-treater but from a little girl desperate for help. “My mom’s been asleep for three days, and now there’s a strange smell,” sobbed Mollie, my seven-year-old neighbor. By morning, my life had changed forever.
I had planned a quiet night: microwave dinner and a horror movie. But at 7 p.m., the doorbell rang. Expecting kids in costumes, I opened the door to find Mollie, trembling and tearful in her worn pink sweater.
“Mr. Dave,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please help. My mom won’t wake up. I tried playing her favorite song… but she just lies there. I’m scared.”
My heart sank. “Show me, sweetheart.” I followed her down the hall, each step echoing with dread.
When we reached her door, Mollie glanced up at me. “I made cereal by myself and fed Mr. Whiskers, but we ran out of milk.”
Inside, the air was thick and stale. In the dim light, I saw Mollie’s mom, Isabel, lying motionless on the couch, an empty pill bottle nearby. “Mommy,” Mollie pleaded, “I brought Mr. Dave. Please wake up.”
I checked for a pulse. It was faint, her skin cold and clammy. “Mollie,” I said softly, “go get Mrs. Derek from 4A. Tell her it’s an emergency.”
Mollie nodded. “She gave me cookies yesterday when I told her I was hungry.” She hurried off.
I tried to rouse Isabel with cold water, her eyes flickering open. “Cold,” she mumbled. “Jeremy? Is that you?” She was calling for her late husband.
Continue reading on next page…