A Police Dog Barked at an Abandoned House Every Day Until an Officer Finally Went Inside

The silence of the street and the houses already preparing for bed was only broken occasionally by the distant chirping of a cricket or the rustle of the wind in the leaves.

The fatigue on the policeman’s shoulders was evident. The day had been intense, draining his energy, and the man was walking around distracted with those questions still on his mind.

“What the hell is wrong with that house?”

And before he knew it, they were passing by that haunted house that intrigued him so much. It was no surprise when Siberius stirred once again.

Into the Shadows

His barks echoed with a tone of urgency and anxiety. The animal’s eyes fixed on the gloomy house.

“Ah, okay, okay, let’s go in,” exclaimed Roger, surrendering to curiosity and concern about his dog’s behavior.

He was about to enter the grounds when he stopped for a moment to look at the facade of the house. What a creeping sight.

The broken windows looked like empty eyes staring back at him. Vines covered a large part of the walls, and the faded and peeling paint gave it an even more ancient and forgotten look.

And when he was distracted for a second, thinking about how scary that house really was, Roger felt the string of his husky’s collar slip out of his hand. The dog ran towards the house barking frantically.

“Siberius, come back here!” the policeman shouted, but the animal had already disappeared from sight.

The rusty metal gate creaked as the man pushed it open. His entrance was marked by an intense feeling of apprehension.

The atmosphere was charged with energy and despite the silence, he felt as if he wasn’t alone.

“My God, what a horrible place.”

He was walking slowly and then decided to take out his flashlight. But as he shone the light on the ground, he noticed something that intrigued him.

Footprints—fresh footprints in the dust. They didn’t have a pattern, as if someone had been walking around with no clear destination.

“Strange.”

The man entered the house and, walking a little further, the flashlight revealed something unexpected. A small child’s toy, a rag doll with one eye missing, was abandoned on the floor of the entrance.

A Cry in the Dark

And that’s when he began to conclude that something was very wrong. The doll wasn’t old, as if it belonged in that house.

It was from the present day, and although it was a bit dirty, it had certainly ended up on the floor recently. He looked around and saw that the curtains also seemed to have been moved recently.

Roger’s heart raced.

“Is anyone there?” he asked aloud, trying to hide the fear that was taking hold of him.

But silence was the only answer. With the gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he slowly advanced.

He called softly for Siberius, expecting to hear the familiar bark of his canine friend, but instead there was silence. In his mind, he was still trying to assimilate all the strange details he had encountered so far, but it was clear that he was afraid.

Only the light of his flashlight cut through the darkness, showing the deteriorated architecture of the place. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and the old furniture, half burnt by the fire, was scary to look at.

Of course, that place wasn’t safe either. After all, its structure had been damaged by the fire, so he knew he was in danger.

The man was looking from side to side searching for his dog when suddenly, amid the oppressive silence, a soft sound caught his attention that shouldn’t have been there. A baby crying.

It was a low cry, almost silent. The sound came from upstairs, making Roger look up at the staircase in front of him.

Each step, with dark stains from the fire, made a hideous creaking sound that echoed through the house. As he climbed the stairs, the crying became closer.

His mind began to be invaded by tumultuous thoughts. Was it a trap or perhaps it was the echo of some past tragedy?

The Discovery

Was the place really haunted? He tried to concentrate, but the combination of the crying and the atmosphere in the house made it difficult to maintain clarity of thought.

At the top of the stairs, the policeman came across a long, narrow corridor with several closed doors. The crying seemed to be coming from the end of the corridor, from a half-open door that let in a dim light.

Breathing heavily and with his heart pounding in his chest, he moved forward slowly, finally arriving at the door. With a sigh, Roger pushed it open, and that’s when the scene before his eyes paralyzed him.

A woman with disheveled hair and eyes wide with fear was sitting on an old sofa. In her arms she held a newborn baby whose soft cries were what had led the policeman to that room.

And lying next to him was Siberius. The girl’s gaze met his and for a moment they were both silent.

“Please don’t hurt us, please!” she cried out, and hugged her son against her as if trying to protect him.

The man lowered his gun and flashlight, trying to show that he had no hostile intentions.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

The young woman had tears streaming down her face as the baby continued to cry. Veronica—that was her name—was clearly shaken.

Her eyes reflected a mixture of despair and hope at finding someone who could perhaps help her.

“Aren’t you going to arrest me?” she said, when she saw Roger’s gun.

The man quickly understood the seriousness of the situation and put the gun away.

A Story of Escape

In a soft, reassuring voice, he said,

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you, my dear. I’m a policeman. That’s Siberius, my dog.”