I called emergency services when I saw a little boy locked in a car… but I was told he had already been found.

It was almost 35°C. The boy, red and in tears, was pounding the window of a white sedan. No one around. The windows were closed. I dropped my shopping bags and ran. Doors locked. The boy saw me and screamed louder.

I called 112. “A child trapped in a car, about 5 years old, white T-shirt, brown hair…”

The dispatcher interrupted: “Model and license plate of the vehicle?”

I gave her the info.

Silence.

“That vehicle was checked 15 minutes ago. The child is safe at home, with his mother.”

“No! He’s right here! I can see him!”

She replied, more calmly: “Ma’am, please step away. Officers are on their way.”

The little boy stared at me. Then he raised a phone… showing a photo of me. Taken just minutes earlier. My heart stopped.

When the police arrived, there was nothing. The seat was empty. The car still locked. They confirmed: the mother had been contacted, her son, Josh, was at home. Case closed.

But… where did that photo come from?

That evening, while checking my phone, I saw another photo. Of me, standing by the car. Taken from behind. I had never taken it. And I don’t use cloud storage. No one has access to my phone.

The next day, I went back. The car was there. Identical. Empty. But inside the store, I found a white child-sized T-shirt. Damp. Fresh. And I heard… a faint tapping. Inside an empty freezer, a post-it stuck to the glass:

“You saw me.”

Since then, photos have started appearing. Of me, at home. Sleeping. Crying. Always taken secretly.

The police found nothing. I moved. Far away. Thinking I’d escaped it.

Until I saw the car again. In my new village.

I contacted a journalist. He called me back:
“A child died in that car five years ago. Same plate. Same model. And since then… it reappears. Always with that boy. Always when someone notices him.”

He said:
“One woman managed to stop the appearances. She went back to where it all began. And she said goodbye.”

So I went.

I sat beside the car. And I whispered:

“I’m sorry. I saw you.”

The air went still. Then the boy appeared. Beside me. Smiling.

He gently touched my arm.

And vanished.

Since then, no more photos.