Nowhere Girl

It was a blistering July afternoon, and the Walmart parking lot shimmered with heatwaves. I had just finished loading groceries into the trunk of my car. I always park far out, away from the clustered chaos near the entrance. Less traffic, less noise, fewer eyes. That’s how I like it.

That’s when she appeared.

A little girl, maybe six or seven, bolted toward me from between two parked trucks. I barely had time to react before her tiny arms wrapped tightly around my waist. She clung to me as if I were her mother.

I froze.

“Sweetheart?” I bent down to her level, about to ask if she was lost—

But then she leaned in, pressed her chapped lips to my ear, and whispered, “Help me.”

My breath hitched.

I pulled back and finally saw her. Really saw her.

Her face was smudged with dirt. Her shirt was torn. Patches of her scalp were bare, as though clumps of her hair had been ripped out. Purple and green bruises climbed her arms like ivy.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, heart thudding.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide with terror. “He’s coming.”

Before I could respond, she bolted. Straight toward the woods beyond the lot.

I hesitated. For one terrible second, I just stood there. But then my body took over, and I chased her, shouting, “Wait! Wait!”

She disappeared into the treeline.

I followed.

The thick brush scraped at my jeans. My heart pounded louder than my footsteps.

Then I heard it—branches cracking behind me.

Someone else was coming.

I ducked behind a fallen log, phone in hand, ready to call 911. But there was no signal. Of course not.

Then I heard a voice, low and gravelly, calling out: “Little girl… where are you?”

It wasn’t mine.

I held my breath.

That’s when the girl reappeared, crouching beside me like a ghost. Her voice was barely audible.

“He pretends to be my dad. He takes other kids too. They never come back.”

I grabbed her hand. “We have to run.”

But she pulled back. “Wait. Look.”

Through the trees, I saw him. A tall man in a faded red hoodie, walking with a limp. He held a leash. No dog—just a leash.

He passed us, not seeing us.

And then he kept walking.

The girl yanked my sleeve. “He didn’t see us. But he will.”

We crept the opposite way, away from the man, until we reached a small clearing. That’s when I saw it.

An old camper van.

Abandoned.

Or so I thought.

“Is that his?” I asked.

She nodded. “The others are inside.”

“What others?”

She said nothing. Just walked to the van and opened the door.

Inside were two more kids, barely conscious. One looked like a teenager, the other no more than five.

I reached for my phone again—still no signal.

That’s when I heard the humming. A low, metallic whine from the back of the van.

The man was inside.

Too late.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and slammed me against the van wall.

“You shouldn’t have followed her,” he hissed, holding a rusty knife. “She always finds someone.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean… ‘she always finds someone’?”

He grinned. “She’s good at it. You’re number six.”

Suddenly, the little girl lunged at him from behind, biting into his arm. He screamed and dropped the knife.

I grabbed it.

We fought.

He almost won.

But I stabbed him. Once. Twice.

He fell.

Not moving.

I dragged the kids out, one by one, hands shaking, legs numb. Finally, signal bars flickered to life. I called 911, told them everything.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

I turned to the little girl.

She was gone.

Just gone.

No sign of her in the clearing, no footprints in the mud.

The officers arrived, took my statement, recovered the other two kids.

But when I asked about the girl who’d led me there, they looked confused.

“There were only two children in the van,” the cop said. “No one else.”

I described her in detail—bruises, bald patches, torn clothes.

He shook his head. “We didn’t find anyone like that. You said she ran up to you?”

I nodded.

He paused. “Ma’am… there was a case, years ago. A little girl who went missing from this lot. Never found. Name was Ellie.”

He showed me a photo.

It was her.

The girl who said, “Help me.”

The girl who vanished.

The girl who saved me.

And then disappeared… again.