The Crocotta, part one

I could have been dreaming, I could have been crazy, hell I could have even still been drunk from the night before, but whatever I was, it doesn't change the fact that I heard it. I heard it clear as day, clear enough to have been right in front of me when it woke me up that chilly September night. Those two words still ring in my ear, those two words from the voice of a child.
"Help me..."
I awoke with a start from no dream in particular, whatever it was it ended with that voice. At first, I couldn't tell if I had even really heard it at all, let alone where it came from. For a moment that felt like hours I stared up at the white ceiling of my bedroom, you never notice what color your ceiling is until you wake up in the middle of the night and don't want to know what time it is. I wondered for a moment if that cry for help was the end of my dream, the only part of my dreams I can ever really remember, but that theory was shattered quickly when the sound came again, clearer than before, but not nearly as close.
"Help me..."
I sat up with a start, looking at the clock right across on my bureau; 12:23, I hadn't even gotten half a nights sleep yet, hadn't even been home for two hours, but I knew automatically what 12:23 meant. 12:23 meant I had been jobless for the last five hours and twenty three minutes. 12:23 meant I had been single for the last four hours and sixteen minutes. 12:23 meant I wasn't going to be getting any more sleep tonight, on top of a really shitty day yesterday I was going to be a zombie all day today. I guess when it rains it pours. The sound brought me sharply back into focus, why I was awake in the first place.
"Help me..."
Thats three times now, and I really hear it this time. Its a little girls voice, couldn't be more than five or six, probably that kid from down the street. The carpet is soft under my feet. She probably snuck out of bed to chase fireflies and got lost in that woods that surrounds the neighborhood, I always thought that place was dangerous, with those damn teenagers sneaking into there every night to shoot up drugs. The kitchen floor is cold and hard, a stark contrast. That sweet little girl probably got her foot stuck on a root, the poor kid. I ought to get out there and-
"Help me..."
I fumble around a drawer for a flashlight while pulling on that old football jersey, too cold to go outside without one. Found it, damn thing always rolls to the back when i'm not using it. I walk to the door and all I can think of is that poor little girl, cold and alone, stuck in the woods. Then I think, didn't that family move away? They couldn't have, I'm hearing their kid right now, I can hear her voice as clear as day.
"Help me..."
Then I remember; didn't they move away after their poor, sweet little girl went missing?

To Be Continued