“Daddy, please come home!! Mom is screaming…”

It was a normal workday when my son called me 10 times while I was in a meeting. My heart sank with each missed call. Finally, during a break, I called him back, my hands shaking.

“Daddy, I don’t know what to do. I just came home and can hear Mom screaming in her room,” he said, his voice trembling.

“Why didn’t you walk into her room?” I inquired, attempting to keep my voice steady despite the increasing panic within me.

“I am too terrified to go inside. “I hear other voices inside,” he said, his terror obvious over the phone.

I quickly called my wife, but she didn’t answer. I had no choice but to phone 911 in case they could arrive faster. The drive home felt like a lifetime, and my mind was racing with worst-case scenarios.

When I eventually got home, I did not hesitate. I dashed to our bedroom door after hearing the faint sound of police sirens in the distance. I burst down the door, adrenaline racing through my veins, and what I saw paralyzed me.

My wife lay on the bed, convulsing and screaming, her eyes wide with fear. Three people, two men and one woman, were chanting in a language I couldn’t understand. They were holding odd things, and the room was filled with an eerie light.

“Get away from her!” I yelled, but they wouldn’t stop. I lunged at the nearest person, knocking him down. The other two stepped away, alarmed by my unexpected aggression.

“Daddy!” my son cried from the doorway, and I turned to see him standing there, tears streaming down his face.