Girl vanished from her bed in 1991 — 9 years later mom plays her old recording toy…and was shocked

She found the battery compartment and discovered they’d leaked slightly, leaving crusty residue. After cleaning the contacts with a tissue, she inserted fresh AAs from her junk drawer. The play button clicked down with a familiar mechanical sound.

Static filled the air. Then a small voice emerged. Testing, testing, this is Isabella Marie Rhodes, and I’m five years old.

Elaine’s heart clenched. She hadn’t heard her daughter’s voice in nine years. Tears ran down her cheeks as Izzy continued chattering about her day, her friends at preschool, the butterfly she’d seen in the garden.

Then the recording shifted. Background noises, movement. Charles’s voice, distant but clear.

Izzy, come to the princess room when you’re done. Remember what I promised? Once we’re finished, we’ll go to Toys R Us for that new My Little Pony. Elaine frowned.

Princess room? She rewound and played it again. Charles’s tone was different than usual. Cajoling, almost weedling.

And Izzy hadn’t been particularly interested in princesses. She’d preferred animals. Dragons, unicorns, puppies.

Maybe Charles had been trying to redirect her interests? Parents did that sometimes, encouraging children toward different toys. The promised My Little Pony made sense as a bribe for good behavior. Elaine searched through the box but found no pony figurines.

Perhaps they were in another box, or Charles had kept them. Some toys had been too painful to pack. She replayed the recording, listening intently to each word.

Princess room. A strange phrase. Charles had never referred to Izzy’s bedroom that way.

Was it part of a game they played? A special nickname that had slipped her memory? After all, Charles had spent more of the daytime hours with Izzy. She set the recorder aside and began unpacking her personal belongings. Hours passed as she arranged her life into new spaces.

Dishes in unfamiliar cabinets. Clothes in a smaller closet. Photos on different walls.

When she opened her filing cabinet to organize important papers, she realized something was missing. Her nursing license renewal documents weren’t there. She checked every folder twice, then searched the boxes labeled with her name.

Nothing. The clock showed 8.30 p.m. Her shift started at 10. Without those documents, she couldn’t prove her credentials were current.

The hospital administration was strict about paperwork. She dialed Charles’ number from her new phone. He answered on the third ring.

Elaine, everything okay? I can’t find my nursing license documents, she said. I think I left them at the house. Would it be all right if I came by to look? Oh, a pause.

I just left for my grief group therapy session. Won’t be back until late. Elaine glanced outside.

The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink. I really need them for my shift tonight. Could I use my key? Of course, Charles said.

You know where everything is. Just lock up when you leave. Thanks.

I appreciate it. No problem. Good luck tonight.

Elaine hung up and grabbed her keys. The familiar weight of the house key felt strange now, a remnant of her old life she should probably return soon. She left the unpacked boxes scattered across her living room and headed for her car.

Elaine pulled into the familiar driveway 15 minutes later. The house stood dark against the evening sky, windows reflecting the last rays of sunset. Strange how quickly a home could become just a building.

She let herself in through the front door, flipping on lights as she moved through the house. Everything remained exactly where she’d left it hours ago, but the emptiness felt more pronounced now. The bedroom, Charles’ bedroom now, she reminded herself, was at the end of the hall.

She pushed open the door and switched on the overhead light. The queen bed they’d shared for 15 years looked strange with only one pillow. Charles had already removed traces of her presence.

No jewelry dish on the dresser, no romance novels on the nightstand. The filing cabinet stood in the corner where it had always been. She opened the second drawer and found the manila folder marked Medical Licenses, exactly where she’d kept it.

The documents were all there. Her original license, renewal forms, continuing education certificates. Relief washed over her.

At least this wouldn’t affect her work. She tucked the folder under her arm and did a quick scan of the room. Nothing else seemed forgotten.

As she turned to leave, the cassette recorder’s words echoed in her mind. Princess room, the phrase nagged at her, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. She found herself climbing the stairs to Izzy’s room again.

The door creaked as she entered. Without the clutter of toys and clothes she’d packed earlier, the room looked larger, sadder. She walked slowly around the perimeter, running her fingers along the walls, half expecting to find some princess decoration she’d forgotten.

Nothing. No castles, tiaras, or fairy tale imagery. She opened the closet door.

Empty hangers clinked together in the slight breeze from her movement. The wardrobe stood against the far wall. When she approached it, the old piece shifted slightly, tilting toward her.

Without the weight of clothes inside, its structural problems were obvious. The left front foot didn’t touch the floor properly. She examined the gap, noticing how the wooden floorboards had warped underneath.

The room had been closed up so often since Izzy’s disappearance, moisture had probably accumulated. Portland’s damp climate was hard on old houses. The wardrobe wobbled when she tried to steady it.

One good shove might topple it completely. She couldn’t leave it like this. If it fell in the night, Charles might think someone had broken in.

The last thing he needed was that kind of scare. She checked her watch. 7.30 p.m. Harrison’s hardware stayed open until 8. She could grab some wooden shims to level it out, do a quick fix before her shift.

The phone rang downstairs, sharp in the quiet house. Elaine hurried down, instinctively moving to answer it. Her hand was on the receiver when she stopped…