There are stories that shake you to your core — stories that leave you staring at the ceiling at night, wondering how something so monstrous could happen in a world that still calls itself civilized.

The story of ten-year-old Takoda Collins is one of those stories.

It begins like a whisper — the sound of a child’s name buried in a police report, a quiet 911 call on a cold December night.
But what investigators would uncover behind that simple call would reveal something so horrific, so cruel, that it would haunt even the most seasoned detectives.

The Call That Changed Everything

On December 13, 2019, a man named Al-Mutahan McLean dialed 911 in Dayton, Ohio. His voice was calm, almost rehearsed, as he told dispatchers that his son was “unresponsive.”
When first responders arrived, they found ten-year-old Takoda — thin, lifeless, and bruised — lying on the floor.

To the untrained eye, it looked like a medical emergency. But paramedics noticed something unusual: Takoda’s frail frame told a story his lips never could. His ribs jutted sharply under his skin. His eyes were sunken. He had scars — old and new — scattered across his body like roadmaps of pain.

As officers moved through the home, they climbed toward the attic — and that’s where the true horror unfolded.

The Prison Above the Ceiling

Inside the small, dimly lit attic, police discovered a makeshift cell.
The space reeked of neglect — no bed, no toys, no signs of warmth or comfort.
Just an empty room with a lock on the outside, a combination lock dangling from the door like a symbol of control.

Nearby, they found a Taser, four shock collars, and other items authorities later described as “tools of torture.”
This was where Takoda had been locked away, forced to live naked, hungry, and alone — punished for things no child should ever be punished for.

And yet, the story didn’t end with neglect. It plunged deeper into darkness.

A Child’s Silent Suffering

Investigators would later learn that Takoda had endured years of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse.
His father, McLean, had tortured him in unspeakable ways — using Tasers, beating him, and reportedly forcing him to drink excessive amounts of water or submerging him underwater until he nearly drowned.

Takoda’s body became both a prison and a witness.
He never had the chance to tell his story — not in words, anyway.
But his body told it for him.

The medical examiner’s report described injuries consistent with prolonged abuse and sexual assault.
Detectives pieced together fragments of testimony, text messages, and evidence to form a timeline of suffering that stretched back years.

The cruelty was methodical, intentional, and relentless.

The People Who Knew

What made this tragedy even harder to comprehend was that others were there — and they did nothing to stop it.

McLean’s girlfriend, Amanda Hinze, and her sister, Jennifer Ebert, both lived in the home where Takoda was imprisoned.
They heard his cries.
They saw his bruises.
And yet, they looked away.

When questioned, both women tried to distance themselves from the abuse. But prosecutors said their silence made them complicit in Takoda’s death. They had a duty to protect him — and they failed.

Hinze later admitted that she “didn’t want to make him mad” — meaning McLean — a chilling reflection of how fear can twist into compliance.

But the one who paid the price was Takoda.

A Mother’s Regret

While McLean sat behind bars awaiting trial, the world turned its gaze toward Robin Collins, Takoda’s biological mother.

Her story, too, was steeped in heartbreak.
In2009, she had been charged with child abuse and lost custody of her son years later. She struggled with drug addiction and criminal charges that spiraled her life out of control.
By the time Takoda died, Robin was trying to rebuild her life. She said she’d been sober for over a year, living with her young daughter, hoping one day she might reunite with her son.

But that day never came.

When she learned of his death, she told reporters through tears,

“I wasn’t there to protect him. I failed him. Everyone failed him.”

Her grief echoed through communities across the country, sparking debates about how child protective services could have missed so many signs — and how a system designed to protect the vulnerable had let a ten-year-old boy slip through its cracks.

The Trial and Sentencing

The courtroom was silent as McLean stood before the judge, shackled and expressionless.
He faced charges of murder, rape, child endangerment, and felonious assault.

When prosecutors described the extent of Takoda’s suffering, some jurors wept. The evidence was overwhelming — the attic, the torture devices, the autopsy.

McLean ultimately pleaded guilty to the charges.
His voice did not tremble. There was no visible remorse, no apology.

The judge sentenced him to 51 years to life in prison — a punishment that ensured he would never again walk free.

As the sentence was read, one officer whispered, “Not long enough.”

Hinze and Ebert were also convicted for their roles in Takoda’s death.
Hinze received 22 to 27.5 years, and her sister Ebert received 8 years in prison.

The courtroom was heavy with silence — justice served, but far from satisfying. Because no sentence, no number of years, could ever bring back the little boy who once smiled, laughed, and dreamed of being something more.

Remembering Takoda

Neighbors remembered Takoda as quiet, polite, and curious — a little boy who used to wave at people passing by. Teachers said he was bright, shy, and loved to draw.
But as his home life grew darker, he withdrew, his laughter fading into silence.

By the time authorities intervened, it was too late.

At a small memorial held after his death, candles flickered in the cold wind.
People who never knew him left teddy bears and notes that read:

“You are safe now.”
“We love you, Takoda.”

Those who attended spoke of not just grief, but guilt — a shared sense of responsibility for a child who slipped through the cracks.

The System That Failed

Takoda’s death sparked an internal review within Ohio’s child welfare system.
Many asked the same haunting question: How many times had someone seen the signs and said nothing?

Reports later revealed that McLean had been under investigation multiple times.
Teachers, neighbors, and relatives had raised concerns.
But somehow, the warnings never reached far enough — never soon enough.

This wasn’t just the story of one man’s evil.
It was the story of a systemic collapse, a failure of oversight that cost a child his life.

Takoda’s story became a grim reminder that behind every headline, there’s a chain of missed opportunities — people who could have stepped in but didn’t.

The Legacy He Left Behind

In the years since Takoda’s death, communities across Ohio have pushed for stronger protections for children — more accountability for caseworkers, more follow-up visits, and more transparency.
Social workers now refer to “Takoda’s Law” — an unofficial term for the renewed vigilance his case inspired.

His name, once whispered in sadness, has become a rallying cry for reform.

People light candles every December 13th — the day he died — to honor his memory.
Some draw pictures of angels with red hair and blue eyes, just like Takoda.
Others donate toys to children’s shelters in his name.

It doesn’t erase what happened.
But it ensures that he will not be forgotten.

A Child Who Deserved the World

At the end of the day, Takoda was just a boy — ten years old, full of potential.
He should have been riding bikes, building Lego castles, or learning how to throw a baseball.
Instead, his world became an attic.

A locked door.
A silence no one broke.
A life no one saved in time.

There’s a photo of Takoda, smiling softly, freckles across his cheeks. It’s a photo that breaks your heart because you realize — he didn’t need much. Just love. Just safety. Just a chance to be a kid.

He didn’t get that chance.

But now, because of him, other children might.