I want to start off by saying that I don’t know exactly what I expect to get out of this. I think you might be able to help me, but I don’t really know how you could. Maybe you can’t. It’s the only option I have at this point, in any case. I don’t know what else to do. If you can’t help me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me anymore. I really need your help.
I’m a 911 dispatcher. Or, I was. I had been doing it for about 9 years now – it was a nice job. Well, one that puts food on the table, at the very least. I was good at it. Not a lot of people could take a job like that, but it was not too bad for me. Though there've been hundreds of dire events people have called for, it was rather uneventful for myself. I just sit in that room, answering call after call. Nothing much happens in that room. Nothing much happened to me in general. I had a pretty ordinary, uneventful life.
About a year ago, I’d say, this woman called in. No phone number. It happened, sometimes – our department spent our money on things other than an upgraded phone system… but that’s beside the point. She called in about a burglary that was about to happen in this rather poor part of town. She hung up pretty fast. I couldn’t get in a word, but, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think too much of it.
It was not often that a person called in regarding something going to happen rather than something already happening. But, it happens sometimes. Sometimes people catch wind of a crime through word of mouth or see someone suspicious in their neighborhood before they do anything, and don’t know who else to call.
I thought that this was one of those instances, and handled it accordingly. I informed the police, and the police staked out the house that was supposed to get burglarized. Sure enough, a couple of guys tried to break into the place. They were caught before they could even get through the window they had broken open, from what I had heard.
A few days later, this woman called again. I thought her voice sounded familiar. She had this uniquely monotone voice. Emotionless. She sounded so familiar, but admittedly, I didn’t think too much of that, either. I guess I just heard too many voices… they all blurred together and sounded the same sometimes. Her number didn’t show up on the screen again. She called in about an assault. It hadn’t happened yet.
This felt odd to me. Assaults like this seemed like typically an in-the-moment thing. It usually was not planned ahead enough for someone else to know about it. I had a strange feeling about it, but she had hung up just as quickly as she had the first time, without letting me get a word in.
Of course, I informed the police again. The man was caught at the exact time and place that the woman on the call had said, trying to assault a woman on the street, and with a knife. It didn’t seem… premeditated. The news articles said that the man was drunk.
I was a little confused and actually pretty concerned – how did this woman on the phone know? But I didn’t have many options. Her calls didn’t come with a phone number, after all – I couldn’t just call her back to ask. That wasn’t part of my job, anyways. The police didn’t ask.
A couple weeks went by after that. Business as usual. Regular 911 calls – I don’t believe I heard that voice again once for that entire duration. I wish it had stayed that way.
She called again. Her voice struck me as familiar right off the bat this time. I recognized it, now. I knew it was her. This call, however, was far more concerning to me than the previous one. She said that my house was going to get broken into. She didn’t say it like that, she didn’t say that it was my house directly. She said that a house would get broken into, I asked her for the address, and the address that she gave me was mine. It took me a second to process this fully. It was so unexpected that my brain just took a second to click. I finally registered it – that this familiar sounding address was mine.
“What?”
But she had already hung up. Of course she had already hung up.
I sat there for a second, in shock. I couldn’t call her back, because of course her phone number hadn’t shown up again. We didn’t have a way of tracing calls or anything – we would need to get the police in for something like that. I didn’t have many options here. I did what I had done for the last two incidents – I informed the police, and they sent a cop to stake it out. I was still at work when it happened. Sure enough, a couple hours later, some guy tried to break in, and they caught him. They called me after the incident to inform me of this. It was my house after all.
I didn’t really know what to make of this. Not yet. I had recognized that woman as being the same woman from her previous two calls. It was already strange enough that she knew these crimes were going to happen beforehand each time, but it was too strange of a coincidence that one of the crimes happened to me. I didn’t know what to do. I guess I had hoped that it truly was just that – a coincidence. Just a strange coincidence.
Admittedly, I was scared to go home that night. I lingered at work for as long as I could, stalling for time – but, eventually, my boss made me leave. I drove home, probably going under the speed limit. I was a nervous wreck. The police caught the burglar – what was there to be scared of? I just couldn’t shake this ominous feeling off. About the caller. The woman. How did she know my house was going to get broken into? I tried to tell myself that perhaps she was just somehow well-informed of crimes. Maybe she knew some people, heard things through word of mouth, or something. I don’t know. But the ominous feeling wouldn’t go away.
When I arrived in my driveway, it was dark out. I always got home pretty late. I really did not want to step out of my car. I looked out all of my windows, squinting at the bushes and behind all my neighbor’s cars and fences for any sign of someone watching my home, or me. I don’t know why – again, I just… had a feeling.
I didn’t see anyone. After probably 20 minutes of this, I worked up the courage to step out. I finally left my car and went up to my house. Everything was fine, normal. No real sign of the burglary. The cop caught him before any real damage could be done, after all. The police had suggested I leave work when the actual attempt had happened, but I was so shaken up by the call – I told them I would come by the police station to talk about it the day afterwards. I guess I just wanted to be there – at the call station – in case she called again.
Anyways, I stepped inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, the burglar never actually got to go inside. I should have expected nothing to be out of place, but I checked everywhere anyway. I checked my closets, too. And under my bed. I was paranoid. No one had tried to break into my house before. I was pretty shaken up. I did not sleep well that night, if at all. I was happy to leave for work the next day. Anything to get out of there.
I was expecting another call from the woman the next day. Every time the phone rang, my heart sank a little. It was going to be her. But it never actually was.
The day went by like any normal day. I stopped by the police station afterwards. I needed to, anyways, to get some things sorted out regarding the burglar. But I told them about the incident, too, fully – I explained to them the strange caller. There wasn’t much they could do about it. It did not put me at ease, but I guess I was glad that they knew, too.
I didn’t sleep very well that night either. The days and nights went on like this for a while – expecting the woman each day, with every call, being paranoid in my own home. It was exhausting. But she never did call. Nothing ever did happen to me. I never looked out the window and saw a face staring back at me, watching my house, watching me. Things just went by as usual.
I chalked it all up to myself being paranoid. It was just a coincidence. That’s what I convinced myself. I convinced myself that nothing was unusual, that everything would be okay.
A couple months went by. I had practically forgotten about it all. She never called the 911 operating station again. I finished up one day, clocked out of work, grabbed a water bottle from the vending machine in the front lobby. I was about to step outside and head to my car when I got a phone call.
I took my phone out of my jacket and checked it – no number. Alright, I thought, it was probably a spam call, or something. Those usually didn’t come with a number, you know? Usually they said ‘Spam Caller,’ but, again, didn’t think too much of it. I declined it. I wasn’t one to answer spam calls. I reached for the door handle again. That’s when my phone started ringing again, too. I checked it. No number. That feeling from before – the ominous feeling – starting creeping back into me. I answered this time.
It was silent on the other line for a couple seconds, but those couple seconds went by for far too long as I stood there, silently, anticipating… something. I don’t know what.
Then she spoke. It was her. The caller from before. My blood ran ice cold. I paused, horrified. I recognized that voice, that tone, immediately. It was her.
She greeted me. She hadn’t done that before – which was not too unusual for a 911 call. People usually aren’t going to bother with greetings and pleasantries before telling me about their emergencies, after all. She didn’t either. But she greeted me this time.
“Hello,” she said, so simply, in that monotone voice of hers. I was so in shock, so taken aback and unprepared that I just could not get any words out after opening my mouth. There were a couple more awful seconds of silence before she continued on. “If you step outside, you will get hurt.”
She hung up. Just like that, she hung up. My jaw was still agape, wordless. I didn’t get to say a thing before she hung up. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I was frozen in front of the glass door in front of me. If you step outside, you will get hurt?
I finally snapped out of it and quickly backed far away from the front door. I ducked into a nearby hallway, where the elevators were – away from any glass doors or windows. That was that woman from before. The caller. From the burglary incident. The one who knew. How did she know I was about to leave? Was she outside the building, watching me through the door? The timing was far, far too perfect. How did she find me? And what did she mean by ‘I will get hurt?’ If she really was out there, was she about to hurt me?
I stood in that hallway with the elevators for ages. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but I sure as hell was not stepping outside. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified. My legs were shaking, I could barely breathe. I tried to call her back, fearfully, but the call could not go through. Not without a number to call back to.
Finally, I called an elevator and went back up to where my coworkers were still getting ready to leave. I must have looked so scared – they were able to tell right off the bat that something was off. I told them what had happened, I told them about the incident a few months ago, too. I was lucky to have such sweet, caring coworkers.
One of them, a buddy, a coworker named Trevor, offered to walk with me outside. Trevor was a big guy. Strong. I felt a little safer with this idea. If this woman came up to me to hurt me, I was sure Trevor would be able to protect me. I was still scared, to be sure – but if Trevor was there, maybe we could safely find the caller and put a stop to this all.
We went back down the elevators – Trevor and I. I was still terrified. He went outside first. I didn’t want to linger too far behind. I didn’t want to be alone. I stuck close behind him and stepped outside as well.
The chill of the night air hit me fast. It was dark out, apart from the light shining from the sidewalk lanterns by the entrance and out of the upstairs windows, where some of my coworkers still were. They were probably watching us.
Nothing happened at first. Trevor and I both looked around, observing our surroundings, looking for her in the darkness. I stood beside him, still sticking rather close to the entrance.
Then… I heard a noise. It happened so fast. I didn’t have time to process anything. Trevor didn’t, either.
I looked beside me, at Trevor, just in time to watch an air conditioning unit fall from an upper floor, straight onto his head.
Trevor collapsed just as fast – as soon as it hit him. I heard a sickening noise – one of hard metal hitting soft flesh. Another, far louder noise rang through the air as the unit hit the ground. He laid there, sprawled out on the floor, completely unmoving, the AC beside his head.
I stared at his body in horror. He didn’t move. Of course he didn’t move. I was again frozen in place, shaking. I watched as his head started slowly bleeding dark crimson onto the concrete. It started pooling around the AC unit, started dripping off of the sidewalk and into the grass.
There was scrambling behind me, a door opening. I was pushed out of the way, still glued in place, and a couple of my coworkers surrounded Trevor’s body. Someone ran inside to call for an ambulance. I felt sick to my stomach. I vomited onto the concrete below me, but I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t realize until much later that night, after the entire incident was over and I was able to safely make it back home, after the paramedics took Trevor away, after we were told he had died on the spot – that I had gotten a single cut on my cheek. Some of the blood had trickled down from the cut, trickled down onto my jaw and dried there. I hadn’t even noticed. So much was going on. One of the sidewalk lanterns had burst when the unit hit the ground hard. The glass had cut my cheek.
I had gotten hurt. Trevor had gotten hurt. Would I have been the one hit by the AC unit if I hadn’t gotten that call? Surely not – it was horrific timing, but it fell on its own, didn’t it?
The woman had completely slipped my mind during the incident. I realized this later, too. Was she out there? Did she see it happen? Did she plan this somehow? How did she know?
I didn’t go to work the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. I was terrified, scared out of my mind. I stayed locked in my room, curtains shut. I didn’t know what to do. I constantly checked my phone, waiting for her to call again. I blamed myself for Trevor’s death, blamed the woman, blamed the police for not helping me find her.
I picked my phone up time and time again. I tried to find ways to call her back, scoured the internet for ways to figure out who called me. Nothing worked. I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t get any sleep. It was awful.
My boss came by after a couple weeks or so. He was kind. He knew the entire incident was horrifying for me. He let me stay home for a while on paid leave, no bothering me. It was considerate of him.
He came to check on me because I hadn’t been answering any calls. Not when there was a possibility I’d miss one from her if I did so. That was kind of him, too.
I let him in. I was hesitant. Opening the front door was scary, and the daylight behind him was blinding considering I had kept all my curtains closed for that entire 2 weeks. We sat on my couch.
He told me he understood how traumatizing the situation must have been for me. He told me he got it, and they were all sad about Trevor’s death, too, but I needed to come back into work again. I understood. I expected as much, when I saw him through the peephole. He offered a ride, said I could come back today. Said that maybe being around my other coworkers again might help.
I didn’t exactly want to. I felt… wrong about it. I felt as if leaving my house would open up opportunities for that woman to find a way to hurt me. Even moreso, I felt that being at work would increase my chances of missing her call.
I told him as much, but he said he would have to let me go if I didn’t come back to work. I wanted to refuse, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Part of me also wondered if perhaps answering calls there again could entice the woman to call again, instead. Maybe I won't freeze up this time. Maybe I could ask her immediately who she was, what she wanted. I hesitantly agreed, and accepted his invitation for a ride.
He stood back up, pleased. He asked if I needed any time to get ready, and I said I didn’t. He asked if he could use my bathroom first, and I said to go right ahead. As soon as I heard the bathroom door lock, I got the call.
No number. My stomach churned, but I was ready. My phone almost fell out of my hand in excitement. I answered, fast. My entire being was shaking. And there it was – that same voice. She said it just like how she had said it before.
“Hello.”
I didn’t hesitate this time.
“Who are you? What are you doing to me? How do you know?”
Silence. A few seconds of silence. I was on the edge of my seat, breathless, waiting.
“If you get in that car with him, you will die.”
She hung up as soon as she finished the final word.
“What? What are you saying to me? Come back!” I yelled into my phone, screaming hopelessly, even though she was no longer on the other line. No answers. I still knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.
My boss rushed back out of my bathroom, clearly concerned. He sat back down next to me, comforted me. I told him about what had happened. He searched my house with me, but we found nothing, no one. How could she have heard our conversation? How did she know I was about to leave with him?
He thought that maybe she had some sort of listening device on my phone. I didn’t even hesitate, I threw it at the wall, slammed it against the counter, cracking the glass. I turned it off, opened my front door, and threw it as hard as I could into the street.
I begged my boss not to go. He offered me a ride to the police station instead of work. I refused. If I get in that car with him, I will die. He called the police for me with his own phone before leaving. He waited with me until they arrived, then left for work. I begged him not to go, insisting that something would happen to him on the way. He had to get to work, though. He thought it was nonsense.
A car crash. A 3 car pile up – his was t-boned. It was fatal. They said it was a drunk driver. She couldn’t have known, but she knew. If I went with him, I would have been dead.
I was not going into work at that point. Again, the police could do nothing for me. The call was untraceable. Useless assholes.
I stayed home. I didn’t care. I needed to get to the bottom of this. I bought a new phone, I waited. I got them to put my old number, the one from the phone I had broken and tossed away, onto the new one. I checked it obsessively throughout each day, waiting for that call from her. I looked up different ways to immediately trace a call. I could try a couple right after a call had ended, if only she would call.
And she did. It was as if she somehow sensed my newfound resolve, my vigor. She started calling more often, predicting things for me. I had expected more death sentences, more warnings of a future demise, but it quickly became littler things. She would call, greet me in that same voice, that same old “hello”, and warn me of things like a future power outage, or an unlocked window. At one point, she knew of my expired milk. I’m notoriously bad at checking expiration dates – but I knew to check the milk before pouring it into my Fruit Loops. The calls became more and more frequent.
My attempts at tracing never worked, but I always came up with new ideas to try and find out who she was. I would try to listen closely for any background noise that could give me a hint as to her location, or I would try to hang up right after the “hello” to see if anything would change. Nothing worked out for me.
But it became sort of… exciting. It was a game of cat and mouse – I wanted to find her. I was ready for every call, anticipating them. I had nothing else to do. I was fired from my job. I didn’t even care.
I became excellent at heeding her each and every warning. Nothing bad happened to me anymore. I was in complete control. I was actually grateful. I didn’t even care that she somehow knew what I was doing and what was going to happen to me at all hours of the day – I just wanted to know who she was. My guardian angel. Nothing bad was going to happen to me with her watching over me. She made me feel so safe. I relied on her.
The woman called me one night, as I was sleeping. I picked up happily nevertheless, as had become the norm.
“Hello.” Same monotone voice. She was the only person who called me anymore.
“Hi.” I answered, grinning.
“They see me.”
She hung up.
I sat there for a second, processing. They see me. This was the first time she referred to herself, the first time she didn’t give me a warning. I didn’t know how to react. I sat there, motionless, shocked. They see me. I jumped out of bed, now genuinely distraught. What?
I paced for the rest of the night, waiting for another call. I waited for something to happen, waited for it to make sense. Nothing.
Days went by without a call from her. Bad things started happening to me again, things I had stopped looking out for.
Days and days. Weeks.
I checked news articles, facebook, radio stations. Did the police find her before I did? There wasn’t anything about it anywhere, if so. I called the station, they had no idea what I was talking about.
I kept all my curtains open, my doors unlocked, hoping she’d show herself, show how she knew what was happening in my life, come back. I looked out my windows hoping to see a face peering in at me. One never did.
Weeks and weeks. A month or so had passed. I don’t know anymore. I think I lost track.
I miss her. I don’t know how the woman knew everything that was going to happen in my life, but I miss her. I need to know who she was. I don’t know who could have found her. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me anymore, and I’m terrified. I need to find her. I don’t feel safe anymore. Something’s going to happen to me.
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