Every jurisdiction has one, that one house that just gives you the creeps. Ask any cop you know, unless they’re a brand new rookie, fresh from the academy, they all have that one house that they don’t even like to drive past.
For us it’s xxxx Buckhead Circle. The house on Buckhead is… strange, for a number of reasons. The house is abandoned, and has been as long as anyone that works here knows of. The lawn on the other hand, is absolutely immaculate, although I’ve never actually seen anyone tending to it.
Now you’d think that an abandoned house wouldn’t generate any calls for service, and you’d think wrong. I’ve been to that house more times than I can count. Sometimes we respond because the neighbors heard screaming coming from within, sometimes we respond because a passerby swears they saw someone inside, and more than once we’ve responded for calls of a house fire with flames showing through the second floor windows. Every time I’ve responded to the house on Buckhead, it’s been nothing. There’s never a living soul there, and there’s never a fire.
The inside is weird too, and not in a “shag carpet and wood paneling” way either. The air inside Buckhead is heavy, oppressive even. Hallways seem to stretch impossibly long for a house that size. And then there’s the feeling of being watched. It’s constant, like someone is just within that door frame, or just around that corner and they’re watching your every move. But like I said, no one is ever inside, so when I got dispatched there for a 911 open line, I assumed it would be the same. Now I’m not so sure.
It was just before midnight, I was saying goodnight to my wife and mindlessly scrolling Instagram, when my radio screamed to life for the first time in almost 5 hours.
“Central to 369.”
“Gotta go babe, I love you,” I said to my wife before grabbing the car mic “go ahead.”
“Can you respond to the area of xxxx Buckhead Circle for a 911 open line?”
I sighed, “yeah 10-4.”
“Be advised, the call taker said he couldn’t hear anyone on the line, we attempted callback but the line is disconnected.”
“10-4,” I said as I dropped the car into drive. I wasn’t going to even bother knocking on the door, I knew no one was going to answer it. All I was going to do was drive by so my Sergeant would see me on the map and then clear the call. That’s what everyone does with a 911 open line at xxxx Buckhead, because it’s always nothing.
I turned onto Buckhead less than 5 minutes after getting dispatched. Buckhead was a small cul de sac full of older houses, located at what used to be the edge of town. The last 70 years had seen the town limits expand significantly, and Buckhead had been left behind. The house sat ominously at the center of the cul de sac, a silent sentinel of times long passed. As I began to loop through the cul de sac, I lazily looked up at the decrepit white building and let out an involuntary gasp. There was a light on on the second floor. I slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park. As I exited the car to get a better look, I saw the light go out. I strained my eyes in the dark, trying to make out any movement inside the house, when I noticed that the front door was wide open. In all the years I’ve worked here, that has NEVER happened before. I stood there dumbfounded for what felt like an eternity before slowly reaching up for my shoulder mic.
“369 to central, I’m going to need more units. I’ve got an open door.”
“10-4 open door 00:07. Can I get units to back?”
Two other units rogered up that they were en route. Still in shock at what I’d just seen, I didn’t register who was coming but I felt better knowing someone was.
Within a few minutes both units marked on scene, and I heard car doors open and close behind me. I was still rooted in one spot, I’m sure if I’d even blinked once since stepping out of the car.
“Yianni, whatcha got?” I heard Smith ask just to my right.
“There.. there was a light on up there,” I said as I pointed to the upstairs window. “And the front door is open.”
“Horse shit,” I heard Wilson say to my left. “The door might be open but you didn’t see no damn light. There hasn’t been power here since the 70s.”
“Either way, we still have to clear this big spooky bitch,” said Smith.
“276 to central, see if you have any keyholder information, after we clear this, someone needs to come lock up,” Wilson said.
“10-4. Central to all units, hold channel while units clear.”
“You ready ladies?” Wilson asked as he stepped towards the house.
“Unfortunately,” I said back.
The three of us climbed the aged and sagging steps onto the porch, the boards groaning in agony at our combined weight. Myself and Smith stood to the left of the door, Wilson stood to the right. Wilson looked at Smith and I and nodded. All 3 of us drew our weapons from their holsters.
“Police Department! Make yourself known!” Smith called out. “Police Department! Make yours…” Smith stopped mid sentence as thundering footsteps raced through the hallway above us.
“What the hell?” Wilson yelped. “Let’s go!” He yelled as he entered into the door, myself and Smith followed closely behind him.
I flipped on my gun light and scanned the foyer of the old home. Thick dust and cobwebs covered every surface. I looked around for footprints and felt my breath catch as I noticed a single footprint on the 4th step of the stairs. I flipped my light on and off to signal the other 2 to look at what I saw. I heard Wilson say “seriously, what the hell?”
“I’ll hold the stairs, you two clear the bottom floor real quick and then we’ll head upstairs,” I whispered. I saw Smith nod, before he and Wilson melted into a dark hallway on my right.
The moment I was alone, it felt like time had stopped. I stood with my gun pointed up the stairs and waited. I was trying to listen for any sound that would give me an idea of where the footsteps had gone on the second floor but was met with only silence.