For three years, I worked as a 911 operator in my city. It’s not a job for the faint-hearted, and while I’m not the toughest person around, I considered myself strong enough to handle it. Over the years, I received plenty of horrific calls-some which left me emotionally drained-but none that made me seriously question my life choices. That is, until the afternoon of January 19, 2011.
I remember that call vividly, even after years of trying to repress it. Even today, I still have nightmares. This call drove me over the edge, and I quit my job as an operator. I felt like such a coward, but I was so traumatized. My calling in life was still to help people, so I went back to school and became a nurse. I’ve started over, but that damn call continues to haunt me.
The following is a transcription of that call; I remember it word for word.
Me: 911. What’s your emergency?
Caller: Hello? This is 911, right?
Me: Yes.
Caller: Thank God! I need you to send help, like right now!
Me: What is the nature of the emergency?
Caller: This is gonna sound really weird.
Me: I’m listening.
Caller: I swear this isn’t a joke!
Me: Tell me what’s going on.
There is a brief pause; the caller can be heard breathing heavily.
Caller: I’m trapped in my own basement.
Me: Excuse me?
Caller: Trapped! I’m being held hostage!
Me: By who?
Caller: I don’t know who she is. I was doing laundry when she came in through the boarded-up window that leads into the basement. She smashed right through the wooden planks! When I yelled at her to get out, she ran up the basement stairs and locked the door. Now she’s walking around upstairs, making these ungodly noises! I tried to escape through the broken window, but the opening is too tight!
Me: Do you have any other means of leaving the basement?
Caller: I considered breaking down the door. But I know she’s waiting for me. I can’t risk it.
Me: Okay. Can you tell me your address?
Caller: I’m at [location omitted].
Me: Okay, the police are on their way, sir. Just hang in there.
Caller: Will you stay on the line with me?
Me: Of course.
In the silence that follows, heavy footfalls can be heard, as well as a shrill, maniacal giggling. By now, I am getting seriously unnerved, but I don’t let it show.
Caller: Do you hear that?
Me: Yes.
Caller: That’s her.
Me: Sir, can you describe what this person looks like?
Caller: She’s old. Like, really old. She has ass-length grey hair and no teeth. But she moves so fast! I’ve never seen an old woman move like that.
Me: Anything else you noticed?
Caller: She’s naked! Something is really wrong with her body; she’s all twisted and deformed.
The giggling abruptly stops. I don’t hear anything, but the caller begins to freak out.
Caller: Oh shit, oh fuck! She’s just outside the door! She’s scratching at it! And she’s whispering!
Me: What is she saying?
Caller: Wait, I can’t hear-holy shit, she’s repeating my name over and over! Her voice… it’s too deep for a woman!
Me: Stay calm, sir. The police are on their way.
Caller: I don’t think I have much time…
There is a loud crash as the basement door is kicked in. The caller screams. I hear pounding footsteps and crashing as he tries to escape.
Me: Sir? Sir? What’s going on, sir?
Caller: She’s coming after me!
The cacophony continues; I can hear the intruder screaming, but she doesn’t sound human; her cries are deep and guttural. I begin to shake, silently praying for the police to arrive.
Caller: No! Stop! Get away from me!
There is a clatter as the phone is either dropped or forcibly knocked from the caller’s hand. Now all I can do is listen.
Caller: What do you want from me?
Intruder: You know what.
Caller: No, I don’t, you crazy bitch! Just get the fuck out of my house!
Intruder: This isn’t your house! It is mine! It is where I lived and where I died, and where I will get my revenge!
The caller begins to sob.
Caller: But I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about!
Intruder: You will regret what you have done!
The caller screams as the intruder attacks; she snarls and growls like a rabid dog. I can hear the meaty tearing of flesh, and the cracking of bones. The caller’s shrieks of agony are abruptly silenced by a sickening snap. Then I hear a new voice, deep and full of malice.
Intruder: Hello?
Me: I don’t know who you are, but the police are coming to arrest you!
Intruder: Oh, silly girl. I’m afraid it is far too late. Nothing can save this young man now. Not even the Lord Himself.
The line goes dead.
When the police arrived at the given address, they found the house ransacked, with all the windows shattered and the furniture in pieces. There was a disgusting smell of something rotting in the air, but the cops were unable to trace it.
They found the victim in the basement. He had been gutted alive before having his neck snapped clean in two. The killer was never caught, and to this day, the case remains open.
My decision to quit didn’t come right away; for a while after, I was in shock and lacked the emotional capacity to make any decisions. I took a temporary leave and spoke to my therapist, hoping I could recover from this and turn to work.
But then the autopsy report on the victim came back.
I normally wouldn’t be privy to this information, but I have a good friend who works at the coroner’s office, and he told me everything. According to the autopsy report, the victim had died at approximately 12:15 PM.
Two hours before the call came in.