Caller THAT’S NOT—THAT’S NOT A PERSON—
(Then the door explodes inward, the entire frame buckles, the shelving unit screams across the tile, and wood shreds apart in a single catastrophic impact.)
Caller: THAT’S NOT—THAT’S NOT A PERSON—
(The scream that follows is short. Sharp. Surprised rather than prolonged; which is somehow so much worse. It cuts off with a damp abruptness. Something heavy lands. Something heavier follows it down. The phone skids; the audio pitches and warps and then settles, face-up, on the floor.)
(The dispatcher’s voice comes through clearly now, no longer filtered through a held hand or a trembling grip. She is talking into a void.)
Dispatcher: Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Sir, please respond—
(Movement in the recording. Something shifting. A wet, tearing sound, unhurried, without direction, as though circling.)
(Then, very close to the phone, something lowers itself.)
(Or bends.)
(Or falls.)
Dispatcher: Units are en route to 142 County Road. If anyone can hear me—this is 911 dispatch, please identify yourself, please respond—
(What answers her is not a voice. It comes up from somewhere deep and collapsed, ragged and guttural and close enough to the receiver that it distorts the audio completely; a sound that has no language in it, no thought, nothing recognizable except the faintest, most horrible suggestion that it was once capable of all those things.)
(The line goes dead at 11:54 PM.)
(First responders arrived at 12:31 AM.)
(The residence was found unsecured.)
(No survivors were located.)
(No remains were recovered.)
* * *
Case status: Open.
Classification: PENDING REVIEW
Distribution: Restricted