Estimated reading time — 8 minutes
I have been a 911 dispatcher for about three years now. I don’t know how my life eventually led me to work in this field, but somehow it happened. As you can probably imagine, it is not the best job to have. The pay is not good at all, and it is definitely not worth the emotional roller coaster that comes with it.
I cannot tell you how many sleepless nights I have had due to what I hear on the other line. Most of my calls aren’t too bad, mostly minor domestic disputes and armed robbery reports. But on rare occasion, I would get a disturbing call, describing a murder scene or something along those lines. The calls with kids were also some of the worst. But one call sticks out, and it happened only a few weeks ago.
I live in a decently small town, so crime is not the biggest issue. But I guess that is why whenever I get a call about a murder/grisly crime, it hits worse emotionally. All calls get to me, but not as much as the serious ones do. I’m not saying only some are serious and some aren’t, but you get the point.
A few nights ago, I got a call at about 11:30 PM. I don’t usually work overnight, but one of my coworkers was out sick, so I volunteered for a double shift, as my boss would pay me overtime if I did so. I’m just sitting at my desk, daydreaming about whatever, when I get the call. I brace myself and answer. This is what was said:
Me: 911, where’s your emerg-
Caller: GOD PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE STOP HER!
I was caught completely off guard by the caller screaming into the phone and immediately put on edge. The caller was a man, as I could tell by the deepness in the voice. I knew already this was not routine, and I immediately tried to calm him down so I could find out where he was and send police/fire/EMTs to his location.
Me: Sir, calm down. I need you to tell me where you are.
Caller: 612 Yokar Street. Please send somebody, I have an intruder and she is trying to kill me!
Yokar Street was near the edge of town, so it would take police at least ten minutes to get there. I had to get enough information out of the caller to inform the traveling officers about what they would be dealing with if things escalated.
Me: Police are on their way. Are you hurt?
Caller: No, but she wants to hurt me. She is destroying everything in the house, and she is screaming her fucking head off!
Through the phone, I could now hear the muffled screams of a girl. It was now apparent that the intruder was inside the house.
Me: Is there anyone else in the house besides yourself and the intruder?
Caller: No. I was alone before she broke in.
Me: Okay, I need you to listen to me carefully. Lock yourself inside a room and hide. Stay on the line with me.
Caller: I’m already locked inside the bedroom and hiding under the bed.
Me: Okay good. Tell me what happened.
Caller: I don’t know. I woke up and heard things rattling in the living room. I got up and investigated, and there was a girl standing there, fiddling with one of the cabinets. I tried to quietly return to my room and call for help, but as soon as I moved, she noticed me. Once she saw me, she screamed so fucking loud and charged at me. I sprinted back to my room and slammed the door shut. I then locked it.
Me: Is she near your room?
Caller: No I don’t think so…
We both then hear a loud bang, and the man gives out a fearful cry.
Caller: Oh God, she’s now pounding on the door!
Through the phone, I could hear the rhythmic thumps on wood. Now I knew the situation was becoming direr. Most intruders, if caught by the house’s occupants, will usually try and flee. This intruder has not left after being seen. She was now trying to kill.
Caller: Please tell the police to hurry. I think she is about to break down the door.
Me: They are on their way. They will be there soon.
I prayed they would be.
Me: Can you describe the girl for me?
Caller: Yeah, I can try to.
Already, I was panicking for the caller. I couldn’t have imagined how frightening the whole situation would be. But the description the caller then gave me was bone-chilling.
Caller: She looks like a child. She’s not an adult. That I know for sure. She looked to be at least seven or eight years old. She was wearing a small skirt, and there were dark spots on it. Her hair was dark, and about shoulder length or so. Her neck was messed up. Her head was just hanging from her neck. But her eyes, oh god, her eyes were missing. There was no light. The sockets looked empty.
I was becoming more and more horrified the more he described her. This was no longer your typical burglar. No little girl breaks into homes in the middle of the night with intent to kill. This little girl didn’t even sound human, not by how the caller was describing her.
Five minutes had passed, and I prayed the police would get there soon. The man was crying at this point, and he was growing more and more panicked with every passing second.
Me: Do you know why this girl could have broken into your home?
Caller: I don’t know…
He then stopped for a few seconds before continuing.
Caller: She stopped banging on the door.
I listened, and there was nothing. No noise, other than the caller’s panicked breaths.
Me: Okay, stay very quiet for me. Stay where you are.
Me: If it sounds like she is leaving your house, please tell me.
Caller: Well, now that you mentioned it, this isn’t my house.
Me: Wait, excuse me?
He didn’t even get to finish what he was going to say. As soon as he spoke, I heard a massive crash and the man yelled. I heard the earsplitting screams of the man and the intruder. Then the line went dead.
I sat at my desk, frozen and silent for a good few minutes. I then broke down, and one of my fellow dispatchers, who had heard my conversation while sitting at his desk, immediately came over and comforted me. I told him what had just happened, and his face went white as snow. He was horrified. He must be thankful, however, that he didn’t have to hear it first-hand.
The police arrived a very short time later. I wanted to find out what the hell was going on as soon as I could. Thankfully, I have a friend of mine on the force who told me what she and the other officers discovered. This is what she told me when I talked to her the next day:
The house had no forcible entry. No windows were broken, and the front and back door were locked and secure. She and the other officers on scene were dumbfounded, as they couldn’t figure out how the intruder got in. This either meant that the intruder was willingly let into the home (which the caller did not tell me) or that the intruder was already in the house when the caller returned to a house that wasn’t even his (which, at the time, seem to be the most likely). Nevertheless, the cops eventually were able to pry open a window and get inside to check on the caller.
The house was a mess. Everything, from picture frames to glasses to even a refrigerator, were wrecked. It was as if a demolition crew had had a field day inside the house.
The bedroom door was blown off its hinges. The door was in pieces, and there were wooden shards everywhere. If the cops weren’t already creeped out at this point, they were just beginning to be. My friend told me that a linebacker couldn’t have cause that much damage to the door in one blow, let alone a little girl. She was already on edge, but it got much, much worse when they eventually found the caller.
The man was found in the bathroom connected to the bedroom he was hiding in. It was gruesome. His blood was everywhere, most of it flowing from a gaping hole in his abdominal region. Some of it, however, was on the walls of the bedroom and the ceiling. His eyes were also missing. My friend said a couple of police officers passed out or vomited from shear shock after looking at the grisly atrocity that happened to the man.
I was already horrified by what I had heard. The man had died a very violent death, and this intruder was still out there. But my friend then told me something that made this case more bone-chilling than it already was.
While looking around the house, one of the officers found an out-of-place wall near the kitchen. The wall looked to be artificial. It was connected to another wall, but it was only about four feet high and seemed to serve no purpose. It almost looked like a barrier to the kitchen, though there was an opening right next to it.
The officer knocked on it lightly. Not only was it hollow, but when the officer knocked, a small hole opened up. He knocked on very lightly, but the wall was so weak that it was enough force to actually penetrate it. He shined a flashlight inside, and saw a blanket on the ground. But what caught his attention wasn’t the blanket itself, rather it was the lump underneath it.
He called for the other officers to come over to him ASAP, and they broke through the rest of the wall. They inspected the blanket, and one of the officers lightly brushed the blanket off the lump. What they found was almost as disturbing as the dead caller.
It was the dead body of a young girl.
They immediately closed off the area and crime scene technicians came and investigated. After some time, the coroner came and took the two bodies to the morgue.
A few days later, the rest of the details came out about this case. I was eager to hear what the coroner and police had discovered, and my friend called me to tell me the rest of the story as soon as she found out.
The caller had died from (and this was the exact term my friend used) blood loss from being gutted. His eyes were never found.
The girl was identified as Taylor Watherton, a nine-year old girl who went missing a little over two years ago. She went missing from a local playground, and she was last seen wearing a polka dot-covered skirt. I didn’t think much of it until I found a missing person’s poster with her picture on it. She was a cute, petite girl, with black hair that ran just to her shoulders. As I was looking at her photo, I couldn’t stop thinking about that skirt she was last seen it. I felt like I was missing something. And then it hit me, and I almost fainted as I remembered what the caller told me.
Caller: “She was wearing a small skirt, and there were dark spots on it. Her hair was dark, and about shoulder length or so.”
Apparently, the coroner determined that she had been dead for not that long at all. According to him, she appeared to be dead no longer than a month. While the cause of death could not be determined exactly, her neck was broken, and it wasn’t post-mortem.
I told my friend when I originally talked to her that the caller said the house wasn’t his. She did some digging and reported back to me around the same time the rest of the details were released.
The house belonged to a man named Travis Quinnsly, who had recently been reported missing. He had apparently told his family he was going on a trip to Canada, as he had a few friends who lived up there and that they were going to have a” guy-week.” However, he didn’t return when he was supposed to. During this time, his family would rotate house sitting. His brother, Colby, was the caller. I knew what he had looked like. His photo had been shown on the news a couple of times since his body was identified alongside a missing child. He was a young man, with straight strawberry-blond hair and a decent build.
After talking to my friend, I looked up a picture of what Travis looked like. If he was missing, I wanted to at least have an image of his face that I could put into the back of my mind.
My heart dropped when I looked at a picture of him together with his brother on one of his social media accounts. It was captioned “Back with the Twin.”
He looked exactly like Colby.
Credit : Langster_Gangster
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