-Are You Scared of What's Outside Your Bedroom_.

Imagine, if you will, the common plight of a police dispatcher, to be required to listen to terrified people on the other side of the phone, to be subjected to what may be, perhaps, a caller's last moments on earth. Not an easy job. And now imagine a call so horrifying it made a dispatcher never want to pick up the phone again. I'm Ryan Bergara, and this is Are You Scared? A show where I tell my friend Shane Madej the internet's scariest stories that may or may not be true. Now, I have never read this story before, and neither has Shane. So lock your doors, turn off your lights, and let's see if we can make it until the end. My final call as a police dispatcher has scarred me. I'd worked as a police dispatcher for nine years of my life. It's a career that takes a level of mental fortitude that I don't think many possess. I used to hate saying stuff like that, always thought it sounded so pretentious. But the truth is, it takes a special type of person to be willing to voluntarily listen to some of the things we have to hear every single day. Don't get me wrong, the job wasn't always grim, and it even had its decent moments. I've got enough decently funny drunk 911 call stories to last me through several lifetimes, though the reality of the job was usually far darker. I understood that, though, and felt that I was more equipped to deal with anything the job could throw at me. I was right for a while. For years, I had answered every call, always able to keep a steady head despite being faced with some horrific situations, my confidence in my ability to handle the job unwavering, until the final call I ever took as a police dispatcher. I couldn't do that. I don't, could you do that? I, I mean, look, like the idea that you're listening to somebody's last moments. Oh, yeah, I just meant, like, I don't like talking on the phone. Oh. But yeah, I mean, yeah, obviously, these are some pretty heavy phone calls for sure. A notification on my screen caught my attention, and in an instant, I had returned to my seat, headset on. 911, what is your emergency? I spoke into my headset as automatically as any line repeated hundreds or thousands of times can be spoken. For a moment, the line was only dead silence before I heard a reply. I need policemen. I think somebody is in my house. A child whispered from the other line. I felt the smallest of knots beginning to form in my stomach. I shifted in my seat. Do you know your address, I asked, adopting a firm but lighter tone in response to the caller's age. I heard shuffling and heavy breathing from the other end, followed by a faint, wait. The caller returned and whispered their address. She was a little girl by the sounds of her voice, and she sounded scared. Good job. What about your phone number, I asked. The process repeated, and I quickly relayed her information to dispatched officers. Her address was on the edge of town, a little out of the way, and I understood that it may be a while before help arrived. I stifled a sigh, not wanting to vocalize my worry, as I received an estimated arrival time. Not good. Not a good start. I gotta say, did not like that at first. This is a two-way conversation of which one way is from a child. So, not, not. Well, not upsetting that someone is in the house with the child, because ideally that is the case. You want, you don't want a house just full of children? That's pandemonium. That is true. I guess her saying somebody is in the house would be commonplace, if given the, you know, given the right circumstances. Yes, it could be papa, or mama. Or bro-bro. Now, if it's a drifter, no. Home invasion stories always scare the ---- out of me. I'm alone in my house right now, it's dark, much like I imagine it is for most of you viewers, and gotta say, I am glancing at my windows ever so slightly now. People are scary, man. People are scary. I regrettably would ask you to continue with this story. Well, okay, so she's waiting for the police. Is there an adult with you in the house, I continued. No, the little girl replied breathlessly, and I could hear the anxiety rising in her voice as she spoke. My mom works late, and my sister, I, there was a pause, followed by an audible sniffle. She's camping with her friends, and somewhere on her end of the line, there was a crash. Then a scream. My heart dropped. Are you still there? Are you all right? There was a repetitive thumping sound followed by the slam of a door. I'm here, the little girl spoke breathlessly into the phone. Are you all right? I repeated the question. Yes, was all she replied, barely above a whisper. Her tone worried me. She sounded more than afraid. Sad? No, disturbed was the proper word for it. Then she began to cry. Not as quiet as you would expect, given her situation, but a deep, helpless sob that made my heart sink. When she spoke, it stopped altogether. Please, please, please help me. Her sobs turned into a hysteric cry, and I could hear loud, repetitive thumps from her end, footsteps, and they were clearly not hers. They were heavy, far too heavy for a little girl. Without warning, a shrill cry, like the sound of microphone feedback, rang through my headsets. The sudden assault on my ears caused me to jump, and my heart set off to racing like a jackrabbit. I fought the instinct to throw the headset off and instead clenched my eyes shut as the noise faded as suddenly as it had come. I saw it, she sputtered through sobs. Oh please, please, I don't know what it is. The frantic and frenzied nature of her begging increased, and a strangeness began to settle in the air that I couldn't quite place. A quick glance around the room confirmed that most of the desks around me were empty, and I was on the call alone. The thought made me feel very isolated, and a growing uneasiness continued to take hold of me that I couldn't place. Something about the call just felt wrong. Please are on the way, I began. I tried to infuse the statement with my usual level of assertiveness and confidence, but I worried that the uneasiness may be audible in my voice. How are you feeling about this so far? If this is a true story, it's not fun to hear. No, I'm concerned. Oh, okay, me too. I think it's key to concentrate on what she said. The last thing she said is, I saw it. Oh please, please, I don't know what it is. I hope it's like a boogeyman or something, right? I hope it's like a coat rack with a funny hat on it, and she thinks it's the devil. Can you tell me your name, I asked. Amber. All right, Amber, are you or can you get somewhere safe, a room with a door you can lock? I'm in my room, she said through sniffles, and it was obvious that she had been crying profusely. I locked the door. Good, I'm gonna stay with you on the line. Is there anywhere for you to hide? The sound of footsteps grew in the background as her voice lowered to a whisper. I think under the bed, she whimpered. Okay, is there, I paused, thinking over my words before continuing. Anything you can use to protect yourself. There was silence on her end for a moment and followed by a hushed yes. As she dropped the phone, I assumed to get a weapon. The clamor from within the house had grown closer to the phone, and the piercing ringing sound had returned. I was almost certain there had to be something wrong with my headset or with Amber's phone, and the sound grew to an almost unbearable extent, matched only by deafening thuds from somewhere on the phone. It sounded too close. I could feel the hairs begin to rise on the back of my neck, and the ominous sense of panic began to give way to an unexplained fear. The urge to look over my shoulder grew harder to fight. As the persistent thudding sound grew louder, nearer, it all sounded too clear, I guess. There was no static, none of the white noise typical of a phone call, nothing. Just the sound of footsteps approaching closer, closer. I gave in to my instinct, whipping around in my seat, nearly losing my headset. No one. I had no time to settle my nerves as Amber returned to the line. So he's now hearing footsteps in his call center? I guess so. If that's the case, then I feel better because this is all below me. Maybe. There's no scared child out there, everything's fine. I, when I'm reading this story, feel like I'm being watched as I'm reading this. So I am imagining that's what he's describing. Are you there? She whispered, yanking me from my fog and back into the moment. Yes, I replied. I struggled to shake off my fears. Something was very wrong with this situation. Despite my worries, I shifted my attention back to Amber. There isn't any weapon, the girl muttered, but I have something. There was a pause. Okay, what do you have, I asked, realizing my prompt was necessary. A rabbit, a pink rabbit, she said. And even over the phone, I could hear a little embarrassment. My dad gave her to me when I was little, she sniffled. He said she would keep me safe. I didn't know what to say for a moment, but I didn't want to miss a beat. He was right, I said, as encouragingly as I could. Oh, again, bad. No, don't, what are you doing? Well, I mean, dude, she's not gonna. Tell her to look for a candlestick. Look, I think he realizes the deck is stacked against her here. So the best case scenario, have her believe in the fantasy that this bunny is gonna protect her, but go hide and maybe that sentiment will keep her calm. So at the very least, if someone comes into the room, she won't be, you know, making a lot of noise or like hyperventilating or something like that. She's fucked. Especially because like now she thinks she's protected with this bunny. And what, she's gonna hold it up to the devil? I guess so. Maybe the devil has a heart and it's like the Grinch. Fingers crossed. I was interrupted. I could hear a man call from within the house. Amber, I miss you. So the intruder knew her. I furrowed my brow. Amber, do you recognize that voice? I asked, hoping she could identify the intruder. There was silence for a moment before her response. It sounds like my dad. Why does it sound like my dad? I blinked. What do you mean? Maybe she's a ghost? Oh. What about that? Oh, like that's her father crying because he's missing Amber. Did I crack it? That fits in with the title because like you said, he probably hears calls like this all the time. So this, as horrible as it may be, would not be a scarring call. Realizing you talked to a ghost, that would be a scarring call. Yeah. That's my daddy's voice. Why does it have my daddy's voice? I didn't know how to respond to that, how I didn't know what to think about. Had his voice. Before I could ask what she meant, we were interrupted by a sound. The thing we heard has taken me years to try to understand. I've come to believe that it was that thing's laugh. At the time though, we couldn't know. It was the sound of metal crunching in a car accident as it met flesh, a wet grinding shriek that shook me to my core. I wanted to vomit and my vision began to blur. I could only imagine what it was like for Amber hearing that all in person. Amber, I panted, my senses returning to me all at once. She barely had time to respond before we heard it. A voice or voices calling for her from somewhere nearby. They spoke as one, all with the same odd inhumane nature, dripping with malintent. Amber. My blood froze. Amber began to cry and her cries eventually becoming pleased as she begged for help, her life, her mother and my intervention. Five more minutes, just five more minutes, I muttered, mentally cursing the timer which displayed the estimated arrival time of the dispatched officers. I prayed it would be soon enough. It's outside the room, she whispered. Her voice one of utter panic before breaking into a quiet sob. I silently swore under my breath. ****, it's outside my room. And he's like, okay, here's what you gotta do. Amber, I need you to hide right now if possible. The police are three minutes away. Stay as quiet as possible. There was no response but I assumed from the shuffling sounds, I could hear that she had gone back under the bed. For a few moments, there was silence. Then Amber spoke and my heart dropped. I'm going to die. You are not going to die, Amber, I began, worry now audible in my voice. I promise, I, it's reaching under the door. I, oh my God, she muttered. There was a crash louder than before and Amber began to shriek. The noises continued and it began to dawn on me what I was hearing. It was breaking down the bedroom door. Amber's screams had devolved into horrified babbling and pleas for her life to whatever was on the other side of the door. Her screams were soon drowned out by the same noise as before, that sick ******* laughter. What are you, Amber shrieked, loud enough to make my ears ring. Please, what are you? What are you, it mocked in a voice that was some sick parody of Amber's. Panic ripped me as I glanced back at the corner of the monitor displaying the dispatched unit's arrival time, 136. Please God, let it be soon enough. Amber, are you there, I called. Amber? As suddenly as it had started, everything went silent. Somewhere in the distance, I heard sirens. I hear them, Amber, officers are a minute away. Silence. My heart began to sink. Amber, are you there? I could hear something shifting, breathing. I think it's gone, Amber said. A surge of relief rolled through me and I let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. 27 seconds, the dispatch time read and the sirens in the background grew louder. You did very well, Amber, police are almost there. You did really well. I couldn't think of what else to say. I'd never had a call like this and something about it all felt so strange. Something Amber had said began to ring in my mind. What are you? Amber, I began. What did you see? I was met with silence. Amber? Amber began to laugh. Amber, I said, my voice pleading, a wave of realization crashing down on me. The laughter grew more raucous and less human with every second. Somewhere in the background, there was a knocking sound. They'd finally arrived. I asked the only thing I could think at the moment. Why? The laughter stopped abruptly as the thing on the phone spoke. It was fun. There was a click and the line went dead. The house was empty when officers arrived. No signs of forced entry anywhere except the door to Amber's bedroom, the bottom of which had been torn away by something leaving a wide space to crawl beneath. And Amber, or what was left of her, decorated the room. Jesus Christ, what the ****? Holy ----. So Amber beefed it. Amber's punched her ticket. I guess so. ****, I fucked that up. **** that one up, Greg, you really fucked that one up. You could kiss that promotion goodbye. Whatever had been there left nothing behind to identify it. Only carnage. The case was never officially closed and everyone had their theories as to what had happened that day, ranging from serial killers to a bear attack and everything in between. The call was never made public, not my decision, but not one I necessarily complained about either. I never want to hear that recording again. I put in my two weeks notice that same night, though I never returned to work after that day. I'd been content to try and forget about that call. As callous as it may sound, I was content trying to forget about Amber, to forget whatever I had spoken to on that phone, but I don't think it's done with me. Last night I dreamed or had thought I was dreaming the sounds of footsteps running throughout my house as something screeched and laughed and mocked me just outside my bedroom door. I stayed in my bed long into the morning despite the sounds having stopped, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and confusion until eventually I convinced myself to leave bed. I crossed the room, cursing every creak the floor made under my weight. I lowered myself to the ground, holding my breath as I peered under my bedroom door. There was something there, but it wasn't moving. I mustered up the little bravery I had left and rose to my feet, my eyes shut tight and a prayer on my lips. I pulled open my bedroom door slightly and stuck my head out just enough to see what lay outside. I stifled a gasp and tears flooded my eyes as I bent over to pick up the object. Placed right outside my door was a little pink bunny covered in dark stains. From somewhere within the darkness just beyond the bedroom door, Amber's laughter echoed. So, are you scared? Get the **** out of here. It's a good callback, man. It's a good callback. I appreciate the callback. This is, yeah, a good callback. Let's see if this is in fact a real story. And it looks like clearly this is, our producers have chosen a story that was written by a person named YoungSetty on Reddit, submitted to the NoSleep subreddit, and great subreddit, great story. Are the producers in this show like the producers in Deal or No Deal when they pan over to the room and you just see silhouettes shaking their head? The producers of the show are actually sleep paralysis demons themselves. Yeah. So, this is actually just a thing. They're just outside our window right now. I gotta say, even as a tall tail, this really did scare the ---- out of me. Really? A hell of a read. I thought it was pretty gripping. It was a fun, you know, he did a good job of stringing us along. There's something about framing a supernatural experience through the point of view of a police dispatcher that's very grounding. Honestly, I like that we're loading up with these spooky tales up top because then when one of these finally turns out to be allegedly true, oh, it's gonna pack a wallop. Well, I'm unsettled. I'm going to turn on the lights now. Good night. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Oh, God! Ah!