“911 Emergency,” Laura answered the call coming through her station.
She had done this for so long that it had become a reflex to her whenever she answered. This time though, it took effort to remain dispassionate once she recognized the number.
“Hello, there are men o-outside my house. They’re trying to smash through the door! My name is…”
The fear in the man’s voice was palpable, and more authentic than even his most convincing calls. Before he even said it, Laura knew that his name was
and that he lived at
“71 Pine Ridge Avenue.”
The first few times he called in, he was convincing. Imaginative, too. There was one call he made where he got a SWAT team sent to someone’s house. Another one of his prank calls fucked up the new girl so bad that she quit the next day. He got off on all of it, every time he called in. Not three months ago, one of his prank calls sent two ambulances on a wild goose chase, diverting them from their original call of a very real multi-car accident on the highway. A mother and father died on the pavement, as their children watched in horror. The man’s incessant voice rattled around her head ever since that call. Laura kept a cut out photo of them from the local paper taped to the top of her monitor.
Gene’s use of a new burner phone on each call meant that the police were not interested in expending the effort of tracing him. Of course, Laura did not share in their disinterest. She began logging the phone numbers of each burner phone he called in with. From there, it didn’t take much effort for her to track down mass purchases of burner phones from local business in the county. That was all it took before she had a name and address.
A year back, the state was forced to close one of its mental institutions. Laura heard stories about the former patients causing trouble in the housing projects a few towns over. Despite her initial reservations, it was quite easy for Laura to instill an obsession for Gene in a few paranoid schizophrenics.
Laura could hear the loud banging in the background, serenading Gene’s stuttering pleas for help. She savored the moment before masking her glee with indifference.
“Sir, I’m sorry. This number is for emergencies only. Please refrain from making any prank calls to this number in the future. Have a nice day.”
As she reached to press the hang-up button, she could hear Gene’s pleas grow more frantic, boiling over into screams for help as his front door splintered into pieces.
In that moment, she wished more than anything that she could stay on the line for just another second.
[WARNING: Instance of a character using a homophobic slur]
You would think, in this day and age, that military
personnel would be above acts of violence against their own people for
something they have no control over. Like whom they love, for example. But you’d
be surprised how many give in to that carnal desire to kill all because of one
person. The ring leader who people follow without question, if they’re
When my husband of five years enlisted, I was
scared, I’ll admit. I was afraid that he might volunteer for combat once he got
out of boot camp. That was my biggest fear because we’d already discussed how
we’d keep letters pretty gender neutral in case any of the others wanted to
take a peek. You can’t be too careful and we thought he’d be safe from ridicule.
It worked. He finished boot camp without any grief from the others for being
After finishing up training, he came home for a time
and we enjoyed ourselves. We went out to dinner and the movies and spent a day
in bed. It was nice but it didn’t last long before he was gone again, headed to
Germany for half the year.
Everything was normal until two months into his stay
when the calls stopped. The first day I didn’t think anything of it, he had
told me that things were getting pretty busy and he might not be able to call
me every day like usual.
So I let it go. Even let the second day go. The
third day is when I got the call.
With that being said, this fucking structure needs to be taken down. I find it offensive and actually, misleading.
Pine Avenue is technically the business district of downtown Niagara Falls. This is where all the best restaurants were put. The Como, Dicamillos, La Hacienda, and one other that I’m forgetting are the most deeply established restaurants in the Falls. Yes, they’re Italian.
There’s also only four of them.
On a mile long strip, there’s only four Italian restaurants that would really make this place “Little Italy”. Sure, up on Fifteenth Street [my street] is a gazebo and a bocce court. But that’s it.
The rest of Pine Avenue is actually pizza shops, liqour stores, embroidery places [you know those stores that decorate fitted hats and stuff?], general stores, and ghetto clothing stores. Most of Pine Avenue has businesses that are run by African Americans or Indians.
You Italians are really holding on tightly to this street aren’t you? Can we take this sign down and share it with everybody? You don’t own this city anymore. [There was actually a politician that tried running on the platform that he was of Italian descent. Sad, way to isolate 60% of your city]
Over The Garden Wall
Cosplay or you are a cosplayer and post lots of progress pictures
Art or any kinds of painting
American Horror Story or anything to do with any of the cast