9-1-1

I unlatched the cot and jumped from the back of the ambulance as it lurched into the narrow driveway. Gravel skittered beneath my feet as I slid the front wheels far enough over the lip to tip them onto the ground.

"GPS says this is the house," the driver called as he climbed down and moved to help me. I pulled the cot free, hit the button to extend the legs, and glanced up at Martinez.

"What, you think this isn't it? I asked."

The front of the house was dark. There were no streetlights on any of the runs out this way due to the vast majority of it being farmland; It was always dark out here. I pushed the gurney past the truck's open door and towards the front walkway.

"Life alert calls are almost always a fall. Falls are much more common in the dark. Radio it in and double-check if you want."

Martinez found the button on the radio and hit it. "We're here, Goldie. It's dark inside, can I get a verification on the address and call type before we wake up some hick with a shotgun by the door?"

I pushed the cart into the grass, and the front wheels sank enough to catch.

"Shit," I whispered.

I let go and moved to the front to pull it the rest of the way.

"Holes in the yard, careful," I called over my shoulder.

"Hold up. You know these farmers have more guns than patience. Wait for Goldie."

I turned to tell him we may not have time to waste when the radio chirped. Static poured out. As Goldie cut in and out, I pulled my head away from the burst.

"Confirm location..." Static again, "Life..." and the radio fell silent.

Martinez sighed. "Good enough."

The light from the ambulance seemed to vanish noticeably with each step. When we reached the sidewalk, we barely had shadows. The moon wasn't much help, but the darkness seemed to pull the light away like a straw does the last bit of your drink in the bottom of the glass.

"Hello?" I called, taking the first few steps up the porch. "EMS is here, and we are coming up the steps."

On the left-hand side of the platform, a screen door that could have been straight out of a 1970s movie was visible. Centered in the wall was a bay window, and an old-school wooden porch swing stood with its back to the wall on the far right. The boards creaked beneath my feet as I approached the door. A few steps behind me, Martinez left the cot sitting on the walk and followed up the porch steps, crossing to the window.

"Hello?" I called again, reaching for the screen door.

The spring let out a "creaaak" as I drew the door to me, the noise growing higher-pitched the further it opened, as if protesting. I heard the click of Martinez's pen light and saw the beam illuminate the front room through the door's glass panel.

"What the fuck?" Martinez said to himself.

"What?" I asked, looking over at him.

"I'm going to call Goldie again," he said.

"Why? What's in there?" I asked.

"Nobody lives here, man. This place is empty," he said.

I let go of the door and headed for the window, pulling out my penlight and clicking it on. I turned the beam on Martinez. Another light illuminated his face, and I saw he had pulled out his phone.

"Are you going to actually call her? She doesn't have her personal phone at the desk, so use the radio," I said.

"You think she sits at that desk, alone, and doesn't have her phone on her?" He said, "Who do you believe beats me in that stupid word game all night every night?

He raised the phone to his ear and looked out at the ambulance as it rang. I turned my flashlight towards the window and approached.

Dust coated every surface inside the room. It was laid out in a left-to-right rectangle with a hallway in the corner off to the left, and a doorway in the far right corner leading straight back into the house. A couch was covered in a blanket or drop cloth on the right-hand wall. One of the oldest televisions I had ever seen was directly opposite the sofa. It was four feet wide, with a cluster of large dials and buttons occupying the far end. The screen was a few feet wide with a slight outward bow in the center. It was a large wooden box that was sitting directly on the floor. As strange as the TV was, the wall directly opposite the window was the most alarming. It was covered from the ceiling down to the dull colored carpet in crucifixes and other strange symbols I didn't recognize. Thick cobwebs wove patterns connecting the crosses to the symbols across the wall. I'd seen the investigation boards down at the police station with lines pinned from locations to people and back again, and this was even more chaotic.

"Hey," Martinez said, "Listen to this." He hit redial, and Goldie flashed on the screen above the standard call options, then hit the speaker button. He locked eyes with me as it connected, a deep crease set between his eyes. The phone rang twice, and a computerized voice picked up, "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."

"You saw me dial it. What the hell?" He asked.

"I don't know." I said, "Try it again." He pulled up the phone so I could see it and dialed again. It rang twice and repeated the same message. I grabbed my radio and keyed it.

"Goldie, come in," I said. The static began to rise again, and I anxiously turned my head. It rose to the same deafening level, mixed with something like a voice- a thin and barely audible sound above the static. Martinez and I looked at one another.

"That sounded like a guy, not Goldie," I said.

"Okay, I was thinking the same thing but didn't want to say it," Martinez replied.

"Could you make out what he said?" I asked.

"No. I didn't think it was saying anything. It sounded like it was in pain or shouting or something." Martinez said. We stood on the porch for another moment before Martinez spoke again.

"We should head back, at least get off the property. We can stop at the gas station and use their phone to try Goldie again."

"If we leave and someone in there needs us, we may lose more than just our jobs. That's prosecutable. It could be jail time," I said.

Martinez tossed his hands at his sides and looked back at the window.

"If we walk around the whole house, calling at every window, that has to be enough, right?"

I thought about it for a second. "It would have to be enough. We aren't supposed to be clearing scenes anyway. We can't get hold of anyone who can help right now either. Let's pull one lap, check every window, and then we can try to call from the gas station. Alright?" Martinez looked at the truck again for a moment and then nodded. We took the steps back down to the walk and into the grass.

"Let's go this way," I said, flipping my light off towards the left side of the house, away from the ambulance and the lights.

Landscaping lined the whole place from where the walk ended. Large bushes protruded out over the yard haphazardly poking out like fingers from the rocky bed.

"Hello?" Martinez called, pointing his light to the window, almost hidden by the bushes. Dark curtains filled the glass, blocking the view of what was behind. I pointed my flashlight downward to see where I was going. The thick grass seemed to pull at my boots no matter how high I stepped. My toe caught in the growth, nearly tripping me.

We rounded the corner and plunged into darkness. The ambulance lights may as well have been off.

"EMS," I called, nowhere in particular, "We got a call that someone needed help."

A window was fifteen feet from the corner, just as dark as the rest of the house.

"I hope they aren't dead in there," Martinez said. "We would have to sit here until the phone and radios decided to work again."

I hadn't thought of that. Spending any time out here certainly didn't sound appealing to me either. We reached the window, and Martinez called out again. "Hello? We're here to help whoever triggered a life alert system in the home."

I knocked on the window as he spoke, watching the curtains beyond the glass.

"Let's just hurry up so we can get out of here," Martinez said.

"Yeah." I agreed, "This is a false call or something, let's get back to the,"

Something hit the window with a thud.

"Was that you throwing something against the window?" Martinez responded at once.

I stepped up to the glass and cupped my hand against it, trying to see anything through that thick curtain. "We're here, we heard you!" I yelled at the window.

A muffled voice came from inside, but I couldn't understand what it said. "I hear someone!" I called over my shoulder. The window was a standard two-panel window where the bottom slides upward along the top. I pressed my hand flat against the glass and tried to slide it. My hand slid an inch, making a small "scree" noise.

"Here," Martinez said. He put his free hand on the top edge of the wooden pane and pushed with me. The window began to budge, but in tiny bursts. After we got the window to move a couple of inches, I handed him my flashlight.

"Take this, I can get under it and push. Just keep the light on it". I said. I squatted down a few inches, braced my hands where Martinez had pushed a moment ago, and heaved. The window groaned as it ground its way up the track. Pieces flaked and chipped off the old wood as it moved. "We're coming. Are you doing all right in there?" I called through the curtain.

A muffled groan came from inside. "I'm coming in, hang on," I said. I turned to Martinez, "I'll cut through and open the front door. Grab the gurney, and we'll get them through the door." Martinez turned as he spoke, "Yeah, I got it. Go check them!"

I pulled on the fabric of my pant leg to swing it up and over the windowsill ledge and pushed my arm in to separate the curtain. I leaned down as my boot found the floor and slipped into the house. "Alright, I'm here. Can you call out for me?"

I freed myself of the curtain and felt for a wall or a piece of furniture as I waited for a response. I blinked, realizing Martinez had run off with my light. The darkness felt like a physical weight had been placed on me. "I need to get some lights on in here. I am not leaving you. Please try and make a sound if you can."

I reached my arms as far as I could and slowly shuffled sideways. The house smelled awful. It was like a cat had pissed in every corner of a building used to make fertilizer. My eyes burned whether I left them open or squeezed them shut. The smell was worse than that of the lady with gangrene foot. That thought nearly made me sick, and I tried to breathe as little as possible as my fingertips brushed a wall.

"I've got to open the front door so we can get the bed in here to get you out. I'm not leaving; I will be right back, alright?" I said to no one in particular. At this point, the darkness was almost as overwhelming as the smell, as if a blanket had been draped over my head.

I continued forward, shuffling my feet in case they had passed out before me against the wall. I found the doorway and slid my hands across the opening to find the door, but there wasn't one. I felt nearly top to bottom on both sides, and there weren't even indents for hinges. My brow furrowed as I passed through the opening, foot first, checking for the floor. I fanned my arms out wide, and my fingertips slid along both edges of the hall if I tipped back and forth to find them.

"I'm heading up!" I yelled out to Martinez. The hall ended, and I felt for the TV off to the right, but it wasn't there. I extended my fingers, and my hand hit the wall. Thin, rectangular metal pressed into my now flattened hand. The crucifix swayed gently on the wall. My hand brushed against one of the symbols hanging there as I slid it up for a light switch. My heart quickened, and I looked to where the window was, where it should be. Nothing. I should have been able to see the light from the ambulance through it, but there was nothing. The same darkness. "This isn't right," I said out loud. "How? I'm on the wrong side of the room?"

I took a cautious step forward and scanned for anything that could explain how I ended up entirely on the wrong side of the house. There was nothing but more darkness. Everything felt too large, too full, too off. I reached my hand out to turn back the way I had come, and the wall was there at once. My heart was pounding in my chest and thundering in my ears. "Martinez?" I tried to call out, but barely managed a whisper. "It doesn't make sense." I echoed inside my head again and again. As I stumbled back down the hallway, I kept repeating it like people do when they latch on to a phrase in shock. "Martinez!" I shouted, my voice roaring in the darkness this time.

Light appeared at what seemed like an impossible distance away. "I'm here!" Martinez called through the open window. I could see the dull light through the curtain. "Stay there!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "I'm here, man, what's wrong?" Martinez yelled back. I could see his face now. He had pulled the curtain inside and shone the light towards me, but something was off.

"Yeah, I'm good. I got turned around in here. It's way too dark." I called. I nearly lurched with every step back to him, back towards the light. "Did you find anyone? We heard something?" His voice carried through the hall again.

"It's too dark, and they may have passed out. I need my light." I said.

"Well, here, want me to throw it? He asked.

"NO!" I yelled. The thought of him throwing that light through the window made me nearly panic. If he threw it, I believed it would vanish or disappear forever. The light began to move. It moved away from the window. "WAIT!" I nearly screamed.

The light seemed to be sliding away like a cloud gliding in front of it. The darkness ate every inch it was given with an almost audible noise. The darkness slid, and slid, until the light was gone entirely, followed by a soft "click" of a door latching. My chest tightened. "H..Hello?" I tried to say, but nothing came out.

Light flared a few feet in front of me. A moan escaped my lips as I attempted to take a step backward, finding a wall. The light dimmed and became the steady flame of a match. The pulsating glow danced off of a small golden doorknob of a door that hadn't existed only minutes before. "No," I whispered.

The door didn't matter, though. Nothing did except the match; the match and the thing holding it. Bubbles sizzled and burst like grease in a pan where the light touched the damp flesh of the coil that clutched the matchstick. Melted flesh oozed to the floor. The droplets splashed into the puddle forming beneath the rapidly burning match.

My eyes followed the match as it began to rise. The path reveals slender ligaments of flesh bubbling and popping in its path, gliding smoothly up and up. My eyes were locked on the flame, on what should have been a chest, but was instead a flesh-covered scrap pile. Sharp edges and gleaming protrusions of bone breaking through with audible pops and squelches as the light boiled away the meat in its path. The match began to sputter as it reached the end of the stick. It dimmed from a flame to a blue glow. I felt warmth run down my leg, but I could not move, speak, or react.

A globe of crimson, ringed in white, reflected the last of the match's glow. Bulbous growths and ridged pits hung from the glistening eye that stared back at me. The light could only reveal the center of it, and the flame lost power by the second. I heard the flesh slide as it blinked. The match went out, and the darkness swallowed the last of the light.