When is it appropriate to call 911? It’s funny. The night I hear those lines is the night I had to seriously contemplate it.
I watched a movie called Pontypool a couple of nights back, the same night as the incident I’m about to describe. Very good movie. Very sound horror movie. It was everything that terrified me because instead of relying on expensive CGI or campy makeup techniques to terrify you, the first part of the movie greatly revolves around letting your imagination take the reigns to make you the harbinger of your own nightmares. Movies don’t do that enough anymore. They don’t realize how powerful a person can visualize their own fear, and that all they need to do is add the voice of suggestion.
This post, however, isn’t really about Pontypool. I don’t like talking about movies because I fear spoiling it for someone else.
On the same night I watched this movie, I went to bed around 12 only to be awoken by the sounds of pounding at my door. My stepmother is in an awkward situation where she’s sort of between houses and comes down here to do her stay at home job, so I figured it was just her being noisy as ever. The second round of knocks, however had my attention. Being full of paranoia makes you acutely aware of every terrible situation that could possibly pan out, so my mind was already running a mile a minute by the time my feet hit the carpet. This, however, was the first time they actually came to fruition.
Before I did anything, I woke up my grandmother, who had been fast asleep. How she slept through all the banging is beyond me, but when I called out the situation to her, she immediately went for our little pea shooter. It was quickly after that I heard a feminine voice at the door, shouting for help. Shouting that someone was after her. Angrily, my grandma called for her to explain.
What ensued was a stumble upon stumble of words. “Uh… I…” My mind started contemplating why she was pausing after almost every word. Why it sounded so… Fake. Slowly, painfully, and almost emotionlessly, the girl explained that her ex boyfriend had smashed her car window in just down the road. Against my better judgment, grandma let her in.
Covered in blood. She was covered in blood that had apparently dripped down from her face. When you’re an avid halloweener and have seen makeup for seasonal haunted houses being done, everything looks fake, so I can’t truly say whether she was wounded or not. Here are the main concerns though:
1. She didn’t want to call the police. We’ve talked about this part and figure it could be because 1. She was on parole/had warrants for her arrest/etc, or 2. She was on drugs at that very moment. Either is really possible, but the third paranoia option was that nothing was actually wrong, her injury had been set up, and she was just trying to feel out the house to see if it was worth robbing later. This is the one that no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I lose sleep over. This is what all my home invasion nightmares are made of.
2. All questions asked to her were parroted answers of ours. What school did she go to? The same as mine. What kind of phone did she have before her ex smashed it to smithereens? The same as mine. This truly disturbed me.
3. She was so reluctant to call her friend to pick her up. I’d expect nobody would really want to stay in a strangers house for that long, especially when they had a gun they intended to use on you if you slipped up.
Eventually though, she did call her friend, and after getting lost momentarily, he finally showed up. I’d imagine if this was staged, he wouldn’t have had any problem finding the property because he already knew where it was. They could’ve intended on putting out that air, but the whole situation didn’t seem pre-planned at all. I suppose that helps me sleep a little better at night. Not by much.
Now, she did try to get in a second time. Apparently she couldn’t find the driveway (we have a long gravel driveway that connects the two houses on our property). It’s not hard to miss. Unless she was night-blind, I don’t understand how she could’ve missed it. But if she was night blind, I doubt she would’ve been able to find the house at all. I, however, was having none of that. No way. No how. She didn’t seem to fight it though, and within a few minutes, the car left the driveway.
A lot of people have asked me why and scolded me because I didn’t call 911. To be honest, I didn’t really have a good reason as to why I failed to do so. My grandmother, who has pretty much been my rock for my twenty three years of living, didn’t tell me to. It sounds stupid. I’m fully aware. And as strange as it might sound, I didn’t really consider doing it behind her back. I have my own cellphone. I could’ve easily gone into the other room without saying a word.
But I didn’t. I feel that I should go ahead and admit how much I regret it. Sleeping hasn’t been easy since that night. So, should you ever find yourself in a similar situation, just do it. The cliche words ‘better safe than sorry’ ring quite true. It’s going to take me at least a month to get over what happened. To stop jumping at every insignificant sound. Don’t wait. Don’t let them in, just pick up the phone.
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