I Dispatch 911 Calls. The Caller's Address Is My Own House.

Every night at 3:11 a.m., the emergency line rings with an address that belongs to me. I'm a 911 dispatcher in a small county where the scanner traffic is ninety percent weather and ten percent heartbreak. Then in September the calls start coming from 4478 Larkspur Lane — my own house. A boy's voice asking if it's still in the barn. A woman reporting a field. Smoke that isn't there. Every call logged under my own name. The county's map says 4478 Larkspur Lane is a house. The county's system says it's a field. And in 1998 a woman died in a barn at that address while eleven calls were filed UNFOUNDED. This is a slow-burn first-person horror account told in incident-report style — dispatch logs, radio traffic, tax ledgers, and one call that was never closed. 🎧 Headphones recommended. Fully fictional. Part of the Ossian County Recorded-Work Files. If you've ever worked a job where you're the only thing between something terrible and the paperwork that records it — this one's for you. Subscribe for more stories from the Ossian County Recorded-Work Files. New case every week. Which call got you? Tell me in the comments. #HorrorStory #ScaryStories #Creepypasta `#HorrorNarration #NightShift #GhostStories #HorrorAudiobook #Unsettling`