I have Google Voice set to transcribe any voicemails I get and send them to me via text message. So, I get a call from an unknown number, so I let it go to voicemail and the transcription that it sends me via text message is “Hi, Fritz.”
So later that day I check my Google Voice page and listen to the voicemail. It is 30 seconds of absolute silence. Google Voice transcribed the block of silence into the greeting “Hi, Fritz”.
The creepy part about it is, the only person who called me by my nickname of “Fritz” was my grandfather, who has been dead for 3 years.
I grew up in a tiny, tiny town in Northern Ontario. Every Friday, most of the neighborhood would gather in Ginette and Emil’s kitchen and tell stories for hours. I was only five or six, the only kid on the block, so I’d usually read or play with my toys in one of the two guest bedrooms until I fell asleep. One night, I couldn’t sleep because I could hear a baby crying. I came out into the kitchen, and complained to my mom. She told me to go back to sleep, but Ginette, an experienced grandmother at the time, pulled a cookie out from the cookie jar and sent me to the living room to watch TV instead.
Because of the way the house was laid out, the living room was right next to the kitchen, and I could hear the adults talking. I’m 22 now, in Texas, and it STILL creeps me the fuck out.
“When we first moved here,” Ginette started, “There was a cross hanging up in the guest room. We’re not really religious, and there was a lot of other crap from the old owners hanging up so we took it all down.”
Their bedroom was in the basement, closest to the heater, and the kitchen, living room and guest rooms were all upstairs. “We used to hear something running around upstairs, like a kid, eh? We thought it was just the dog, or the cat. But one weekend, Emil took the dogs hunting and the cat wouldn’t come in that night. So I was downstairs, alone, and I heard the footsteps. I came up to investigate, and I could hear a baby crying.”
Now, the neighbors were too far apart for it to be one of their kids. And their house backed up into a field that went on for miles and miles. She was confused, and wound up calling the cops because the baby just would NOT stop crying. The OPP came, a grizzled older guy and his partner, and the older man remembered the house from when he’d been called there three years ago- when the Harrison’s toddler was found dead in its crib. They searched the yard and the house, but didn’t hear anything. Offhandedly, they suggested she find the cross, and put it back on the wall.
She did. And she never heard the baby again. When my mother went in to get my stuff so we could leave, she realized that when I was playing, I’d knocked the small cross off the wall.