This is a call to 911 that took place in 1994. The operator received a call from a blocked number. There is only one recording of it, and it is a severely distorted cassette tape .
"911, what’s your emergency?" the operator said monotonously, following the old routine.
All that could be heard from the caller, were sounds of static.
"Hello. Is anyone there?" the operator persisted.
Sounds of a woman sobbing came through the static.
"Miss, is everything alright? Are you there miss?"
A whisper managed to come through- "La..Laci..."
"Miss, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong."
The caller whispered between gasps, "La… Laci… she’s been… terribly naughty… She’s been playing with the little ones…"
"Miss can you tell me your name?" the operator questioned with growing anxiety.
"Laci played with the little ones… she… wrestled… broke them… blood…"
At this point the woman screamed manically and uncontrollably, only pausing to whisper random names or dates.
"BLOOD EVERYWHERE... The fourteenth, yes… that’ll do… THEY AREN’T MOVING… Kristie will be here… I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING… the twins… Cassel and Alistair… SO DARK… SHE’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME… Don’t cry, little Cassel, Auntie is here for you…" the caller exclaimed frantically.
The call continued for three minutes and twenty two seconds more of the woman screaming about someone by the name of “Laci”, and then it abruptly ended.
The operator was so scarred that she quit her job soon after.
The call was never traced.
Two months later, a photo showed up of three small children mutilated beyond belief, with arms twisted out of sockets, legs broken, blood pouring out of mouths, eyes torn out of sockets, fingers sliced off, and hair ripped out. The children’s names are Kristina, Cassel, and Alistair Driscoll.
In regards to the “Auntie” speaking to Cassel, the Driscoll children’s parents were both only children. They had no siblings. There could not have been a biological aunt.
In the second panel of the picture, there is a small, blurry form of a girl with her back to whoever took the picture, but her head is turned towards the camera, almost fully spun around.
She is drenched in blood, and in the middle of skipping gleefully. Every record in the country has been checked. Every town has been asked. There are no records of this little girl.
She does not exist.