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Remember how those automated voices say, “this call may be monitored or recorded for training or quality assurance purposes”?

They aren’t kidding.

The following transcripts are from a series of phone calls placed by 47-year-old Donna Rodgers, widow of the late Andrew Rodgers (49), and a resident of Alpine, California. The calls were placed on September 7th and 13th, respectively:

Operator: “911, what’s your emergency?”

Donna: “Hi, yes- hello?”

Operator: “Yes ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”

Donna: “It’s m-my husband- he won’t wake up!”

{slapping sounds}

Operator: “Okay ma’am, can you make sure he’s breathing? Ma’am?”

Donna: “Oh my-

Operator: “Ma’am? Is your husband breathing?”

Donna: “H-he is.”

Operator: “Okay, that’s good. Has your husband suffered in the past from any strokes, heart disease, seizures?”

Donna: “Nothing.”

Operator: “Nothing?”

Donna:Nothing. Sir, listen…I-I’ve tried waking him up for the past three hours. I started shaking him, slapping him, pricking him…he won’t wake up, dammit!”

{Donna's weeping}

Operator: “Ma’am, try to calm down. Medical services have dispatched to your location.”

Donna: “What the hell are they gonna do? I’ve tried everything!”

Operator: “Ma’am, if he’s breathing, there’s a chance he’ll stabilize and come to. Ma’am? Hello?”

Donna: “He’s not gonna wake up, is he?”


{jingle in the style of ‘Mr. Sandman’ by The Chordettes plays}

Representative: “Thank you for calling the Sandman Sleeper Pillow Corpo-

Donna: “I know what you guys are doing…and it makes me sick.”

{typing sounds}

Representative: “Thank you for your call, ma’am. Can you describe the reason for your call today?”

Donna: “I’m pissed off and I hope you all burn in Hell.”

Representative: “Ma’am, please, let’s remain respectful.”

Donna: “You killed my husband over a damn pillow. A pillow.”

Representative: “Is this some kind of prank, ma’am?”

Donna: “Andrew Rodgers. That’s my husband. Look him up. He was pronounced dead last week after remaining unconscious for six straight days.”

Representative: “I’m very sorry to hear about that, ma’am.”

Donna: “No, you’re not- and he’s not even dead. He just can’t wake up.”

Representative: “With all due respect Ms. Rodgers-

Donna:Mrs. Rodgers.”

Representative: “Mrs. Rodgers…everyone who’s passed on can’t wake up. They rest peacefully in...wherever you choose to believe.”

Donna: “Not Andrew. He’s still breathing. The doctors said they've never seen anything like it. They even say he can dream and have nightmares…but he can't wake up.”

Representative: “Have you tried resuscitating him?”

Donna: “Oh- that’s it. Let me ask the neurologist, he must've forgotten."

Representative: “I’m sensing some sarcasm, ma’am?”

Donna: “Damn right, you are. Look, I just wanna talk to Keith Hoffmann.”

Representative: “Mr. Hoffmann, unfortunately, doesn’t take calls at this office.”

Donna: “Where can I talk to him?”

Representative: “Unfortunately, we are unable to direct any messages to Mr. Hoffmann specifically. However, if you have a complaint, I can forward it to our Sandman Sleeper-

Donna: "I don't give a damn about your Sandman Sleeper bullshit. We bought that piece of crap pillow the day Andrew died. All he wanted was stiffer support…I guess he got it."

Representative: “Ma’am, are you suggesting that the pillow had something to do with your husband’s passing?”

Donna: “Yes, I am.”

Representative: “Ma’am, I’ve heard a lot of complaints about our product…but this has never been an issue- “

Donna: “Probably because there’s no one alive to complain about it. And the investigators never would suspect a pillow.”

Representative: “Our pillow is 100% all-natural cotton, ma’am.”

Donna: “And sand. There’s sand in the damn pillow.”

Representative: “Yes- some of the models are infused with sand grains from the Fiji Islands, said to bring relaxation and positive energy to-

Donna: “It’s bullshit. Whatever you’re about to say is bullshit. It’s not from Fiji.”

Representative: “Then, where is it from ma’am? Ma’am?”

Donna: “I don’t know.”

Representative: “Thankfully, it’s noted on our website: the Fiji Islands.”

{Donna sighs}

Donna: “What’s your website?”

Representative: “www.sandmansleeper.com.”

Donna: “Thank you.”

{typing sounds}

Representative: “Absolutely. Is there anything further I can assist you with today? Ma’am?”

Donna: “(209) 836-1626?”

Representative: “How did you get that?”

Donna: “You should really update that corporate site.”

Representative: “Ma’am I wouldn’t- hello? Hello? Ma’am?”


Keith: “Hello?”

Donna: “Hello, Keith.”

Keith: “Who is this? Rachel?”

{Keith’s laughter and sipping sounds}

Donna: “Who’s Rachel?”

Keith: “Clearly not you. Rachel had a sexier voice.”

Donna: “I’m not in a sexy mood, Keith.”

Keith: “Very funny. Seriously though, who is this? This is a restricted number.”

Donna: “I know what you’re doing and I’m gonna stop it.”

Keith: “Seriously, is this Rachel? Babe, you always had a good sense of humor-

Donna:You killed my husband with your damn pillow…you son of a bitch.”

Keith: “Ah, it’s you. They told me you’d be calling.”

Donna: “What’s in the pillow, Keith?”

Keith: “They told you: sand from the Fiji Islands.”

Donna: “Really? Cause the last time I checked…the Fiji Islands doesn’t kill people.”

{Keith’s scoff-like laughter}

Keith: “He’s not dead-

Donna:What was that?”

Keith: “I read the articles. He’s in some kind of a catatonic state. Our product did not do that to him.”

Donna: “Well, then maybe it did something to my dog.”

Keith: “What do you mean?”

Donna: “Our dog, Sillow, sniffed that sand shit when they took my husband’s body away.”

Keith: “And-?”

Donna: “And he won’t wake up. It killed my dog too.”

Keith: “Look lady, they’re not dead. They’re just sleeping.”

Donna: “So, you do know something about it?”

Keith: “Of course. But no one will truly believe a pillow killed twenty-six people.”

Donna:Twenty-six?”

Keith: “I can read obituaries, Mrs. whatever-the-hell your name is.”

Donna: “Donna. Donna Rodgers.”

Keith: "Look, Donna. It's simple. Cross-check names between our database and the obituaries. I’m not as stupid as they claim I am.”

Donna: “Who says you’re stupid?”

Keith: “The tabloids. Just because I was born into a wealthy family doesn’t make me an oaf!”

Donna: "Mmhmm."

Keith: “I’m serious.”

Donna: “And why are you telling me all of this?”

Keith: “You think you’re the first? They’ll never believe you.”

Donna: “I could record this call.”

Keith: “You could…but I’ve got friends in powerful places. Besides, this is already being recorded and I’ll personally be securing it in my…private archive.”

Donna: “So, you’re saying I’m screwed?”

Keith: "Essentially. Don't take it personally. The last person that did is currently residing in the California Mental Institute. Have you ever been to Sacramento? It's not fun, I'll tell you that."

Donna: "So, what's with the pillow then? I'm screwed anyway, you might as well tell me."

Keith: “It’s not as evil as you might assume.”

Donna: “Try me.”

Keith: “I…wasn’t as impressive in my youth as I am today.”

Donna: “You’re 26. That’s pretty youthful.”

Keith: “Yes, but what’s the point of being young if you can’t enjoy it? I was young, but I was poor. Pathetic.”

Donna: “Being poor doesn’t make you pathetic.”

Keith: “Funny. And I thought you weren’t as clever as Rachel.”

Donna: “Your dad was Emmet Hoffmann. You weren’t poor.”

Keith: “My dad was into the whole make your own way thing. Stupid old man. How the hell am I supposed to make seven figures working at Dunkin’ Donuts?”

Donna: “Welcome to reality.”

Keith: “Not my reality. Thankfully, my dad was into some weird shit. Some kind of books about the occult I found in his library. Some of them were pointless: Grim-orium Verum, Pseudo-monar-chia Dae-monum, Necro-nomicon Ex-Mortis…apparently my dad could read whatever kind of freaky-deaky languages these were in. Rarely did they offer any, y’know, English…that is aside for a small English-Latin hybrid book I thought was a children’s storybook. Phantasia Rem. It looked and read like any other children’s fantasy book…except for the pages about summoning the Phantasiam.”

Donna: “Phantasiam?”

Keith: “Fantasy creatures. I don’t expect you to believe it…but it’s true.”

Donna: “What do you mean?”

Keith: “What do I mean? I mean…literally any of the bizarro myths you'd believe as a kid…they're real, oh, and summonable.”

Donna: “Like what? Unicorns?”

Keith: “Yep.”

Donna: “Elves?”

Keith: "Mmhmm. Basically, everything from Griffins to the damn Easter Bunny's in that thing."

Donna: “So, they’re real?”

Keith: “I already said that.”

{Donna’s laughter}

Donna: “And exactly how much of his crack did your dad let you snort?”

Keith: “Very funny. My dad was never into crack. He was more of a cocaine guy. Personally, I stick to pot.”

Donna: “I don’t give a shit if you’re into pixie dust…get to the point.”

Keith: “Pixie dust will get you f’ed up by the way. Regardless, my dad wasn’t too happy to see me with the book. He saw it as a breaking of his trust…I saw it as blackmail.”

Donna: “Blackmail for…?”

Keith:Using the book. Look, these creatures possess immense power, but you have to be careful with whom you’re bargaining with…most of them aren’t all sunshine-and-rainbows when you meet them in person.”

Donna: “So, what’d you do?”

Keith: “I made a deal with the one creature that couldn’t outsmart me. One that’d make me rich beyond my wildest dreams.”

Donna: “Who?”

Keith: “Duh…the Sandman.”

Donna: “The sleep guy?”

Keith: “Yeah…kind of a scarecrow-looking dude when you meet him.”

Donna: “And, what’d he do for you?”

Keith: “The bargain was mutual…he’d bring thousands…maybe millions to sleep, and I’d become the richest pillow mogul in the world.”

Donna: “Sounds like a stupid idea.”

Keith: “Look how it’s working out, Donna-I-don’t-have-a-penny-to-my-name.”

Donna: “You’re killing hundreds of innocent people!”

Keith:Not killing. Sleeping! It’s all very poetic when you think about it…I’m giving them exactly what the product intends!”

Donna: “Yeah…exactly.”

Keith: “Don’t mock me because I’m successful. You wish you were me.”

Donna: “I wish you’d take a nap on your own product. You love it so much, after all.”

{Keith’s laughter}

Keith: “Thanks, but no thanks. Mr. Sandman and I are getting along just fine, and our agreement prohibits that I should ever sleep under his influence.”

Donna: “And what about me?”

Keith: “What about you? You aren't a part of this."

Donna: “I mean about the Sandman. Surely, he wants everyone to sleep. Why hasn’t he offered his precious sleep to me?”

Keith: “You didn’t sleep on the pillow.”

Donna: “It’s confiscated. The police said something about dusting for fingerprints.”

Keith: “And you want to sleep?”

Donna: “…what else do I have to live for?”

{silence}

Keith: “I’ll tell you what, Donna…I like you; you remind me of an older, poorer, version of myself. Real strong-willed…I like that. How about you join me, and Mr. Sandman, for dinner tomorrow evening? It’s the least I can do for your husband. And then, you get to reunite. Now, that’s poetic.”

Donna: “Fine. How will I know where to go?”

Keith: “Don’t worry, I’m already on it.”

This final transcript is from a recording on Donna Rodgers’ cell phone, after being confiscated by local authorities. The recording was dated September 14th, 2014:

{crackling noises, as if hidden in a pocket or purse}

Keith: “I see you’ve found the place! My directions were straightforward?”

Donna: “Very. I was surprised you-

{Donna’s shrieking)

{Keith’s laughter}

Keith: “Don’t be afraid, Donna. This is the Sandman.”

Donna: “I can see that. What’s that…shit all over him?”

Keith: “Who’s to say? I never judge by appearances. This…thing does a hell of a job!”

{inhuman noises}

Keith: “Mr. Sandman, this is Donna Rodgers, you pacified her husband earlier this week-

Donna:Killed.”

Keith: “We’ve been over this. Won’t you sit down?”

{chair legs scraping hard flooring}

Keith: “Now, isn’t this nice?”

{silence}

Keith: “Donna…you haven’t even touched your plate.”

Donna: “I’m not really hungry.”

Keith: "Then why accept a dinner invitation? This is your last meal, after all…why not splurge a little?”

Donna: “Maybe I just wanted to talk.”

Keith: “That’s fine, but you’ll have to excuse the company. He’s a…creature of few words. Isn’t that right, Sandy?”

{inhuman noises}

Keith: “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

Donna: “Your book.”

Keith:Bachelor Pads of the Young and Wealthy?”

Donna: “No…the other book.”

Keith: “Oh…ohthat book.”

Donna: “Yeah.”

Keith: “Well, what about Phantasia?”

Donna: “I figured this…thing wasn’t your first choice.”

Keith: "Who, Sandy? Oh, he's top-notch. Don't let him fool you, he understands every word you say."

Donna: "But surely there are other strange manifestations in the book."

{slamming sound}

Keith: “Let’s take a look.”

{page flipping sounds}

Keith: “Ah, yes…the fat man. Santa. I figured he could supply material needs…but only toys. I’m not that young.”

Donna: “What else?”

{page flipping continues}

Keith: “Hmmm…some rather ghoulish creatures: ghosts, goblins, gremlins…and that’s only the ‘G’s’.

Donna: “May I see?”

{silence, followed by a sliding sound}

Keith: “Knock yourself out…but, unfortunately, there’s nothing in there that’ll bring your hubby back. He’s in Sandy’s possession, now.”

Donna: “I see you’ve ripped the Sandman page from the book?”

{Keith’s laughter}

Keith: “I wouldn’t dare let you kill my goose that lays the golden eggs. And that’s in there, too. But I hate birds. Especially gooses. Far too messy.”

Donna: “Geese.”

Keith: “Whatever.”

{page flipping continues}

Donna: "How in the hell did you even manage to pronounce this shit?"

Keith: "If you try your best, I think the 'magic' does the rest...if you believe in that kind of thing."

Donna: “I see.”

Keith: “It’s all very fascinating.”

{chair scraping sound}

Donna: “Maybe you aren’t as dumb as they say.”

{high heel-clicking sounds}

Keith: “I’m really not.”

Donna: “I mean, you managed to pull off this scheme for the past two years.”

Keith: “And many more to come-

{glasses clink sound}

{hard punch and glass breaking sounds}

{Keith’s groaning}

Keith: “What…the hell…was that?”

{inhuman noises}

Keith: “Not yet, Sandy! You…bitch! I think you knocked out my damn tooth! I thought we were getting along-

Donna: “After what you did to my husband? Screw you, and your Sandman!”

Keith: “Y’know, I was beginning to like you-?”

Donna: “Please, you’re not my type.”

Keith: “Not like that…I mean we’re so similar…both so…feisty…in order to get what we want.”

Donna: “I just wanted a normal life. A happy marriage-

Keith: “And I wanted eight figures by the time I was thirty…so I guess we’re both screwed, Donna!”

Donna: “You’re partially correct. Phantasia Phantasia Phantasia-

Keith: “What’re you doing?”

Donna: “-meum et vocavi te, FAIRY DENTIUM! EGO VOCARE TE!”

{unnatural whirring sounds}

Keith: “What the hell did you do, you bitch?”

{insect-like wing flapping sounds}

Keith: “Oh- shit!”

Donna: “Looks like the Tooth Fairy needs that loose molar, Hoffmann!”

{Keith’s screaming}

{inhuman noises}

Donna: “Sweet dreams, you bastard.”

{louder inhuman noises}

The bodies of Donna Rodgers (47) and Keith Hoffmann (26) were discovered at the Hoffmann Ranch in Montague, California, along with Rodger’s cell phone and a children’s book labeled Phantasia Rem.

Rodgers was found in a catatonic state, unable to move or respond to stimuli. She was pronounced dead after five days.

Hoffmann was discovered deceased. He had suffered trauma to the head as well as rapid blood loss. His lower jaw was no longer intact and has not been recovered since the investigation.

Finally, the book, labeled Phantasia Rem, has since gone missing.



Written by MakRalston
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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