Terrifying Real Emergency Call Outs: Police & Firefighter Stories You Won’t Forget

What happens when emergency responders answer a call that doesn't make sense?

In this episode of Real Unexplained Stories, we explore terrifying real emergency call outs, strange police reports, unsettling firefighter encounters, and unexplained incidents that have stayed with witnesses for years. From mysterious late-night calls to disturbing events that left experienced responders questioning what they had seen, these stories reveal the darker side of emergency services and the unknown.

Featuring real accounts of unexplained encounters, strange sightings, paranormal experiences, and emergency situations that continue to raise questions long after the sirens stopped.

Listen now and decide for yourself what really happened.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Most 999 calls are exactly what you expect: accidents, break-ins, missing people. But every now and then, a call comes through. That's different. A caller whispering that something's outside their home. Police arriving at empty roads after reports of figures standing in the dark. Strange screams heard in remote areas with nobody there when help arrives, and witnesses left trying to explain things they still don't understand years later. In this episode, we're looking at disturbing 999 call-outs and strange emergency reports that blur the line between fear and the unexplained. I'm Leon and this is the Real Unexplained Stories. Story one The Thing Near Saltergate by PC Harris Location North Yorkshire, UK twenty eighth of october twenty fourteen. Names have been changed to protect their identity. My name is Harris. I spent over twelve years with North Yorkshire Police, most of it covering rural patches around Picker and Whitby and the long moorland stretched of the A169. Those of you who know that road really know it and will understand why this night still sits heavy in my mind. This happened in the early hours of 28th of October 2014, on a shift. I expected to be quiet, a cold night, clear sky, not a breath of wind over the heather. When the moor is that still, it has a strange feel to it, like the whole landscape is holding its breath. At about 1 32 AM, dispatch sent me to check a call from a farm track near Saltergate Bank. The caller, a farmer named Tom, reported a large animal moving around his back lane. He said it wasn't walking right, and that it didn't look like a deer. His voice kept catching. Not fear exactly, just that awkward tone people get when they've seen something they can't describe or explain. It wasn't an urgent grade call, but I was the only one out there, so it was mine. I took the A169 north, past the Salticale viewpoint, lay by. The road was empty for miles, not a single set of headlights ahead. Or behind. When you're out there alone at that time of night, the darkness feels different, somehow thicker, heavier, like it's watching your back. I pulled off the main road on onto the farm track, a narrow strip of broken tarmac that winds between old stone walls. My headlights barely cut through the dark. The sky had no moon, no glow, just that deep endless black you only get on the moors. I switched off the engine straight away. Something felt wrong. There was no wind, no rustling, no sheep noise, no owls, no sound at all. Have you ever been out there on the North York Moors at night? You'll know how unsettled that silence feels. I radio in. Sierra two five, unscreen that Saltergate. I'll be checking the perimeter. Control acknowledged. Nothing unusual. I stepped out of the car. The cold hit me straight away. Not a normal cold but that sharp cold, biting kind, that feels like it goes straight through your coat. I started walking down the track with my torch pointed ahead. The ground was damp, and I noticed something in the mud. Prince. They were long, almost like stretched paws, with deep marks, where something heavy had pressed into the wet earth. I crouched down, trying to make sense of the shape. That's when I heard it. A scrape, then another, like metal being dragged softly across stone. It came from the barns just past the bend in the track. I stood, hand hovering near my vest out of instinct. Hello, police? My voice echoed the stone walls, too loud in the stillness, but no reply. I took a slow step forward, then another. As I reached the corner of the barn, a strong smell hit me. Damp fur, rot, and something like copper. I thought maybe an injured stag had crawled in and died. Not pleasant, but nothing new in the job. I moved the beam of my torch across the barn door. That's when I saw it. At first I thought it was a deer. It was tall, around the height of a man, with long limbs bent the wrong way. Its back was arched unnaturally, and patches of dark fur stuck out at angles. But the head, the head wasn't right at all. Too narrow and too long, and as the torch passed over it, the eyes reflected back with an unnatural shine, not like animals' eyes, more like glass. The thing froze. I froze, neither of us moved. Then slowly it turned its head towards me, not like an animal. Deliberate almost like human. My stomach dropped. I took a step back. Stone crackled under my boot. The thing straightened, joints cracked, limbs unfolding. It rose higher until it stood almost upright, and then it made a sound I will never forget. A low vibrating growl that felt like it shook the inside of my chest. Not loud, just deep, too deep. I raised my torch again, and that must have been enough to set it off. It moved fast. Not a run, more like a crawl, and a sprint mixed together. Its hands or whatever they were hit the ground first, then its legs snapped forward. It launched itself past the barn door and into the darkness behind the stone wall. I swore and stumbled back, nearly drawing my button out of pure shock. But by the time my torch found the gap between the walls, the thing was already gone. All I heard was fast, heavy skittering across the stones, then nothing. Complete silence again. A radio control voice shaking. Sierra two five Possible injured animal moving fast across the rear track. I'm going to follow up. I reached the gap. The moor stretched out behind the farm. Rolling heather, then a steep drop into the valley. If something ran out there, you'd usually hear it, the but there was nothing. I stepped onto the heather, my boots sank into the soft ground, my torch swept the slope, then I saw a movement. Far, too far for anything big to reach so quickly. A shape stood on the next rise, tall and thin, slightly hunched, the same reflective eyes. It watched me, then stepped back, disappeared behind the ridge, moving with the same jerky unnatural motion. I stood there for a long time waiting for a sound, a clue, anything, but the moor stayed silent. I walked back to the car, breath shaken. When I looked down and saw mud on my trousers from where I'd knelt by the prince. It made the whole thing too real. The farmer Tom eventually came out of the house. He looked terrible. When I asked what he'd seen, he just shook his head. Didn't look like anything, I know, he said quietly. Didn't move like anything either. I didn't file it as anything strange, just suspected injured dear. Because honestly, what else do you put? To this day every time I take the A169 approach to Saltergate Bank, I catch myself glancing towards the Heather Ridge, half hoping to see those eyes again, half praying I never do. The face by the pillars by firefighter Mark Location High Level Bridge Newcastle upon Tyne, UK The third of september nineteen ninety eight. My name is Mark. I served with Tyne and Weir Fire and Rescue for years, mostly around Newcastle's quayside. I've seen everything this job can throw at you fires, rescues, jumps, wrecks, the lot. None of that ever rattled me. But what happened on the high level bridge in nineteen ninety eight is something I still can't explain. It was early hours of the third of september nineteen ninety eight. A quiet cold night shift. Most of the city was asleep, hardly any traffic. The river below looked black, even under the street lights. The call came in at two oh six AM Automatic Fire Alarm Pedestrian High Level Bridge. False alarms back then were constant. Dunks pulling call points, cold fog setting off senses, and kids pressing whatever they could reach. We didn't expect anything unusual, but we'd already responded to two alarms at the same spot that week, both between 2 and 3 AM. Same call point, same activation pattern. Always nothing there though. But this night felt different. We parked by the stone entrance and climbed the tight metal steps. Anyone who's walked the bridge at night knows the feeling. Long iron walkways, old pillars, each echoes that sound like they come from behind you. Even when they don't. My crewmate Andy muttered, place feels off tonight. He wasn't wrong. We walked towards the call point. No smoke, no heat, no smell of a fire, just that strange hollow silence. I radio in. Control, false alarm so far, checking pillars. We moved deeper along the walkway, torches cutting small circles of light across the metal. Then something shifted ahead of us. A face. Just for a split second, leaning out from behind the pillar, about thirty meters down the bridge. Not hiding, and definitely not running, just looking. Did you see that? Andy whispered. I had. We moved forward, torches steady. Fire service, I called. If someone's out there, step into the light. Nothing. We reached the pillars. Empty. Then from the next pillar along, the same face leaned out again. Slow, almost curious. We both froze still. Andy whispered, It's not walking between them. It's just there. He was right. We didn't hear any footsteps, no breathing, no movement. Just that face appearing further down each time. We kept going. When we reached the middle of the bridge, the alarm behind us sounded again. The same call point we just inspected. Control? I radioed. No one near that call point. Can't see any civilians on the walkway. We turned back. Now the face was closer, two pillars away. This time the torchlight hit it fully. It wasn't normal. The skin was pale and smooth, like wet clay. There was no hair, no eyebrows, and the eyes, they weren't sunken. Just large round shapes, too fixed, too still. It tilted its head slowly and deliberate, like a dog hearing a sound for the first time. A cold wave rolled through my chest. And he whispered Don't turn your back on it. We backed away carefully. The face stayed where it was leaning out from the pillar, never blinking, never shifting its weight. When we reached the end of the walkway, a single tap echoed behind us, metal striking metal. Not a person running, not someone following, just one tap, like a signal. I radioed in that we were clear and returned to the station. We checked the bridge again the next evening with extra crew. Nothing. No faces, no movement, no alarms. Whatever we saw that night, it didn't come back, but I still crossed that bridge sometimes and always in daylight, and I never looked directly at the pillars anymore. Because in 1998 something looked back at us and I'll never forget the way it watched, like it was deciding if it should come closer. The Man in the Corridor by Paramedic Ewan Location Glasgow, Scotland twenty first of january two thousand four. My name is Ewen and back in the early two thousands I worked as a paramedic in Glasgow. We didn't have smartphones or fancy tech back then, just radios, pages and paper maps on the dashboard. This happened in january two thousand four, on a freezing night where the air felt sharp and the Clyde looked black as ink. At eleven nineteen PM, control sent us a call about a possible collapse inside an old tendement block on Clyborough Street. If you're local, you'll know these buildings, big old empty places. Most were bordered up or half falling down. Kids used some of them for shortcuts, but no one lived there. The strange part wasn't the building. It was the caller. A man phoned nine hundred ninety nine and said if he fell down the stairs, please come quick. His voice was shaky, then the caller cut off. No name, no number, no details. We arrived a few minutes later. The building looked dead, no lights, no windows. The front door was hanging open. My partner Alistair said quietly, who would even be in there at this time? We stepped inside. The cold hit us straight away. Cool inside than outside. The kind of cold that gets into your bones. Our torches lit up the dust in the air, all paper hanging off like skin, old plaster cracking under every step. I called out Humblin' service if you can hear us shout back nothing. Only the soft drip of water somewhere deep in the building. We walked along the corridor. Shadows were long and didn't seem to move even when our lights did. Then we found something on the floor a shoe. A single brown work shoe. Looked pretty new. Never a good sign. We reached the stairwell, and that's when we heard a voice Hello A weak male's voice coming from below us. Alistair leaned over the railing. Where are you, Pal? Silence. Then the voice again even quieter.

unknown 15:38

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00 15:39

We hurried downstairs, but when we reached the bottom, no one was there. Just another dark corridor stretching away. We followed it, torches up. Halfway down we reached a door that was open a crack. Cold air drifted through it. We pushed it open. Inside was an empty room, broken tiles, old pipes, no windows. We called out again nothing. Then behind us, back in the corridor, hear same voice, but now coming from the opposite end of the building. We walked back, heart beating fast, but when we got there, nothing again. The place felt wrong, too cold and still. It felt like the voice kept moving to stay away from us. Then as we stepped into another corridor, my torch caught something ahead. A man standing completely still, hands at his sides, face to the wall, not moving at all. My stomach dropped. Sir, I called. Can you hear me? He didn't speak. He didn't turn. He didn't even twitch. We walked closer. Slow and careful. Ten meters away I noticed something that made my skin crawl. He wasn't wearing any shoes. His bare feet were white from the cold, Alistair whispered. That's his shoes upstairs. Then the man stepped sideways into a doorway. Not walked, nor turned, just one sharp, strange sideways movement. And then gone. We rushed to the doorway. The room inside was tiny and empty. There was no windows, no other doors, nowhere for him to go, but he wasn't there. Alistair backed out of the room fast. His voice was shaken. Let's go out now. As we reached the stairwell, again the voice came from above us. Here we looked up, my torch caught a quick glimpse of a bare foot disappearing onto the next land. That was enough. We left the building fast. Outside we radio control.

unknown 17:52

No patient found.

SPEAKER_00 17:54

Building unsafe.

unknown 17:55

Request police.

SPEAKER_00 17:56

The police checked the full building and found nothing. No man, no footprints, no clothes. Only the strange work shoe we'd seen. They asked if we'd heard anything. We said no. We couldn't explain it even to ourselves. I'd been on hundreds of call outs since two thousand four. Real emergencies, real injuries, real people, but that old tenement in govern stays with me. The ice cold rooms, the voice that moved each time we moved, and that man standing still in the dark with no shoes on. Sometimes on night shifts when it's quiet in the station, I still hear it in my head. That same soft whisper Yeah. The girl on line three by nine ninety nine call handler Janet Location Manchester Police Control Room UK eighteenth of november nineteen eighty six. My name is Janet and back in the mid eighties I worked nights in the 999 control room for Greater Manchester Police. We didn't have computers then, just paper logs, heavy headsets, and rows of blinking lights on the call boards. Every line had a number, every number had a sound. After a few years on nights, you learned those sounds better than anything else in your life. On the eighteenth of November 1986, at twelve fifty four AM, line three lit up. It was tied to an old copper trunk line that barely worked during storms. We joked that if it ever rang, it'd be a ghost. That night it rang. I picked up a thick grey receiver, pressed the button, and said 999, what's your emergency? At first all I heard was snowy static, like a TV with no aerial. Then, very faintly a girl's voice whispered Hello? I sat up straight. Hello? Are you safe? Tell me where you are. Another whisper. I can't find the door. Her voice was quiet and shaky, like a child trying not to cry. What's your name, love? Silence. Then it's dark. A row on my paper log. Female caller, possibly trapped. Very distressed. Can you tell me what building you're in? Are there any windows? Mo static crackled through. Then she said He locked us in. My stomach nodded. Who's locked you in? Is someone hurting you? He's still here. Her voice wasn't panicked. It was empty and flat. That scared me more. Listen to me. I said, keeping my voice steady. If you can't see a door, can you see a wall? Can you touch anything around you? She whispered. Gold tiles, water, basement, washroom, something industrial. Are you underground? I asked. Startuk swallowed half of an answer. But I heard stairs, not aloud, up the stairs. My heart hammered. Okay, sweetheart. Stay with me. I'm gonna send officers. Can you tell me your address? Silence. Then suddenly clear. I don't know this, please. A faint metallic bang echoed behind her. She gasped. What was that? Is he back? She didn't answer. Then something else came on the line. Deep breathing. Not hers. A slow, deep adult. It was close to the phone. Far too close. With you, I asked. The breathing stopped. Then a man's voice whispered, You shouldn't be listening. My whole body went cold. Sir, identify yourself now. But the man didn't shout. He didn't sound angry. He sounded calm. This line isn't for you. Every hair on my arm lifted. Where are you? Tell me now. Officers are on the way. He spoke again, still quiet and still steady. This building isn't here anymore. Those words made my stomach twist. What do you mean? Where are you? Static surged, loud, harsh, painful. Then the girl's voice came back fast and terrified. He's coming. Stay with me, I said, almost shouting. Tell me your name. But instead of answering, she asked me something I will never forget. Why can't you open the door for us? Then the line died. Just a hard click in my ear. I stared at line three's light, expecting a flash again. It didn't though. I gave the log to my supervisor. Officers searched every old basement, closed factory and empty building in the mapped area. They found nothing, no girl, no man, no signs of anyone being trapped. Three days later, engineering checked the old trunk line. He said line three hadn't been connected to an outside feed in years. It couldn't have made or received a call in 1986, not even by accident. The board's wiring was dead, but I knew what I heard. The girl's voice whispered in the dark, the man breathing down the line. The calm way he said This line isn't for you. I still think about that now, and sometimes late at home, when my landline rings once and stops, I wonder if line three ever really stopped working. You've just heard the kind of stories most people never hear. Moments hidden behind sirens, uniforms, and long night shifts. But out there, in the quiet corners of our towns, forests, bridges and old buildings. Some calls aren't about what you can see, but they're about what's waiting, just out of sight. If tonight's episode left you thinking twice about the shadows around you, you're not the only one. If you enjoyed this episode of Real Unexplained Stories, you can follow the podcast on your favourite platform and leave a rating or a review. It really helps the show reach more listeners. And if you've experienced something strange yourself, there's a link in the show notes where you can send in your story. I'm Leon and this has been the Real Unexplained Stories. Until next time, stay safe out there.