The Cleanse of Morris Creek Battlefield

Carolina Case File Journal Entry #776

Event:

911 call, Pender County, North Carolina

Location:

Highway 210 — Near Black River / Morris Creek Battlefield

He Was Without his Pistol

On a cold lonely night when the moon itself seemed to hide, and the stars dim as if rebelling against their bright nature, only one thing is on my mind, and that is the time T passed through from Florida.

It was the kind of drive you would make on autopilot. Windows cracked, mind numb, and the lines of the road rendering themselves only after every 600 ft. The night sky looked oddly like today, void of a moon, with the stars hiding in the endless void of space.

The Encounter

It was 11:00pm when the repetitive road broke character. To his right, a man or at least it was the initial assumption. T had just turned the corner from Black River onto Morris Creek Battlefield when the figure stood tall on the side of the road. It appeared to have the aura of a wounded animal, a presence clothed in attire from the civil war cosplaying history, but,

there was blood …

So Much Blood.

Humanity takes a hold of T, being a veteran, he swore to protect his fellow citizens, he wasn't going to let them or an animal wither away in the darkness. He reached for his phone that was resting on the console

“911 dispatch, what's your emergency?”

The voice of a maiden, calming, soothing, and company for the lonely road. The description given to her was precise, something, someone, injured, bleeding, and in need of help.

Dispatch starts asking the usual questions when the audio suddenly distorts

“Bang!”.

T’s face turns blue, skin clammy to the touch, the sensation of weight and force in the truck with him.

The truck accelerates, the bedlight comes on, there it is. A fainting glimpse off the corner of the eye as it was pressed against the rear window. Breathing takes the rhythm of a heavy metal song, 65, 70, tachometer is now at 85 mph, legs moving out of self preservation, mind fogging out of necessity, murmured phrases coming out as erratic yells

“It’s not human!”, “It’s not HUMAN!”

The sound of metal ripping reverberates in the mind, every nanometer making demonic noises as the steal tears apart from itself, the roof of the truck being clawed, intentionally and purposefully.

The 911 dispatcher attempted all psychological techniques to keep T calm, but there was no T, T was not present, not aware, not in control. What was there was instinct, fight or flight. It was desire that commanded the leg to hit the brakes.

The thing thrown over the front hood, inertia and gravity only for a split second working as you would expect, until it wasn't! There it was, standing tall, towering over the truck casting shadows that would drive one mad. Limbs elongated erect yet flaccid, straight but afraid to be rigid. The embodiment of pitch black void except pale white in color. As T for a fraction of a millisecond looked into it’s eyes, the “Thing’ dashed into the woods! absent of sound, without the crunch of a golden leaf, without disturbing the thinnest of branches.

Mercy

T now finds himself at a gas station right off of the highway intersection. Unsure how he got there, he remains near a door, and in the only place where light casts warmth under a street lamp.

State troopers and sheriff’s deputies arrived to inspect the truck. Scratches are visible on the roof and rear of the cab. They were not superficial. They were not consistent with wildlife. No residue or foreign material detected, and No blood is found.

Officers escort T back toward the approximate location for verification. No evidence of a being, no blood, no footprints, the forest echoing nothing but tranquil silence.

I interviewed one of the responders that night, Sheriff AW Cutler. He said he felt no fear, what he felt that night was mercy. Mercy that whatever exists out there chose to stay hidden. He then stated

"While on the clock I have responded to many events by the battleground, sounds, movements, and unidentifiable figures. These people are never the same after. I have responded to so many that I get second hand nightmares. But T’s 911 call, this was the hardest to listen to".

I spoke to T a month ago, his lips still quivering as he spoke, his eyes blacker than a coal lump from loss of sleep, his fear was sincere. So much so that I myself lost sleep for 3 days after. It was then that I understood why Cutler called it mercy.

Many reporters have attempted to reach T and Sheriff Cutler since my interview. I have done the same for a follow up without success. Their numbers no longer connect. Their offices are empty. Their social media is gone, and mail comes back as “Address undeliverable”.

Last night I had a dream, there was fire all around, T and Cutler were there, not in anguish or pain, just suspended in the air, silent..

This morning, ten minutes ago, a news segment aired. Dashcam footage from Arizona. A pale figure crossing a highway faster than the camera could resolve. The clip was removed before the anchor finished speaking.

*I turned off the television*.

The house was cold. As I poured another cup of coffee, I caught my reflection in the dark of the television screen. I turned pale as my reflection stood still, not following, as if waiting for some instruction. The fireplace had gone low. I do not remember standing, but I was already in front of it. The fire responded immediately, rhythmically dancing a tune, and much brighter than the sun outside.

I added another log.

The house accepted it.

~End~

Thank you for reading and being part of The Tribe.

Source Credit:

Short story Inspired by an interview of the viral "Real 911 Audio: Dispatch Call Logs Reveal CLASS A Rake Encounter in North Carolina (E-2)" from the "Carolina Case Files" YouTube channel. This retelling is a transformative cosmic‑horror adaptation for narrative and educational purposes.

13th Transmission

A narrated version of this story appears on the 13th Transmission YouTube Channel