The Others

Ellen had worked some crappy jobs over the years, but she would never say so. She was the sort of person who could latch onto the good and overlook the bad. To her, a job was only truly "crappy" when the crap was spread around. Several of her past employers had her answer phones for seven-or-more hours a day. The context of a call center usually went a long way to curb the crap at manageable levels. Her peace rested on the assurance that as long as the caller stayed "over there," and Ellen was "over here," all was well. She would let no one get her down.

At the present, Ellen worked as a "Customer Care Agent" for a company called ElderAlert. Twelve months ago, fresh-faced Ellen had wrongly assumed she'd be asked to handle the "alerts" of the "fallen and can't get up" genre. The heart attacks, the burglars, the falls, the cat-stuck-up-a-tree-so-we-pressed-the-emergency-button calls. That's apparently not what "customer care" means around here. No, she was just tech support -- a body seated at a desk that, when prompted, would let out a dazed, "have you turned the system off and back on?"

That meant a lot of phone calls from a lot of elderly, technology-challenged strangers. More than a few of those elderly strangers were down a few neurons compared to decades past. Ellen thought she understood how to handle the confused ones, the angry ones, the forgetful ones... but every now and then, a call would throw her for a loop.

---

A "beep-boop" sort of sound rang out from Ellen's headset, and so began a Monday she would never forget.

"Thank you for call--" Ellen's opener was cut short by a harsh utterance, made close to the phone.

"She's down the hallway."

Ellen paused. "You -- you've reached ElderAlert's customer care department. How can we help you today --" she took a guess, "ma'am?"

More clearly, but between ragged breaths, "The button doesn't work. ... Pressed, held, smashed. Button doesn't work."

Okay, thought Ellen, now we're back on target. "Have you attempted a restart of the system from the control panel on the wall?"

"She's just -- she's been stood at the -- at the end of the hallway, just there," the woman blurted between gasps or sobs.

Ellen shook her head. Maybe the best way forward was to humor the lady. "Who's at the end of your hallway, ma'am?"

No answer.

"Do you have someone else at the house who could come to the phone?"

"No! Don't... don't come any closer!"

Clearly, she needed help. Ellen hoped whatever the old woman saw wasn't real.

"Ma'am, you can also reach an emergency operator from your phone. Do you want me to walk you through the process?"

"Too late," came the breathless reply.

Then the old woman let out a scream of pure agony, loud and long, powered by every molecule of oxygen her aged lungs held. Ellen tore the headset off. Her blood ran cold and she forgot to breathe.

She watched twenty seconds pass on the clock on the computer screen. When her courage returned, she donned the headset.

"Hello?" she ventured, but there was no answer. Ellen supposed the woman's phone had fallen to the floor. "Hello, ma'am?"

"Hello."

Ellen gasped.

"So sorry about that." There was an unnaturally long pause. "Forgot to take my meds."

She sounded... well, that could be the same woman, but the tone was, somehow, wrong. The cadence was odd. Ellen couldn't tell you how, but she knew that they were... someone else.

"Now, be a dear and tell me how to turn off that pesky burglar alarm, would you please?"

There was a burst of sound from Ellen's headset that made her eyes water. And then...

"Ah, now that's an easy one. Let me take care of that for you."

What? That wasn't Ellen.

Frozen, she heard the not-Ellen walk the other-old-lady through the steps to cut off every safeguard around the house. Ellen could swear her chest was completely paralyzed. She felt helpless.

Eventually, the call came to an end. Ellen slowly remembered how to breathe.

Carefully, after a glance over her shoulder, Ellen grabbed a pen and took down the customer's name and address. She knew she wasn't supposed to, but Ellen had to know. She tucked the scrap of paper between the folds of her wallet and trudged through the rest of Monday the best she could.

---

Throughout the rest of the week Ellen looked for answers. She Googled the name. Maybe there would be a death announcement or a news story about the woman. Nope. She searched for the address and looked at photos of the house. They all seemed so normal. A normal wooden house, a normal gravel path to a normal welcome mat, and a normal "ElderAlert" logo adhered to the front door.

What else could she do? Ellen went back to work, nervous every day that the strange events of that Monday may repeat themselves.

The week became weeks, and then months. Someone should have checked on the old woman by now. No news, Ellen thought, could be very bad news. Who had spoken through Ellen's headset that day? Where had that other-woman gone? And... were there more of them?

But who could Ellen turn to? Her boss? The cops? Human resources? The story was too farfetched. Anyone she could tell would just laugh or assume she's nuts. No, all Ellen could do was keep her eyes and ears open. The others were out there, and they must have a plan, or an agenda, or a goal...

Ellen kept her head down at work. Her thoughts churned. Whatever they were after, they've proved they could fly under the radar. They could be anywhere, and we probably won't be able to detect them unless they reveal themselves. By then, the crap that Ellen hoped to keep to herself would have spread, and the whole world may just end up knee-deep.