Death Threats

On July 15 I received a voicemail message. It was from an “Unknown” number. Before I listened to it the phone rang and the caller was also “Unknown.” I answered and someone shrieked at me: “I’m gonna kill you!” My first instinct was that it was a joke. “Excuse me?” I asked. But the person had already hung up. I immediately listened to the voicemail. It was a woman’s voice: “I think Miss Abby needs to be a little bit afraid of someone she may have pissed off recently.” The message came in at 7:38am my time. The live call had been at 1:30pm.

On July 17 I was sitting in my parents’ back yard in San Rafael, California, and my phone rang. The phone number had a 909 area code. I answered and heard a woman’s voice. It sounded as though she was holding the phone away from her and speaking to someone else. She said: “Don’t tell her what we’re gonna do to her.” And she hung up.

Then on August 18,  I received another voicemail message. It came in at 9:18 local California time. The caller was what sounded like a hysterical woman. She screamed:”You made a fool outta me with that letter you sent and calling me some kinda fuckin’ loser and you’re gonna die because of it. I swear I’m getting  you!”

That last one really creeped me out. I couldn’t imagine what this woman was talking about or who she could be. I hadn’t written any letters or made a fool out of anyone. If that first caller hadn’t used my name I would’ve thought they were wrong numbers. The only thing I could think was that it was a result of something I’d posted here. I scrolled through my archives but the only people I’d made a fool of, if you can even call it that, are the random whack-jobs on dating sites. I checked the area code; 909 is the general Riverside, California vicinity. I don’t think I know anyone who lives there.

When I’d mention the calls to friends or play the messages, everyone said to call the cops, that death threats should always be taken seriously. So I called the San Rafael police. The woman I spoke with offered to send an officer out to log the incidents but I didn’t want to worry my mom so I went into the downtown precinct. (Do they even call it a precinct if it’s the only one? Hmm…) The woman behind the bulletproof glass told me there wasn’t anything they could do or any point in filing a report. I said I would feel better having it on record. They were apparently under-staffed that day so after I’d waited quite a while she took down my number and told me someone would call me. A few hours later someone did and I gave him all the pertinent information. I added that I felt pretty silly, that even if someone really did want to kill me, I wasn’t in New York anymore and wouldn’t be till October. Hopefully by then the homicidal maniac I’d “made a fool of” will have lost interest. I also wouldn’t be in San Rafael much longer. I was on my way to the desert where every strange face would be extremely obvious. And that I hoped it wasn’t a familiar face interested in “getting me.”

I didn’t post here about this business earlier because I didn’t want to antagonize anyone who might have been misconstruing things. I haven’t received any subsequent messages or calls so perhaps this person has realized that they’d had the wrong Abby. Onward!

2 responses to “Death Threats

  1. Jumpin' Johnny, JD, The Space Cowboy

    I would bullet proof yer panties and bra, and take to wearin’ one of those German WWII helmets . . . with jackboots . . . and make a housecoat out of a couple of mattresses . . . One in the front, one in the back . . . Make sure you have one of your amigos spray paint an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the front one and good ol’ J.C. on the back one, you know. . . the one where he has his crown of thorns on, an’ he’s all bleedin’ out his forehead an’ lookin’ like, “Shit! What the hell is all this crap about!” . . . the way my homeboys back in Elmwood did back in the day . . . Keeps vatos and even deranged Redstaters from shootin’ or stabbin’ ya that way . . . “Hey, man! You can’t put a .44 through Jesus or his Mama, dood! . . . It . . . . just . . . ain’t . . . right!” . . .

    Oh . . . and you should buy a tank to drive around in . . . You’ll be in NV . . . they got ’em ’round all over out there . . . Try Lovelock Armored Personnel Carriers and Liquors, 3567 Winnemucca Dr., Lovelock, NV . . . There’s another place in Puckerbrush too, “Puckerbrush Pete’s Sherman Tanks an’ Pre-1970 Oldmobiles,” #75 Imlay Av., about a block west of Thunder Mountain . . .

    Well, good luck to ya . . . If ya see any of the sons of bitches who used to give me grief out there in Smelkhole and Shit Crick Gulch . . . shoot the fuckin’ bastards fer me . . . send me a pic of their pelt, an’ I’ll send ya a plug o’ tabacky an’ a jug o’ ol’ Red Eye fer each one . . .

    Have a safe an’ sane Burnin’ Man and don’t take no shit from no body! God is on yer side on that one too . . . I read it in the fuckin’ Bible . . . The Book of Elasticgreasies, “An’ then Seth, the Lord’s servant, kicked the Hitite sons a bitches from here ta hell an’ back . . . An’ it was good . . . ” (69:69)

  2. Pingback: Bitch vs. Chicken Shit | Welcome to My Words!

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