There was a knock on the door. It was after 9 o'clock on a school night. Who the hell could be here this late? Nobody ever came to my house.

I went to the door, and peeked out the window. There was a police car outside, and standing on my porch was one of the local police officers, Sergeant Mason. Perplexed and curious, I opened the door.

"Hey, Sergeant Mason. What can I do for you?" I asked politely.

Sergeant Mason stood alertly, his large frame blocking my view to the driveway. "We received a 911 call from your address. Is everything OK?" He peered over my head into the house. Obviously, he wanted to make sure there was no commotion or chaos ensuing inside.

"From my house?" I questioned, even more confused now. I felt some relief though, as he was not coming to bring me any bad news.

"Yes, we got a 911 hang up call that registered as your address. Are you sure that no one called us?"

"How long ago was this?"

Sergeant Mason checked his notes and said, "It came in about 14 minutes ago now."

"No. If that is the case, I am 100% positive that no one from this house called 911. My husband and I are here alone with the kids, the only phone is right next to me, and the kids have all been in bed for almost an hour," I explained confidently. How do you think this could have happened?"

"I have no idea," he said, scratching his head.

This was really bizarre. I wanted to find out what had caused this error. I started thinking, racking my brain for possibilities. Could the children have sneaked in beside me and called 911 in play? No, they had not been out of bed. I would have seen and heard them for sure. Did I bump the phone, accidentally dialing the pre-programmed emergency number when I put something down on the cluttered table beside me? No, a quick look at the receiver showed it securely on the base. Perhaps the dispatcher mixed up the house numbers?

"Come in, please, and let me call my neighbors to make sure one of them didn't call for help," I said as I ushered him through the door. "Have a seat. This will just take a minute."

Sergeant Mason sat on the sofa, and I grabbed the telephone. I called my closest three neighbors and they verified that all was well at their houses. "It looks like it was not any of them." Then an unusual fact came to mind. "Many years ago, my grandmother lived here in this house. A few years back, she pulled a mobile home in across the driveway. Instead of changing her mailing address, she just continued to use the address for this house. We share a mailbox. But nobody is in her trailer right now. She and her husband went to Florida three months ago. They disconnect their phone when they go to Florida," I explained.

He nodded his head thoughtfully and asked, "Can you get into that trailer? It's possible that she did not get the phone disconnected or that the phone company made a mistake and left the phone on. Maybe someone is there and needs help."

"Sure! Let's go."

I slipped on my shoes, threw on a hoodie, and we exited into the crisp, clear night. The trailer was only about 75 feet away. I led him down the driveway to my grandmothers home. The door was unlocked, as living in such a rural area, there was really no need for locks. However, this fact brought me some anxiety. It was possible that someone had been squatting in Grandma's house. There is no way we would have known.

Sergeant Mason had his flashlight out. I opened the door, and he shined his light inside, trying to get an idea of any potential danger. After a few moments, he went in, and I followed. First, he checked the telephone line. There was no dial tone. Then, he did a thorough check of the dwelling, checking in closets, under beds, behind doors, and in the shower. There was no one there.

Then, he instructed me to go back to my house while he looked around outside, just to be sure.

I went home and waited for Sergeant Mason to finish his inspection. He stopped at my house before he left to report that he had found nothing unusual around the property. We said goodbye, and he drove away.

I did not think about the 911 call anymore that night. I figured it had just been a fluke in the system. I really hoped that no one called for 911 assistance, and now was waiting for help that would never come.

When I awoke the next morning, it was another lovely day. I got the kids ready for school and began my daily routine. Around lunchtime, my phone rang. It was my sister, Lisa.

"Have you heard the bad news?" She began.

My heart sank. "No, what happened?"

"Rich Baker died last night around 9 o'clock," she told me tearfully. Rich was a friend of ours who dated another friend of ours before she died two years earlier. Now, they were both gone. For a couple months last summer, Rich had rented my grandmother's trailer while she was escaping the harsh, Pennsylvania winters in Florida. He had been very down and out, missing his girlfriend and contemplating the existence of God. Both Lisa and I had visited with him multiple times at the trailer. Each of us, separately and together, had had more than one discussion with him about life after death and about God in general. I recalled one conversation specifically, and I told Lisa about it now.

I was very confident in my faith and my belief in heaven and hell. I teased Rich that odds were that he would die before me, since he was male and I was female. Plus, he was an entire four years older than I. I joked that when he died, he could come back or send me a sign from the other side telling me how right I was. He was a great sport, and he laughed. He told me he promised he would do just that if he possibly could.

That conversation was a little over six months ago, but I still recalled it in detail. It bothered me that he had no faith, and it bothered me that he was so lost without his girlfriend.

After I told Lisa about thatconversation with Rich, I told her about the mysterious 911 call that Sergeant Mason had investigated the night before. To add to the mystery, Rich had died at around the same time the 911 call was placed. She gasped, thinking along the same lines as I.

Could the 911 call have been a sign from Rich Baker? A sign letting me know that I was right after all? He DID reside in that trailer a few months ago. The phone was not hooked up. No one had called from my house, but yet the address registered as mine... The same address that was assigned to the trailer in which he lived.

"What a creepy coincidence that is!" observed Lisa. That's what we both thought: It was just a creepy coincidence. Until the next day.

Lisa's son was turning four years old, and our brother and his wife sent him a birthday gift. Lisa received the gift in the mail the day after we received the news regarding the death of Rich Baker.

Her son happily opened the gift from his aunt and uncle. "Yay! G.I. Joe!" he cheered happily!

I handed him his next gift while Lisa took the G.I. Joe out of the packaging. She gasped, "Holy shit!"

"What's wrong?" I said, picking up stray wrapping paper from the floor and shoving it into a trash bag.

She said nothing else, but handed me the G.I. Joe doll. It was wearing a military, camouflage outfit, and on the name tag it read, "Baker."

I jerked my head up and my eyes met Lisa's. We both knew that Rich was sending us a message... a message from beyond.

"I hear you, Rich," I said quietly. "Call anytime."