Vertigo

Every year millions of people head into the wilderness searching for peace, beauty, and adventure. But hidden in those same scenic landscapes are stories of violence, survival, and lives cut short. I'm Dilya DeAmbra and on my podcast, Park Predators, I uncover the true crimes that happened in the most amazing places on Earth. Listen to Park Predators wherever you get your podcasts. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. Hi listeners. I have a story I want to tell you. There was this doctor over at St. Agri's who would kill his patients. Oh yes, it was, Mattius. Aren't you afraid the light take away getting? I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. That adrenaline, I'm a moron. I said, I totally lost it. He had no idea what was on those tapes. It was like a song. All he had the outcast. So gather around, gather around, and listen. Close. I didn't bother to check for typos as I finally sent the email I'd been working on. I pushed back my chair and stood, stretching my arms above my head, and rolling my stiff neck. When I made the transition from crew to admin at Summit Builders, I had wondered if I'd have to invest in more. Office appropriate attire. But when I arrived wearing the same car heart uniform I'd always worn. I was pleasantly greeted by a bunch of guys sporting the same get-up. Like me, they'd mostly come from the crew. Not because they wanted a desk job, but because their bodies had been broken by years of physical labor. Well, I guess I was a little different. I hadn't had a choice. There had been a fall. Then a modest settlement and a shiny new desk job along with a fresh scar in my collarbone and a latent fear of heights. My fractured clavicle had never quite healed. It remained as an aching reminder that I'd given up physical labor a few years too late for my aging body to ever be the same. I must say though, it was nice having no form and keeping tabs on you. I smiled. Time for a leisurely bathroom break. I grabbed my phone off my desk and slid it into my back pocket. Boss makes a dollar. I make a dime. That's why I scroll on company time. To walk towards the bathroom, I squinted over the cubicle partitions and at my coworker's screens. Email, spreadsheet, solitaire, compliance form, email. It was slow at the office today. Our big coastal project near the north side of town have been put on pause due to environmental concerns. Something about an estuary and the threat to local species. I am winsed as I remember the incident with a soil compactor a few weeks back. My body is still joke about it. The sound of the baby birds as their nest was caught underneath. Working in construction, I tried not to think too hard about that. The bird population didn't need protecting. Crows were practically a pest that were so pervasive. At any given time, I could turn around and see a dozen of them. It hang out my window on the telephone wire, like jures on a bench that were about to declare us guilty. I cared about the environment more than most people I knew. I just didn't think it was the end of the world. I had a couple more apartments to it. And if I didn't do it, someone else would. And I'd be out of work. I pushed the thought from my mind as I entered the bathroom. I didn't take work home or to the john. But of course, just as I sat down, a chat popped up from my boss. Can't get this PDF to download. Need your help. I shut my eyes and shook my head, letting out a long exhale. I didn't bother to wash my hands. Just gave myself a cursory once over in the mirror and a good arm, a quick flex. I'd lost muscle recovering from the accident. It was showing. Better than being uneven, I guess. Without thinking, I reached for the door that led back to the hall. But as I stepped through, I reeled backwards. My eyes unable to make sense of what was before me. Instead of the dirty, gray carpet, my feet stumbled onto a silver grate. I spun backwards in search of the door, but saw only air. A crow soared effortlessly in the distance. A crow where the hell was I? I looked around desperately trying to make sense of my surroundings. A small platform underneath me. A lattice of steel bars stretching out to either side. A man sized hole three feet to my left. It began to dawn on me. I was on top of an industrial crane. And not just any crane. I was on top of the 40-story tower crane at 865 Union. The Semicirder's job near the coast. Suddenly, lightheaded, I teetered as my knees gave out, falling forward. But saved by freezing metal pole. I weased as it hit my chest. My collarbone stinging from the impact. My phone slipping from my grip as I tried to steady. I watched as it fell and over and down hundreds of feet until it became too small to see. Exploding into a thousand pieces somewhere on the pavement below. I scrambled backwards, gasping, suddenly aware of how little separated me from the same fate. My breath caught in my throat. My mind sputtered. I crossed over to the opening in the platform and stared down. A cage-like tube extended downwards like an optical illusion. A rusty red ladder poking through the middle. My shoulder ached at the thought. My face began to crumple as I absorbed the one-two punch of what I was seeing. I'm not really here. I repeated it to myself like an incantation. I'm not really here. The vividness of this hallucination was a problem I'd have to deal with later. I squeezed my lid shut with determination. Right now, I had to focus unwilling myself back to reality. I was going to open my eyes and I would be standing in the hallway outside the bathroom. I took one deep breath. Then another. My heart rate began to slow as my shoulders relaxed. A cool draft tore through my hair, drawing the sweat beat it on my forehead and calming my nerves. Wait. No. I was supposed to be back inside the office in a climate-controlled corridor. I knew before I'd opened my eyes that what I would see would confirm my fears. Okay. Think. I could wait for the crew to come back from their lunch and hope someone would notice me up here. That was going to be a doozy to explain, but I couldn't think about that now. Suddenly, that company-wide memo crossed my mind. It was sent earlier this month regarding the North Side Coastal Highrise. From the office of watershed conservation due to environmental concerns, threat to the estuaries' native bird populations, 865 Union Project on indefinite pause. There would be no car-hard calvary coming to save me. But still, it was almost noon on a Tuesday, and I was 40 stories above one of the most desirable zip codes on the outskirts of the city. There had to be someone around paying attention, right? I stepped gingerly towards the edge of the platform. The drop to the pavement below was dizzying. Hello? I called. The quiver of my voice revealed something I'd rather not admit. I was starting to panic. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. Hello? My plea was swallowed whole by the vast emptiness. The welded beams groan as a blast of icy air caused the entire structure to bend like a weed a wind. My heart pounded harder. I waved my arms above my head as best I could. I compromised collarbone protested with a bolt of pain, but I ignored it. Help! Please! I'm up here! Nothing. The cars on the street below inched along like colorful grains of rice. The desktrians crawled along the sidewalks, oblivious to my impossible circumstance. I clenched and unclenched my clammy palms as the fear expanded, filling my chest and cutting off my breath like an inflating balloon. Suddenly, my panic was interrupted by a sharp scream. The sound split through my ears, pinning all my thoughts. I squinted upwards, my eyes landing on that small shape overhead. That same black void against the radiant gray of the overcast sky. The crow spiraled down in three easy slow circles and landed on the far side of the platform. It's talons clicking gently against the metal. It adjusted its wings and caulked its head. Its BDI's never leaving my face. It took a few threatening steps forward. Silence bloomed between us. The sentience in those eyes felt almost human. I recoiled as it continued to stare, assessing or testing. Shoot! I swatted my hand towards it and it flapped away. I shivered, with it from unease or my lack of protection from the cold wind I didn't know. No sooner had I turned away than I was startled by a few light taps and a rustle from directly behind me. I whipped around, perched on the railing was the same damn crow, standing and staring at me with that intelligent, hungry gaze. As I examined the bird in more detail, I began to notice that something was wrong. Its inky feathers were dull and missing in chunks. Its eyes unnaturally sunken into its small head. It had that same look I saw in client's faces when a project was finishing up later over budget, waiting and not patiently for something it felt it was owed. I swatted my hand at it again, but this time it didn't move. Get out of here. I didn't react. Just stared. Fine. Have it your way. Turning my back to the bird I stared at the ladder that hung in the platform's opening. The chipped paint glinting in the sun like a beaten down fire truck. No. I rolled my eyes. Ridiculous. I sat down and inhaled the chill air deep into my lungs. I would think of something. I waited, but nothing came. No one could see me up here and no one would ever think to look. The project was on an indefinite pause. That could be in weeks, if not months. How long could I last up here? I did the math in my head. From what I'd read, most people could only last a couple of days without water. But that might be enough for someone to notice. A bitter breeze rippled across my thin t-shirt. A trembled. Oh no. My heart sank into my stomach like I swallowed an ice cube hole. It wasn't hunger or thirst that I needed to worry about. In a few hours, the temperature would start dropping. It wouldn't stop until the dipped well below freezing. I was on a mesh metal platform, exposed to the elements with no protection. I put the pieces together slowly, my mind resisting the realization. The biting breath of the season whistled up through the great, making the cranes framework sway like a rocking boat. I didn't have days. I had hours. I would barely have time to miss a meal before the cold would kill me. I looked over the railing to the distant ground below. I could just end it. Take one step and let the crows feast on what's left in the dirt. I shook my head sharply trying to drive away the grisly train of thought. Even still, the after-image lingered. My remains spread in the dirt like a child's forsaken ice cream cone. Shiny black crows picking it by entrails like ants at a picnic. I struggled to make sense of my options. I couldn't wait it out that much I was sure of. I wasn't going to jump. Not yet, at least. I didn't give up that easily. But then what? I could feel the ladder staring at me, but I refused to turn. I had one good arm and one that relied on a hopelessly compromised clavicle. Trying to climb down 40 stories, holding fast to bare pipes that were the kind of cold that burned. I could hardly see a difference between that and suicide. Once more, I felt very small, very, very high up. Dread began filling my ears, roaring, like an oncoming train. A voice commanded me from behind. Climb? Looking back, I can't explain what happened next. My legs began to move of their own accord. The corroded beams shaking with each step as I made my way towards the opening. As I slowly leaned over it, the column of wind rushed towards me, blowing my hair back and bringing tears to my eyes. I swayed, unsteadily. The distant ground seemed to recede an ebb like a tide, jetly and insistently pulling me towards the concrete expanse. I lowered one leg through the cavity. I couldn't even pause to think. My foot found the first wrong. My body had just begun to follow when my workboats slipped. Instinctively, I embraced my shoulders against the sides of the hole. My collarbone howled with anguish. The kind that was not just an alert but a warning. My legs flailed, wildly as I dangled over the abyss, suspended just by my shaking arms. I reached my foot in front of me, feeling desperately for a solid surface as my shoulders began to burn, nearing failure. With the last bit of effort I could ring from my throbbing muscles. I swung my legs forward. But that same moment I felt something give in my collarbone. I yelped as I fell through the hole, squeezing my eyes shut to prepare for the oncoming freefall. Instead, my foot reconnected with the first rung. The weight of my landing sending a jolt through my body. I stood panting as my heart thundered in my chest. My clavicle sang with agony. My arm now a dead weight to my side. As I reeled for air, I glanced up sensing highs on me. The crow stood on the platform less than a yard away, watching. There was something wrong with this animal, I was sure now. And it wasn't just that it looked starved. No. There was something in its eyes that said more than that. It looked. I tried to find the word. That was hunger there, yes, but also resentment. I winced as my collarbone began to stiffen, I was struck with a memory of my last day on the crew. The first thing I remembered was the air being forced for my lungs as I hit the ground. There was a loud pop and a white hot pain. And then I remembered laughing as the guys gently mocked me, loading me into my buddy's pickup. I kept it together all the way to the hospital, despite the bumpy ride that seemed to tour every single pothole. It wasn't until I was on a gurney and the adrenaline had started to wear away that the pain became unbearable. I remembered cold sweat in the nausea, then the relief of the pain meds. I didn't have any meds up here. There wasn't a hospital bed to be client on either. I had maybe an hour before I was going to be an overwhelming misery. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was climbing down. The freezing ladder bit at my one good hand as I awkwardly wriggled from wrong to wrong. With each step, I looked down to find sure footing, knowing that if I slipped now, there would be nothing to catch me. With every glance, my heart left into my throat. My body began to tremble with cold and shock. Every nerve screams the danger of my situation, a drennel encro culding across my skin like electricity. Then, from behind me, I turned my head just as the crows sailed past circling the crane. The impulsive movement made my shoulder squeal. The birds' easy flight taunted me. I belonged here, it seemed to say, and you do not. It circled me, waiting like a vulture that had found carrying, but just wasn't dead yet. The menacing silence had landed gracefully behind me on the main body of the crane. This time I wouldn't turn around. I dreaded the eager craving I would see in those spangly eyes. I stared forward and continued. I tried to focus on something, anything else, desperate to keep my mind off of the panace in my shoulder that were now radiating through my fingertips. I dedicated all my attention to my other arm, weak with exhaustion. My fingers were now chilled to numbness. I paused for the briefest moment to flex my hand, helping to drive some warmth into it, and looked out towards the horizon. The wetlands stretched out to the east, hemmed in by the encroaching city like an outdated, mossy, shag carpet. It was hard to imagine that this flat muddy place was teeming with life. One lonely heron revealed itself, taking flight from the tall grass in the distance. I tried to imagine looking out at this view from inside one of the luxury apartments that sooner or later would overgrow this land. I pictured the plush white couches and sterile walls. It was the kind of project I would have been proud to work on in my early days at summit builders. Estuary views on the outskirts of the city. But nothing looked like much on this high up really. The structure swayed and I felt like I was an ant clinging to one of the rippling reeds in the grassland below. Heart pounding, I continued climbing down. Slowly, but surely, I was making progress. Please, just hold the pain off for a little bit longer. Please, let my good arm carry me through this. The skin on my neck began to prickle, but not with cold. No, it was something else, something more. I sensed a pair of eyes boringed the back of my skull. I was being followed. I fixed my gaze in front of me, determined not to give in, but I could feel the crow fixing its beak towards the back of my head. I didn't know what would happen if I turned around and I didn't want to find out. But slowly, against my will and my judgment, my head began to turn. As though an invisible claw had grabbed me by the chin. The collarbone wailed as my head was wrenched around. The crow blinked at me. Its glare predacious and full of scrutiny. I stared, unable to look away. Its silky black body perched like a storm cloud. And it clipped on the bright blue sky. My grip on reality begins to loosen, along with the grip on the ladder. Its shadow grew and covered me, filling my vision until it had nearly swallowed me whole. The claw filled my ears, reverberating through my skull, until it was just an increasingly distant rattle. It was when I felt the wind tearing through my hair that I realized I was falling. I tried to scream, but the air was gripped from my open mouth before I could make a sound. I writhed desperately, my instinct of scramble for survival, superseding my conscious understanding that there was nothing I could do. My body rolled in the air, and for an instant I was on my back, with my arms and my legs floating weightlessly above me. In the distant sky, an inky apparition tumbled in a wheel to triumphant. How long could I fall? For a moment I wondered if I would be suspended in this purgatory forever, falling ceaselessly towards nothing. Then, with an explosion of pain, I hit the ground. Suddenly, I was on my hands and knees on a familiar grey carpet, gasping. Something was vibrating in my pocket. I reached in, my body's conditioned response, and I pulled out my phone. A message from my boss lit up the screen. Need help with this PDF ASAP. Mechanically, I stood up and started towards his office. I am back at my desk now. I've been sitting here gawking at this spreadsheet for the past couple of hours. I can't process what happened to me. I'm beginning to question my sanity. I don't know who to talk to. There's not a person in my life who wouldn't look at me differently if I tried to explain to them what I just experienced. So, here I am, turning to the strangers of the Internet for comfort, guidance, or a referral for a good psychiatrist. The harder I try to push it from my mind, the more insistently the experience comes back. I've been trying to go back to work and let myself be lulled by the normalcy. But there's this noise coming from my office window. It's grating at me, making me clench my jaw and tense my sore shoulders and twinging clavicle. It's quiet, but impossible to ignore. From the bottom of my bag, I dug up an old pair of industrial grade earplugs I used to wear on job sites. They're rated for 30 decibels, but they're not doing a damn thing to block it out. There's no hurry to the sound, just a constant, insistent dissonance. I can't see the creature knocking at my window, but I know if I could, I would see beady black eyes in a shiny, sabre-head pecking, scratching, clawing to get in. Full-body chills as an audio chuck production. This episode was written by Nina Schmidt and read by Christopher Swindle. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. I think Chuck would approve. Everyone's told a lie, but what happens when one lie becomes a life, a movement, a conspiracy. I'm Josh Dean, host of Camillean, and I uncover true stories of deception scams so intimate and convincing they fooled the people closest to them. These aren't strangers, they're lovers, friends, and trusted allies. Because the most dangerous cons don't feel like crimes, they feel personal. Listen to Camillean, wherever you get your podcasts.