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It was about two months ago when this happened.

Recently it got very cold in the mornings to go out for my runs so instead I started running in the evenings, and that comes with its own set of problems. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but running alone as a young girl at night is something that my parents always worried about. When my dad found out, he gave me a flashlight and a pepper spray thing that I still haven’t figured out how to use.

The first week or so of running at night went smoothly. The only thing I found uncomfortable was running with my music on because of the nagging feeling that somebody would be running behind me and I wouldn’t know it so I started lowering the volume until I finally decided to run without music and instead had to hear myself breathing loudly as I ran through the streets of my new neighborhood.

It was a Monday, and it was especially cold, with the fog starting to roll in. That’s what its like in southern California, which most people don’t know. The fog near the coast is for real. I kind of like it, but everyone that I ask hates it because of how slow traffic gets in the mornings because of it.

My short run route took me down my street, through the edge of a park, the sidewalk part, and then around another street that would end up near a main street before I turned left again to make the roundtrip back to my house. It all went around an elementary school with large fields.

Coming around a corner by the park, I could see the figures of three men with hoodies hanging out by the benches that were near one of the bathroom buildings of it, which were closed. Through the orange lights of the park that lit the basketball courts, I could see that one of them stood up and pointed at me. I could hear them laughing in the distance. Suddenly my blood rushed away from my face as I saw them stand up and walk toward me. Their silhouettes growing larger as they approached me. I had to cross the whole side of the park in order to go back to the street where the houses were or turn around, making it obvious that I was running away.

I don’t understand my reasoning behind this, but I decided to keep going by running faster. But then I changed my mind about going straight through the edge of the park and instead turned into the parking lot of the elementary school. Since they were doing construction, the gates were wide open and I could simply cross through it to make it back home instead of going all the way around. I don’t know why I take so long to decide things like these, especially when there is no time to think. I’m the same way at four-way stop signs and when I have to choose a parking spot.

But in the end I just went for it. All of the lights in between the many rows of buildings were lit and all I had to do was get through the school and I’d be safe and sound back home. I turned back to see the thre e silhouettes stop before crossing the street of the edge of the park. I got closer to the building, which I assumed was the administration office, in order to hide from their view and kept walking in deeper into the campus, when I finally gathered the courage to turn back, I saw the tiny shadows walking away from the edge of the park, I assumed they were going back to their bench.

I felt a little relieved, but my hands were a little shaky and I could still feel that cold rush of adrenaline. All I had to do now was go through the school and find the back gate, which I had seen was open when I started my run.

I slowed down but I swear even my legs felt tingly and wobbly from the scare I had just been through. I calmed myself down, walking through what seemed like the main walkway of the school. This was an exterior school, with separate rows of classrooms all labeled with number going by tens. I was in the 20s wing, walking toward the 30s, then 40s. I couldn’t help myself and turned left to look down the rows of classrooms that ended up at the start of another field, I kept imagining the many kids that had been through here, laughing and running around.

But as I crossed the 40s wing, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know if you have ever walked directly across an aisle of a supermarket at the same pace as someone else and you end up looking at each other through the end of the rows several times. That’s what this was like. Another dark shadow, walking slightly ahead of me, but across the row of classrooms, which was maybe made up of five or six classrooms. I felt my heart beating on my neck as I thought of what I should do. If I slowed down enough, maybe they’d get far enough ahead and I wouldn’t have to bump into them. So I slowed down, careful not to make any noise as I inched along, when I heard a series of steps echoing closer and closer in front of me.

A small shadow took over the cement walkway in front of me before I finally saw what it was.

It was a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old coming out of the 50s wing ahead of me and running straight into the dimly lit blacktop play area and toward the darkness of the field. I could hear her shoes against the pavement. I heard her thin voice as she seemed to talk to herself as she skipped along. I stood there, frozen, watching her run deeper and deeper into the darkness and fog until she vanished.

I probably ran faster than I ever had in my life as I got to the back gate and right through it to cross the street back home. I run while there’s still light out now, right past the school. And I can’t keep myself from looking toward the fields of that school. I don’t know why I’m like this.

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The following story will continue right after this. Thank you so much for listening!

The YouTube Video

I’m old enough to remember when we would all gather around someone’s laptop back in high school to watch a funny video on YouTube. I’m talking about like the numa numa kid before it hit a million views type of thing. It was like the wild west of YouTube at the time, and things used to be a cool kind of weird. I don’t know how else to describe it. But there was one video that changed everything.

One of my friends had recently gotten one of those iPhones, I’m talking about the first ones that only worked with AT&T, and he could watch YouTube and that movies that he ripped out of DVDs on it. After school one day, while hanging out by the front lawn of our high school where the tables were, my friend spilled over his can of soda. I thought he was choking on something because I could tell he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the way to do so. I didn’t know what to do as I saw him stand up and hold his hands up to his ears as his eyes filled with water, he seemed to be in pain and unable to breathe.

Then I heard a scream and someone crying.

On his phone, the video showed a crappy camera on the floor of what looked like to be a kitchen. A woman in a light green dress seemed to be taking up most of the frame when suddenly she jerked in a weird way upward, and then got dragged slowly across the floor. A trail of bright red blood being left behind, almost painting the yellow tiles with the diamond designs on the floor with the brightest red you can imagine.

The cries faded until it stopped. Then a man laughed and the video went dark, with the end of the video being the refresh button to play the video again.

Darren had calmed down by this point and I was still figuring out what to do before Amanda grabbed the phone and hit the replay button on the touchscreen. I had never seen something like that before in my life, and I was sure that I had to tell someone about it. Back then we didn’t know about reporting videos and I’m sure that many other people didn’t know either. I was so angry and confused as an odd rush of cold blood ran through me. I felt like throwing up.

We talked about it some more, mostly trying to get Darren to explain to us how he found it. He said it showed up on a popular list, but I didn’t know what that meant. Darren and I used to walk the same way home together and we thought that maybe we could get to the video one more time in order to report it to someone, but his watch history didn’t have it anymore. It had the page though, outside of the app, but it said that the video no longer existed.

I still don’t know what happened that day, but I really hope it was fake.

We had just started one of the best jobs. A large team of students at my college had been assembled to plan out one of the coolest programs of the year, and I don’t mean a computer program, I mean an entire festival with artists and food stands and activities. We finally figured out how you book a band, the equipment requirements, insurance, and all of that business lingo we had to learn. It was awesome.

After everything was booked and ready, we had four days before the big event to welcome all of the incoming freshmen. Most of us were staying at the dorms already, so a few of us had a plan to make the six hour drive to Las Vegas in Nevada. It was about six of us in total and they only booked two rooms. Their logic was that everyone was going to be out and about anyway, so nobody was going to sleep. It was pretty absurd to me, but I went along.

There was a girl there that I used to like, Maria. We hung out sometimes, so I thought it would be a good way to spend more time with her. I’m sure you all know most of what Las Vegas is like from what you’ve seen in movies, but since I don’t live too far from the city and I’ve gone to some of the desert tours around there, I see the city differently.

Most people see the city as the coolest place with dance clubs, the best restaurants, and casinos, but I see a bunch of dirty sidewalks and drunk people everywhere whenever I go. I didn’t want to be the party pooper of the group, so I pretended to be excited about going into the stinky dance areas.

Maria seemed to be having a good time, though. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t find anything to talk about and instead ended up hanging out with my other coworker Jeff. Well, until he disappeared leaving me with everyone else as I opened random apps on my phone just to pass the time. I texted Jeff, but the text didn’t show up as delivered, so I figured his battery must have died.

The night went on as expected, with us leaving one place and going to the next until I got so bored that I went outside to the sidewalk and literally started refreshing Facebook and Twitter. That’s as low as it gets for me.

There were other people outside, I watched a couple of almost-fights, where two guys pretended to be all tough with each other but nobody ever took a swing. I got approached by men and women to ask if I wanted to buy phone chargers or earphones. People passing out flyers. The usual stuff. Then I had a realization. Nobody would notice if I just left.

I tried to tell Maria but she was off laughing with some other people that we didn’t know, so instead I just stepped right outside again and looked up the map of where the motel was just to double check that I wouldn’t get lost.

I walked over to the end of the block and took a turn left, and suddenly all of the noise and flashing lights faded. It was amazing how quickly you could get away from all the commotion of the main strip. The group had decided on a somewhat nice motel, if you’ve ever heard of such thing, but it was a walk away from the strip. Maybe five or six blocks away, having to walk through dark streets lit by dim orange lights and the sound of buzzing power lines above. We had taken a taxi to the strip. What a waste of money.

I was buzzed in and walked over to one of the rooms. I plugged in my phone to charge it up and started watching random Youtube videos to pass the time before everyone got back.

It must have been around four in the morning when I heard Jeff calling out my name in the dark. He had some trash in his hand and was laughing as he explained what happened. I was half awake as he said a bunch of nonsense. I just thought he was out of it. He told me that a car went up to him, two guys got out, and a third person, a woman, kept screaming in the car as the guys demanded their money.

Jeff laughed as he said that the guys threw a paper bag at him with leftover food, some stale mozzarella sticks and fries before he took off running toward the motel. He thought it was so random and yet I could tell he felt good about being able to escape an attempted kidnapping.

It must have been the adrenaline.

Two other people from our work arrived just as the sun was coming out, making a ton of noise and laughing at who-knows-what. Jeff was already knocked out by that time.

Everyone else woke up extremely late, past the checkout time, and we were all, including the people from the other room, charged with an outrageous late checkout fee. I was already in the car ready to get some food apart from the coffee, bread, and jam that the motel offered as a complimentary breakfast.

Like zombies, they got in the car as I made my way to the old diner that I always stopped by on our way out of the main strip. Everyone kept talking about what had happened, the craziness of everything, and then Jeff told his story, which got us all laughing. It was insane. Jeff almost got kidnapped and they threw some food at him, “for the trouble”, everyone said.

They asked him if the food was any good, and he said that the fries were okay, but with too much ketchup and the mozzarella sticks were nasty, stale and slimy. We were all surprised he actually tried it! Jeff was the weird one of the group, I guess.

On our way out of the diner, Maria gave me a look and then said that she had forgotten her cell phone charger but didn’t want us to waste time going back to get it. Poor Maria, she was being too nice. I said we’d go back to get it and I got to see her big green eyes light up.

That minor detour ended up taking three hours.

As I arrived to the front desk, everyone else staying in the car, a woman looked at me in a panic, picked up the phone, and not even ten seconds later, the police officers that had been outside surrounded the car and asked them to keep our hands where they could see them. They asked me to go outside as more police cars arrived as they calmly asked us to step aside. I don’t know what they asked everyone else, but the two officers that questioned me asked for my name, my phone number, and how I knew everybody, and a bunch of other questions. As you can probably guess, I was extremely confused. They called it a witness account, and I can believe it since they really didn’t seem like they were accusing me of anything.

They questioned Jeff the most. We all sat in the lobby while Jeff finally came up to us, expressionless, and said that we were good to go, but told us nothing else. The police officers left, being pretty cool with us, and apologized for the trouble before they simply left.

With everyone in the car, I took a look back through the rearview mirror to see Jeff lost in his own thoughts, and glanced quickly toward the right seat to catch Maria looking out toward the window. I forgot to ask about the charger.

I stepped out of the car and went to the lobby to see a different guy behind the desk who I hadn’t seen before. “Hey man, was there a charger left in room 128?” He reached down for what I was assuming was the lost and found box before he froze, looked at me, and said “it was you guys?”

I asked him what he meant.

“The police officers, the fingers,” he said, “what was up with that?”

I had no idea what he meant and he could tell, so he said, “Barbara, the cleaning lady, she said she found the severed fingers in your room on a paper plate. She freaked out and was actually sent home.”

“Wait, like human fingers?” I asked

“You really don’t know? I think it was part of the Bethany case, the woman who got kidnapped and held for ransom. Her middle and ring fingers were cut off.” He said, casually, as he handed me Maria’s white iPhone charger.

“Barbara found the bloodied fingers on a plate of French fries right there, in one of your rooms.”

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Tonight’s second story is about a strange figure that appeared on a camera recording, but first I’d like to remind you that the presale offer will come to an end along with the end of this first season. You can find it over on Scary Pod dot com. You’ll receive the entire collection of stories, completely free of ads and one mega file with all of the stories one after the other with zero interruptions. Find it at scary pod dot com, that’s scary p – o – d dot com.

The story will continue right after this. Thanks a lot for listening!

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I was happy for my friends when they both got jobs at an electronics store called Best Buy, even if I didn’t get the job this time around. They were doing some type of mass hiring event and I was excited about it because all I’ve ever liked is technology. But anyway, I knew that they would get discounts on items and they’d let me check out their cool gadgets too.

One of the weird things my friend got was a thermal camera. It wasn’t one of those cheap ones either, it was a thing that looked like a cinema camera, with a beefy tripod and cables and an enormous case. Sometimes stores get returns that they cannot sell as brand new anymore, I think they’re called “open box” and they are resold at a discount.

It was completely unnecessary, I know. Nobody needs such a thing unless they are going hunting and even then the battery only lasted half an hour otherwise it needed to be plugged in so I’m not sure why anybody would get it.

I had an idea though. My friends used to do these types of ghost hunts. It meant to take our iPhones and recorders and sneak into abandoned places to see if we would catch any paranormal stuff. The most we have ever caught was a distinct sound calling Sarah’s name. It was so clear and flowed in the most eerie way. We mostly do it to hang out together and then go to IHOP for pancakes afterward.

Anyway, I knew Gary would end up suggesting going ghost hunting with it, and sure enough, we Googled a place nearby to go check out. It was an old house that was set to be demolished in the following month or so. There were no fences or guards, or anything else stopping us. He charged up the camera, and off we went along with two other friends.

We parked a little distance away so that we wouldn’t give away that we were inside of the abandoned place, which meant carrying our bags up a hill for about half a block. Opening up the gate, I got a chill of cold air and a feeling I had never felt before.

We stepped up to the house with the front door missing and did our first round with our red flashlights and a single camera. The red lights was a thing we found in some tv shows where they say that red lights help you adjust to the darkness better. But man, we were not ready for what were going to see in there.

A thermal camera works by showing things that are hot as orange, red, and white being the hottest. Black is cold, then purple, then blue are the cold items. If you touch a surface like a table, you actually warm up it up and you can see a heatprint of it through the camera.

Pretty much as soon as we turned it on and started recording, we saw four distinct yellow figures lining up in front of us, along with a smaller figure walking around them. Then their colors turned colder until they vanished.

Sarah and I were the only ones inside the living room of the house, while Gary and the other guy were in the front porch setting up some other things. Sarah looked right at me as I looked into the monitor. I couldn’t believe it.

I then turned toward Sarah and saw the silhouette of what appeared to be a very tall man right behind her. I turned the thermal camera toward her and all I saw was a red blob of Sarah standing right there. Then Sarah’s head got pulled back by the hair and she screamed before getting herself together and running straight out toward the front porch.

I pulled the tripod along with the camera with one hand on my way out, but it fell to the floor before I dragged one of the tripod legs along with me. We all stood in the front porch getting everything ready back in the bags when we heard a growl from inside the house.

That was it for us. We took off running with all of our stuff.

When we got back into my friend’s car, we pulled up to a parking lot to talk about what happened and hopefully review some of the footage, and the other two guys got a close look at what we had seen.

It was a family of red silhouettes, four adults and one child. But off into the corner of one of the regular iPhone videos, we could see the tall figure of a man walking toward us. The part with Sarah showed her pretty clearly being pulled back but with nothing behind her.

Now we have something better than a voice whispering Sarah’s name.

My parents couldn’t settle on a place to live. This is what I told my therapist the last time we spoke, I suggested this to be the cause of my inability to make friends. It wasn’t that I was bullied or anything, it’s just that nobody ever wanted to talk to me. I blamed my parents for that.

I also blamed them for my insecurity and lack of self-esteem. I remember waiting for my dad to finish eating his dinner, which he normally ate alone in front of the television, because right after, he would sit there, killing time waiting for one of his favorite crime shows to begin. That’s when I could ask him about a new commercial that I saw, or about how I was learning to play the guitar they got me for Christmas two years ago. With only three strings left and no clue that you could change them, I thought that guitars should have to be replaced as soon as the strings run out.

I remember his look toward me, the look that showed me that he wished I could go away and that he didn’t care. Mom was usually in the room talking on the phone with her friends. My parents didn’t like each other very much. So I didn’t feel too bad when I tried to do something to relieve them from each other’s pains.

You see, when I was even younger, one of my cousins from out of state stayed with us. She was supposed to be moving into a new house with another set of parents or distant relatives. For obvious reasons I wasn’t told the truth about what happened to Gabby’s parents. I was too young to get it.

She asked me if I wanted to know a secret. I had several secrets too. For example, I knew where my dad had buried Mr. Bingo when he died. I just went along with the story that Mr. Bingo had been sent to a farm to not hurt his feelings. But Gabby’s secret seemed better. She said that it would make me able to do whatever I wished for and that I could go where ever I wanted. The only thing I had to do was to ask Katie for it in a letter. Katie was Gabby’s friend, I think. She granted wishes, and Gabby said it worked for her.

I kind of knew how to write letters. Though they were simpler and my writing was not the best, Santa used to understand mine most of the time. So I wrote it, but I didn’t burn it. According to Gabby, I was supposed to light it on fire in order for it to work. I forgot about that last part.

But Gabby did other strange things too. She would make me cut pieces of my hair to put them on the floor, she would play around with dead animals, and one time, though I don’t remember it very clearly anymore, she would sing in a deep voice and then go back to her normal tone.

After Gabby left, strange things started happening around the house. I had seen strange things with Gabby so I didn’t find them as strange as my parents seemed to find them, but it was enough to get my mom to go hysterical and to force us to move to a different house in the same city, but I had to go to a different elementary school.

That’s when my parents lost it and became even worse.

We weren’t exactly normal before then, but after the first move, we just kept changing houses, I kept going to new schools, and my parents grew distant. I would heat up my own frozen food, my dad got lost in his own work, and my mom started wasting money on perfumes and random things like that.

It wasn’t until one of these times when we were moving once again, by this time I was in high school, when I found the letter I had written back when I was seven years old. It was the letter that was supposed to make things all better.

I’m not sure if it did. Only time will tell. But once I burned it, things really took a sinister turn. Random knocks on our windows and walls started it all. Then the disembodied grunts. Imagine being woken up by the haunting chant of a woman standing right beside your bed. I was terrified.

My parents were planning another move when the fire happened. It was in the middle of the night when all the smoke filled the house. I remember the flashing lights. I still see the sheets that covered up both my parent’s bodies and the truck that took them away. I remember having to change houses for the last time.

Now I think it was that letter. It said:

Dear Katie,

I want a better family.

Sincerely,

Me.

I wanted Katie to understand that I wanted my family to get better. I was only kind of good at writing letters.

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Webcam

The screams were the worst part. I’m not sure if you know what a blown up microphone sounds like, and I don’t mean exploding or anything, I mean when the sounds are so loud that the microphone sound pops and gets distorted.

We were having a meetup through Zoom a few months ago with an old friend of mine. It was three of us on the call, my best friend and I, plus the other friend who had to move two cities over right before high school started. Her name was Jamie. We kept in touch through Instagram and text, but we all knew things would change after the move.

We all got online, like normal, except for Jamie, because her camera had gone dark and then her microphone got muted. We kept calling her name, but she didn’t respond. So we figured that my other friend Anna should just start the meeting over again.

We all joined again, but this time, I caught a glimpse of Jamie’s camera, except it wasn’t Jamie at the desk. Then, her screen went dark. It was a man wearing a black jacket, his eyes opened wide.

Then everything started. We heard the door open. Jamie screamed.

Anna screamed, and I froze.

The screams, the evil laughter.

The sound of blood splashing against the wall.

When I heard a familiar voice, Anna, Sandra, are you guys okay? Did you see what happened? It was the voice of another man in a panic. Then the webcam came back on.

It was Jamie’s dad. Jamie was sitting on the floor crying, as the man with the black jacket laid still seated against the wall. Half of his face darkened by the swing of a wooden baseball bat.

Trying to time my visits to the mailbox downstairs just as she got home from work was considered creepy by my best friend. He couldn’t get over why I had such a tough time just going up to talk to her to ask her about her day or whatever.

But we did have the time to make small talk here and there. The last time, I complimented her bookbag. She chuckled a little and asked if I wanted one, that she actually bought it from her friend’s small shop in the downtown area. I nervously asked her if we could go on Friday because it was my day off, but I felt the wind knocked out of me when she said that she couldn’t and started to walk away.

I held my breath as she stopped, turned toward me, and asked if Saturday morning would work for me.

I said yes far too quickly as my eyes started shining. She asked what my unit number was and I swear a nearly forgot, distracted by her big green earrings poking out through her curly dark hair. 138? I said.

Are you asking me? She asked, laughing.

Well I live in 238, right above yours. Cool. I’ll knock on your door in the morning. I’ll see you around she said as she walked over to the staircase. Not the elevator.

I pretended to go through some junk mail right there by the front entrance of the building, daydreaming about what I could possibly talk to her about when Saturday came around. I was feeling so happy that it is still difficult for me to think about that scene. Yet I play it over and over in my head.

I was up at six in the morning that Saturday, unsure of the time when Maddie would be knocking on my door. But at exactly 9:01am, I heard the gentle knocking on my door with the light sound of her bracelet jiggling.

I tried to hide the smile I had and tried not to act too eager. I assumed we would be walking to the downtown area, which was only about a twenty minute walk, but instead she said that she had been feeling strange and tired lately, so we walked over to her car, a black Corolla, and drove down the street.

The day was great, I wasted $40 on a bookbag I didn’t need, and we even got lunch at a sandwich shop. I liked the way she laughed and the way she listened. I miss her.

We exchanged phone numbers and hung out late into the night, making dinner, watching movies. Everything that I felt I should have lived through as a teenager but was living now, a single guy in his late twenties, joking like little kids and worrying about silly things with her.

When she told me she was relocating for her job, I was devastated. The way she told me was so normal to her, I’m not sure if that hurt more. But she asked if I could help her move her things, and I agreed. What are you doing Saturday morning? She asked.

I went to my friends’ house that Friday, to talk about life and Maddie, who my best friend Ben kept calling the lady in the most ridiculous tone you have ever heard. It was something like the ladaay.

I got home late, but couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about Maddie’s call to let me know that she was ready for me to help her move her boxes down the moving truck. But that call would never come.

I thought about texting her around noon that Saturday, running a whole movie in my head where she felt bad about leaving me behind so instead she decided to quit her job and move in with me. The truth was much worse.

I finally sent her a text around 8pm. Could she have meant the following Saturday? No reply.

I went up to her apartment at around 10pm, but found the lights off as far as I could tell from the gap under her door. I called her from outside her door, but it went to voicemail.

I went back to my apartment, thinking about Maddie and how I should probably confess how badly I liked her and wished for her to stay. I went to bed lost in thought. They say that we should leave with no regrets in life, right? But just as I was falling asleep, around one in the morning by this time, I heard the long sound of furniture being dragged across the floor above me. Then boxes being dropped. Pans crashing to the floor.

I put on my clothes as fast as I could and took a look at my hair in the mirror before going upstairs. The lights were still off. And then I leaned into the door to listen for any signs of Maddie being awake, but it was dead silent. I was about to call her name, but remembered how late it was so it would be better if I just called her phone instead. Except I had forgotten my cell phone in my room. I figured it would be best to knock as I instinctively grabbed the doorknob with one hand in order to knock with the other, when I noticed that the door wasn’t completely shut and easily swung open.

Maddie? I asked. No response.

I reached for the light switch, my eyes fixed on the window without the curtain right on the living room. I thought I saw Maddie standing by it.

Maddie? I asked again, as the light turned on.

Maddie was gone. The place looked trashed. Had someone broken in? The couches were flipped over, the cabinets all wide open, and the lamps were on the floor.

I walked around the apartment to search for Maddie. The bathroom, her bedroom, the closets, but Maddie was gone. I was worried about what I had just seen, but instead of calling the police, I ran back to downstairs to get my phone and I called my friend who was probably half asleep as he yelled at me to hang up and call the police. Right? What was I thinking!

I called 911 without any idea of what I was going to say, but finally said that I was worried about my friend. That her apartment had been trashed and that she was nowhere to be found. I gave the address, my name, and phone number and was told that an officer would be over in about ten minutes.

The next two hours were a blur. The police arrived and confirmed her name, found her photo, radioed back to each other. Confirmed her death with me. Asked if I knew any of her relatives.

Maddie had crashed on the highway. She died on impact the night before.

A few people, some of her family I assumed, came by the following week to take the things out of her apartment. I saw them pack everything in the moving van and drove away. I was the one who was supposed to help her move.

But at night, I still hear the furniture above me. Though the place has been empty for over two months, and completely empty. The sound of pans, boxes, and heavy furniture moving across the floor still wake me up.

I was supposed to help her move.

Stories of things that move that shouldn’t move, are creepy, but things that move that aren’t there? That’s a whole other level of creepy. Another story is coming right after this.

The creepiest thing that has ever happened to me was back in high school. It happened back in the day when everybody used flip phones and we texted the old-fashioned way, with the number pad.

I used to talk to my girlfriend on the phone late into the night until we ran out of things to talk about and yet always found a way to keep talking, though sometimes one of us would end up falling asleep on the phone. I could tell when she was sleepy and always tried to find a way to wrap up the conversation, but she refused to admit that she was tired.

Anyway, this one time she fell asleep. I was about to hang up when I heard the distinct sound of a radio hissing, almost whistling. It was like a song. That’s when I heard the voice of a man say “well there, you are not going to hang up, are you?”. I was so scared to say anything else because the voice was so far away and full of static that I knew that someone had been listening to our conversation.

“Hello?” I muttered. “Hello” it replied back.

“Who is this?” I asked. “Don’t you know?” it said back.

I listened as the whistling sound faded and all I could hear was the sound of Sylvia’s breath over the phone.

I hung up and called her back to wake her up.

Sylvia, I just heard something. What? She asked, sounding more confused than me. I explained to her what I heard and she asked if I was sure of what I had heard. Then she stopped talking.

Did you fall asleep again? I asked. No, she replied. Then what’s wrong?

That’s what you say when you pretend to fall asleep on the phone, she said in a whisper.

What? Pretend to fall asleep on the phone? I asked her what she meant and thinking about it still sends chills down my back. She did the voice, the voice saying the phrase I’ve never said. The phrase she insists I say to her over the phone.

“Well there, you are not going to hang up, are you?” through the static, as the whistling fades away.

Trying to fix a simple utility bill uncovered something sinister. For more, visit ScaryPod.com

I used to bury things in my yard.



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