Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. In today's episode, we're going to revisit three
of our most popular stories that recently got remastered. They're on the shorter side,
which is why I'm sharing them all in one. They have a slightly
different tone to them. If you started listening to the show early on,
Y're gonna know what I mean. My name is Edwin, and here it's
a scary story A dead man calling for help. A few months ago,
I helped my mom's friend Martha move out to a new house around Exit seventy
eight. She said she was happy to finally be moving out of town and
joining the life in rural America. Our town wasn't too big to begin with,
but whatever. We made two trips back and forth moving boxes and small
furniture. When it started getting dark, she pointed out some lights that appeared
to be yellow head lights off into the distance. She told me that the
strange lights would sometimes blink, turning on and off, on and off many
times as she passed by. Then they would turn off and not light up
again. They were not blinking when we passed by. We unloaded my truck
and put the boxes in her living room. But then we agreed to make
our next trip the following day instead. It was getting late and she was
tired. On my way back, looking into the distance, I noticed the
lights. They were turning on and off, on and off. They were
like high beams, blinking. And that crazy lady was right, I thought,
and I kept driving. I told her about it the next morning,
after we finally finished moving her in, she suggested that we go check it
out, saying that it was part of the fun of being out in the
country. But I was curious, so we both hopped into my truck and
headed down the road. The dirt trails were rough, but we could both
see a large metal structure off the distance, like where cattle are kept.
There was no way that this place was operational, but kept driving. As
we got closer, we saw what seemed like a junkyard with old cars and
broken down fencing. You see, this belonged to the mccave people. They're
long gone now, Martha said, I remember the McCabe story on the news.
They were involved in gangs and illegal activities a long time ago, kind
of famous in our small town, and I still remember the story. There
was a peace on the news released in the eighties about a missing man by
the name James, who was thought to have been murdered. He was a
family man, and it turns out that he was a close friend of my
parents. They even wanted him to be my godfather back when I was born.
They looked for his body in the hills and in the forest, but
after many years the searches stopped. The family was forced to live with all
those questions. He used to unload trucks for grocery stores, and he was
actually supposed to be working the day he was last seen. He had been
instructed to empty out one of the older trucks, a trailer with empty boxes
and old cement blocks. The owner had been trying to get rid of it
for quite some time and was happy to finally have a buyer. James had
actually introduced them to saying that they knew each other from some past business they
had worked on together. The trailer was driven off the lot, but on
the way to the buyer's yard about ten miles down the road, it shut
down. Feeling tricked, the buyer, a close friend of the mccabs,
got two of his buddies to take him back to the seller's business and demand
his money. Back. There was an altercation there, and the buyer took
out a gun and shot the cellar along with James, dragging their bodies onto
a car and throwing them off on the side of the road. The seller's
body was found a couple of days later. The body of James was never
found, or so the story used to go. We were ready to leave
the junkyard after making a couple of circles around the property, and suddenly,
clear as day, we heard some short, sporadic and deep honking. I
was scared, since nobody should be there and there was zero chance that any
of the cars there would be in working order, but the honking became longer
and harder to ignore. We both looked at each other, waiting for the
other to say something, but I was going to find out what it was.
I got out of the truck and Martha followed behind me. We went
around the structure, coming closer to the honking, and that's when we spotted
a small truck with the trailer off, just a few yards away, and
then the noise stopped. We looked at each other again. Honestly, I
was glad someone was there with me. As I inched closer to the truck
and into the driver's side door. I heard the honking begin again and fade
and then stop. When I turned my back on the truck, it made
clicking sounds like some type of animal must have been hiding under the hood.
And suddenly I heard the back door of the truck swing open. It was
Martha, being the crazy woman that she's always been poking her nose in everywhere.
After the second door swung open, she screamed inside the truck. By
the door, it was a dried up corpse, all curled up. Reports
later found that it was the body of James. A block had struck him
in the head. Apparently he had regained consciousness after the matter, but was
unable to open the gate from the inside, and that was left of him
after thirty years. It was a shriveled up body that and the will to
someday be found again leave if no response. Delivering packages for Amazon is a
pretty simple gig, but can get stressful depending on the amount of packages you
have to deliver. Every once in a while, you get a single loader,
which is a phrase that we used to say when the majority of packages
that you get in your van are going to a single address. Of course,
the company figures out that this is too easy, so they make sure
that the drive to deliver it is extra long, up to half an hour
or more in traffic. Here in Los Angeles, I used to get these
a lot. It was on Eastern Avenue, which I guess was a warehouse
since they got a ton of packages delivered there very often. I ask the
man that receives the packages and counts them, and from what I understood,
they take orders from other countries and they ship them for premium, so it's
like a side business, but for customers outside of the United States to buy
things, and people who are afraid of online shopping that would rather call the
center to place the order for them. After delivering those, I would have
to drop off the packages at some of the newer areas, some of which
had addresses listed on my Rabbit that's the name of the scanner device that we
use, but not yet on Google Maps. Unmarked roads, mailboxes out by
the start of a large fencing, and deliveries to houses that are still under
construction were some of the places I had to deliver to. It was winter
time and the days were getting shorter by six pm. The roads that had
street lights would turn on, but the ones by the hills where I was
assigned would get pitched black. Sometimes I would have to drive twenty minutes out
to deliver just one envelow, probably a trinket that the customer would end up
returning anyway. There were five packages left in the bin on the seat right
next to me, and it had been a long day, but I was
happy that I was almost there and done with it. Counting them down was
a good way to pass the time. But when I had two left in
the bin, I saw that there was a mismatch. My device said that
I had three packages yet to deliver, so I pulled over and stepped into
the back, only to see that, yes, there was a small box
almost under the seat next to me. Twelve minutes up the hills again,
driving through the twisting road, I couldn't even see the tall grass next to
the van anymore, just a shade of them, along with the shadow of
the yellow arrow signs that cast deep in the steep hills in front of me
whenever I took a turn. No cars around, just distant lights from the
windows of spread out houses lit by the weirdos that lived up there. Some
of them used to stay in trailers outside of their unbuilt homes. Up ahead,
I saw the little dirt trail and the large private property sign with the
security camera icon. So I grabbed the package, put on my blinkers,
and stepped outside. I could see a few lights a short distance away from
the road and through the trees. I didn't understand why people felt the need
to be far away from normal things like this. I guess it's because they
have people like me to deliver things to them. It took a few steps
after I passed a rusty metal gate, looking straight ahead, avoiding the darkness
all around me, with the exception of the yellow blinking lights from my van,
yellow than black, yellow than black. The pattern was almost hypnotizing as
I walked without knowing what was in front of me, like a strange dance
party to the steps of crunchy leaves and gravel beneath me. All of it
interrupted as I clearly heard a high to my right from the trees, then
another hello, this time from my left. Your mind makes things up when
you're feeling scared. I saw the windows of a small house about the size
of a bungalow. Up ahead, the stench of rotten meat growing with every
step, bringing back the memories of the dead possums we used to find in
my backyard. I could hear a bee hive, the loudest one I have
ever heard, again, my mind probably making things up. There was a
shed on the path before getting to the porch of the little house, and
on the grounds by the door of it were three or four packages. I
grabbed my scanner to light up the package, and I was begging for the
words to be there. I just wanted to leave, and then the light
came on. Leave if no response, it was right on the label.
I felt a strong sense of relief right then, and I considered tossing it
right there with the others. This box would survive. It seemed light enough.
But then I saw the woman on the falcking chair, probably waiting for
me. Hello Amazon, but she didn't move. I walked up to her,
the stench growing as I walked up to the wooden steps, her blue
wish porch light highlighting the buzzing dark cloud all around her and the sounds.
I grabbed my scanner and turned on the lights and pointed it right at her,
her mouth stretched wide open, flies crawling down her white hair and into
her wrinkled nose, as the others came out from the roof of her mouth
and onto her teeth. I dropped the package, turned her round and ran
past the shed. Have you ever run in the dark, something behind you,
something next to you. You can't see your own shoes, And that
driveway seemed to never end. Yellow than black, then yellow, than black,
and yellow. Another short stories coming upward after this stay with me.
My dead friend is still on Facebook. One evening, while sitting in my
car, I saw that many of my friends were commenting on Frank's Facebook wall,
saying things like rest in peace and words of goodbyes. My friend was
dead. I couldn't get myself to comment on his wall, but I did
message back and forth with his mom and his brother. My best friends have
reached out to me to hang out and talk about the whole thing. But
wasn't ready. You see, I was supposed to meet him that day.
We were supposed to hang out, but I chose to stay in. I
don't know, I just didn't want to go out. I felt tired and
got a headache trying to come up with an excuse not to go now,
looking at the last conversation I had with him. I just see as whatever,
man, I'll text you later. That was his last message to me.
They were supposed to check out the new coffee shop by our high school.
They were hosting an open mic night, and it was supposed to be
a good one, but instead he called up one of his other friends and
got in a car accident and died. Two nights after he passed, the
event started, my phone would ring at three am, a phone call from
an abnormally long number. I picked up the first couple of times, but
all I could hear was static. Once I stopped answering, I started getting
random text messages from those similar numbers, but with jumble up text characters like
the kind you see on a corrupted computer file. This went on for three
weeks before things got scarier. One night, I felt someone tug on my
sleeve and I heard my name being whispered. While I was trying to sleep,
my phone started ringing once again. It all happened so fast that I
thought I must have still been asleep half awake. I answered it, and
I heard my name being whispered. This must be some type of prank,
I remember thinking, and then I hung up. I kept my eyes open
toward the ceiling, barely illuminated by the light coming from the window. When
I heard the soft calling sound you get when you're the one calling someone and
are waiting for them to answer. I was dialing some number by accident,
and when I checked who it was, it said I was calling Frank.
Instinctively, I tapped on the button to see my call history, and I
was shocked to see that I had two phone calls with him in the past
five minutes, one out going, which was my accidental dial, and one
in coming, which I had apparently answered earlier. A fourteen second in phone
call, the one where he whispered my name. I opened up my Facebook
messenger app and tapped on his name, and I stared at her last conversation
on there. We were talking about some girl he was seeing. Then this
last message on the app was him saying how right I was and that he
wasn't going to call her back. But then the three dots appeared. Frank
Rosen is typing and then stopped. Then he started typing again. I put
my phone down and turned on my lights. I wanted him to send the
message Frank, I'm sorry, buddy, I wanted him to know that I
was going to miss him, even though we never told each other that ever.
He stopped typing Frank, I'll miss you man, Rest in peace.
I typed it and hit send. Since then, I haven't been woken up
by any more strange phone calls or messages. Alone at home, I used
to remind my brother constantly about the strange things that would happen at my house.
Everyone worked in the evenings and I would normally be by myself after school.
It started as something seemingly insignificant, fruit rolling away from the counter,
or something moving around in the trash can. Eventually that look of I believe
you believe what you saw was all I needed to shut up about it,
Even though I would go to the kitchen into the bathroom only if I absolutely
had to, and I would get home after school, I would just grab
the box of cereal or whatever else I could find to eat, and then
go to my room. I would stay there until I heard the key shuffling
of the front door, a sign that my brother had gotten home from work
and that my parents would arrive a few hours after that. He would arrive
with all the lights off and sometimes calling out my name. I remember the
feeling and still some of the best memories of my life. Nancy, you
who? And then he would flick on the lights. He had gotten his
chicken nuggets or fries, something small. Sometimes he would find something at work,
a little gadget or a toy during a shift at the hotel when I
was even younger, he would be the one that took out the trash out
to the dark alley, and he would be the one to order pizzas or
ask for directions. He wasn't afraid of anything. Working as a part time
security guard fit him, okay. I, on the other hand, was
another story. But the noise is that I used to hear in the living
room were real. Mom heard them once and she walked into the kitchen searching
for a rat or a mouth while I was so scared that I cried from
the corner of the living room, unable to speak. What I didn't tell
Mom was that I had seen someone standing there in front of the stove.
And even now I can't trust myself to know for sure if I had imagined
the whole thing. All I knew was that it would make things a lot
better for everyone if I just kept my mouth shut, and so I did.
I ignored the sounds of the cabinets opening and the kitchen drow were shutting,
the sounds of spatulas hitting against the metal sync. I would turn up
the music of my CD player and just wait. But one night, it
was getting late and my brother hadn't gotten home. I needed to use the
bathroom, and I wanted to at least go out through the hallway and turn
on the living room lights. So I got mentally ready and reached for my
doorknob. I looked to the right. The bright green lights of the alarm
clock by the television and the clock from the radio were still two minutes apart.
The muffled conversation of our downstairs neighbors laughing at something on the television.
It was almost nine o'clock. And there it went again, the cabinet slamming,
shot, the pad moving around the stovetop. Someone was there. I
hadn't even taken a step outside of my room yet, but that's when I
heard it, the shuffling of the keys from the outside. My brother had
just gotten home again, just a little too late. What did you think
of these stories? Let me know via email or through the Spotify Q and
a section or poll that should be on the episode page. Any comment or
feedback will help, especially from returning listeners. You can find these and her
whole collection of stories on YouTube as well from like Way, Way Way Back.
I'll link to it in the description of this episode, and if you
want to get these and the entire collection of Scary FM shows without ads,
check out Scary Plus over on scaryplus dot com, or just click on the
Scary Plus button on your app right now. Anyway, thanks a lot for
listening. Keep it scary everyone, See us soon.