Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. To those who spend a lot of time alone
or think they don't, this one's for you. My name is Edwin,
and here it's a scary story. My voice echoed around the living room as
I yawned, frustrated of that place. It was another day and another attempt
at the comments on YouTube. My mom had said that trying should always be
celebrated, no matter how small, and over the years I had tried doing
everything from Facebook to Instagram, commenting on random profiles, saying anything. The
most I would get was that little heart or thumbs up when someone liked my
comments, but even that wore out pretty quickly. They never responded to my
direct messages, and when they did, it would not go very far.
I always thought that if maybe I had a different job and it's not something
where I literally only filled up paperwork from digital scans to online forms, maybe
I would get some friends at work. Had I tried for the longest time,
I tried, I swear I tell you, trying and failing actually feels
worse than not trying at all. Despite what everyone else says, books and
websites were what used to get me through the day. I would read news
article after news article, and books on stories from around the world, places
I wanted to visit and people that I wanted to talk to what I knew
deep down that I would never get the chance to do that you come off
too strong. The teachers back in high school used to tell me when I
would complain about not having any partners to work on our projects with. To
have good friends, you need to be a good friend, They would tell
me. Bring something to share, learn some jokes, invite people to hang
out or study lies. Nobody cared, although I remember Jackson, one of
the kids at my school, became my friend back then, but with no
reason at all. He just stopped talking to me one day. But I
guess the work emails also count right. For example, I received an email
a couple of years ago for an event at work. Executives were going to
be coming down to the city and they wanted the employees to be there absolutely
everyone. It sounded like a nightmare to me, so I politely declined,
but the manager quickly emailed me back with a forgot to say, there are
two spots at the table in case you want to bring your wife to let
me know. Take care goodbye. My wife. Imagine her the most supportive
person ever, or so I thought. Stuck with this mess of a person,
she would do her own thing and spend the evenings in the only room
in the house, coming out to ask if I was okay. She would
see me stuck in front of the computer in the living room for most of
the day, and she would remind me things were fine, that I didn't
have to do anything I did not want to do, and it made me
feel better. And just like with that event that I did not want to
go to, I refused many other chances. Every week that passed felt like
waves of time flying just above the water, and others sinking deeply into places
where light wouldn't stand a chance. I guess I could say hi to the
checker woman at the marketplace, or make friends with the guy who greets everybody
at the store. Maybe someone from Twitch and the many games I used to
watch on there, you know, to practice conversations. But yes, everything
was going to be fine. But then doubt, and in the words of
my wife, that I was fine the way that I was, and I
just retreated deeper and back into that dark part of the sea that hadn't drowned
me. Yet one afternoon, I had just finished two half frozen burritos,
leaning over the sink and straight out of the microwave, when I was thinking
about how much courage I needed to get out of here. Maybe in a
new town I would do better. That's when the doorbell rang. At first,
I just ignored it and kept thinking that a greyhound bus ticket was just
fourteen dollars and that it would get me very far to the south, maybe
to the ocean or some mountain somewhere. Nature had been a healer for thousands
of years, and I had learned so much about the people of The doorbell
rang again. I looked out the window from the kitchen and saw a young
man at the door with a plastic container next to him on the ground,
And in a moment of courage, I walked to it and I opened the
door and I said hello. The young man started talking, smiling and saying
how he had the best deal for me that day. Packs of socks,
a remote control that would work on everything, boxes of chocolates, and cleaning
products. He just talked and talked, and I didn't know ho to react,
so I just smiled until eventually he paused and asked if I was all
right. Did he care? No, he was just being polite. But
then the urge to make up something a lie like always that yes, that
I was only thinking of something that made me laugh, or that my wife
had told me a joke about socks, and that he just reminded me of
that, maybe a story that I would tell myself and believe, like how
I used to be in the navy, or that I knew how to survive
out in the woods, that my uncle had been friends with Bill Gates back
in college, or that I could read minds. But something about this guy
seemed honest, so I thought of meeting him halfway. I don't know,
man, I think there's something wrong with me, I said, in defeat.
I even surprised myself, and it just stood there, looking down at
the plastic container for a bit, hesitating about packing up his things and walking
away from my messy porch. But then he suddenly looked behind me, and
with a surprised or terrified look in his eyes, his mouth dropped open.
I thought he had probably seen the mess inside as well. I looked down
and was ready to close the door when he stopped reached for his wallet and
took out a business card, his shaky hands stretching out toward me, his
eyes still looking behind me. Listen. I know it's none of my business,
but this guy helped me out a couple of years ago. He's sort
of a psychologist, and hey, it's someone to talk to. He then
quickly picked up his things and left. But you know, if only I
could find him again somewhere, I would like to thank him for what he
did for me that day changed my life. I spent the rest of the
evening in silence in that living room. My wife hadn't left the room yet,
stared at that card with a name and phone number until I had to
get up to turn on the light and finally get into bed. You know,
I told my wife I got this contact today, someone who could help.
She stared at me with curiosity at first, and then with anger.
Help with what. I did my best to tell her about it, but
she only got angrier the more I explained. She threatened to leave if I
were to call, before changing her tone again, saying that she only wanted
what was best for me and did not want me to feel bad again.
I understood where she was coming from, but it had been far too long
of being stuck at home alone, the way my mind would freeze up sometimes,
and the ways I had been made fun of for so long. I
stayed quiet until she fell asleep, and eventually, after a very long time,
I'll sleep too. The next day was just like the others, a
bowl of cereal, then to the computer and logging into work. But something
was different. The idea that things could get better for me was there,
like little droplets. The ideas came to me out with friends, talking on
the phone, meeting up to catch a game, and again, in a
moment of courage, I looked around the room and then grabbed my phone to
call the number on the business card. The man on the other end of
the line was friendly. He asked me direct questions about what I did and
what I needed help with, and eventually agreed to come visit the next day.
That had happened so fast that I didn't even ask about how much the
sessions were going to cost. But still it was a step forward, and
I knew right then that I would have to keep it a secret. The
next morning, at noon, my lunch hour, the doorbell rang and there
stood a man somewhere in his forties and with dark hair. He shook my
hand and I let him in. Doctor Jilton was his name. He smiled
politely stepped inside. As I pointed toward the only two chairs in the living
room. He looked at the one with an indented cushion, and then at
the other one. Your choice, I said, before realizing how dumb I
sounded. Your choice who says that he picked a chair that wasn't mine.
He took out a notebook from his bag and looked right at me, smiling,
and then with a click of his pen, we started talking. He
asked me questions I had never been asked before about my childhood, parents,
friends, goals, and what I saw myself doing in a week, a
month, a year, and a decade from now. Tough questions to have
all at once, although I got through them okay. What not thing was
that he kept reminding me that his method were not traditional, but insisted that
they were indeed very effective. I told him, for the sake of honesty,
that my wife was supportive of many things, except for his visits.
She worried for my safety, and he nodded and then changed the subject of
conversation, asking me instead questions about made up scenarios and ideas. During our
conversation, he stood up a few times and looked around the room, asking
me about things I had around the house, and he took a look at
my closet. He looked at the backyard, saw many things around there,
and then he would sit back down and continued non stop and as calmly as
you can imagine, until he finally slowed down and finally silence. He got
up off his chair and walked over the door, giving me a slip of
paper his rake card, he called it, and with that he left.
Part two of sessions is coming up right after this stay with me. My
wife did not take it well. She knew immediately that the visit had been
from the psychologist from the business card. She stood at the base of the
bed that night and shouted at me, saying that if I went through with
that, I would never hear from her again. She started crying and then
sat in the chair in the corner of the room. When I tried to
approach her, she scurried over to the other side of the room. I
wanted to understand her, I really did, but instead I stayed quiet.
I just grabbed the extra blanket and pillow and walked to the living room.
I spent the night there. For the next several weekly sessions, I had
some exercises to do, to step out of the house and say hi to
a neighbor passing by, to buy a box of chocolates and give them away
in front of the grocery store. Some things came easy, like recording a
YouTube video of myself explaining something I enjoyed doing or talking about my day.
Others like calling a customer service number I called the one in the back of
the Nestley Quick yellowbox and complimenting their product were things that were much harder.
But things were getting easier for me. And while that was going great,
my wife was losing it. She would yell and shout absurdities, until one
night it all came to a close. I was on my bed looking toward
the blue light of the night sky coming through the window when she stormed in
and said that I was never going to see her again. I asked why,
ask what was wrong with me getting help? I begged her to reconsider
staying and that we would come up with an agreement if we could only talk
about it. She refused. She went back to the living room, leaving
me with my head spinning in the dark. The next morning, I explained
to doctor Jillton what had happened, and this came near the end of the
session. That's when he put his pen down and then looked me right in
the eyes. It is near the end of our eighth session together, he
said. An awkward silence followed. He then said, upon investigating everything,
even things about the hows from as many questions, he determined that there was
no logical reason for my condition. He could not diagnose me with anything just
yet, but that it was an appropriate time to discuss my wife. What
is her name? He asked, after a long pause. What is her
name? Why did he her name is? Well, of course it's He
looked at me in silence. I wasn't sure of her name. Maybe I
had been calling her by her pet name all this time, but even that
felt off. Doctor Jilton stood up and walked over to the door, extending
his right hand. I shook it and remained there, frozen as he turned
around, opened the door and stepped out into the porch, shutting it behind
him. Years of pressure had accumulated up to that moment when I stomped back
into the bedroom, my wife now standing by the window, anger still in
her eyes. I told you not to talk to him, she said,
gaging my reaction. A rush of thoughts and not remembering the moment that this
woman came into my life burned me up inside. I used to be able
to walk around the block, try at least to speak with others. Things
at work could have gone great. She stopped me. Deep down, I
think she hated me. She was a sum of rejections across my years in
college, and the tightening of my throat whenever I needed to talk to others.
She was a crippling fear of seeing myself as a monster in front of
other people, and the never ending self conscious feelings and insecurities. There.
She was a monster herself, nothing but a voice without a face, constantly
telling me to remain sad and pathetic. I could not remember your name,
I managed to say. Doctor Jilton called me the following day and then showed
up at my door in the evening. I hadn't cleaned up or eaten anything.
In the living room was a mess. He walked in with his usual
silence, shutting the door behind him and waiting for me to say something first,
but upon seeing my confusion, he spoke up. What can you tell
me about your wife? He asked, you already know, I answered,
He nodded. We talked about the following sessions and how they would take place,
suggesting his office a place I started frequenting for months until we started making
significant progress. Even though I could see the cost of the help from doctor
Jilton written out in front of me with every check that I gave to him,
it never felt like enough. He also changed my life. I got
to go to meetings, puzzles and board games, believe it or not,
had clubs in my town where I made a few friends. I got a
raise and training for a new position in the company. At work. Everything
was looking up. I never thought I would need his services again. One
day, I desperately started searching my drawers for that business card. I moved
the whole house around. I had reorganized much of it years ago after the
sessions with doctor Jilton. Eventually I found it tucked away under a stack of
books. I just needed to place that call. It had been so long
since I last saw him, and I went through the journals he made me
work on to remember everything. We had talked about my wife. This thing
had not been real. Doctor Jilton even considered testing for schizophrenia, dementia,
hallucinations, theories that became even more confusing the more he asked me the questions
and showed him that it was something else. He would often admit how there
was a lack of logic in his methods, the exercises he would make me
do, speaking to nothing, requesting them to leave, prayers or like he
called them, mantras, repeated at different hours of the day and night.
Had a whole list of them to do, and I don't remember when I
stopped. It had not been the first case of its kind for him,
He would often repeat, There had been no trace of this thing, this
woman, my wife, ever living with me, never meeting me. There
was no story, no beginning, no end, no name, no face.
But if she wasn't real, then who was standing by my phone?
This episode of Scary Story podcast was written and produced by me Edwin cohor Rubiez.
You can find me over on Instagram and TikTok at edwind Cove. That's
E d W I N c O V. Anyway, thank you very much
for listening to my stories. See you soon