August 8, 2025 • 45 mins
Thank you guys for watching, let me know if you would like to see more content like this in the future! The 1st story in this video was by far my favorite, so make sure you watch to at least that part! Thanks for watching, like and subscribe. CREDITS - u/mythic_melon - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1m8c6tm/i_get_paid_to_answer_phone_calls_all_daybut_i_am/u/Mindless-Bother-3827 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1m5dqp2/we_stopped_for_gas_in_the_adirondeck_mountains/I was granted permission to use all of these stories. Make sure to check out all of the original authors.Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe!
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Hey, what's up guys? And welcome back to another
Reddit Stories video. And today we're getting into
some disturbing stories from Reddit.
And it's been a long time since I've made one and you guys have
been begging for some more Reddit Stories videos.
So here I am to deliver and thank you so much for stopping
by. And today's stories are great,
super disturbing, creepy, weird,and you'll just want to stick
around. So grab a snack, grab some
(00:22):
water, hydrate, relax, or turn this on before you go to sleep.
I don't know. Whatever you do, I'm sure you'll
enjoy this and. Thank you so much for something
by Like I said, please like the video and subscribe to the
channel. It helps more than you know.
And without further ado, let's get into some disturbing stories
from Reddit. I get paid to answer phone calls
all day, but I am only allowed to listen by Mythic under score
(00:45):
Mellon. We've all heard of odd jobs
before. Quirky social media gigs,
requests from strangers on the Internet.
Sometimes legit, mostly illegal.I want to warn you about my
latest adventure. The premise is simple, but
confusing. You're paid to answer calls, but
you can only listen if you talk back.
If you say anything at all, you're done.
(01:07):
Curious, so was I, but before I jump in, I want to set the scene
for you. There's a lot of ground to
cover, but I promise it'll be worth the wait.
Let's start with the call center.
There's a certain unease in the building.
It's not the lights or the computers or the AC rumbling
through the white paneled ceiling.
It's deeper than that. A quiet, unnerving buzz.
(01:28):
The longer you are here, the easier it gets, but the feeling
never quite goes away. It just gets buried deeper and
deeper into that steel case you call your mind.
You'd be surprised how many people there are in this office.
It's quiet, but it isn't silent.Never silent.
If you sit still long enough, ifyou really listen, you can hear
(01:51):
them. The voices, the steady rhythm of
desperation. Cries, pleas, whispers and
screams. They're not loud, not loud
enough to disturb anyone, just soft enough to make your skin
crawl like a bad feeling you can't place.
They're not coming from the workers, they're pouring out of
the phones, the never ending seaof desperate callers ringing in
(02:14):
day after day. Every call is different, every
voice is different, but the words, the stories, always the
same. Please, they say.
I don't know where I am, something's outside the door, I
need help. But no one responds.
No one ever does. 2 cubes down. Martha, that's what I call her,
(02:34):
is filling out a crossword. She taps her acrylic nails
against her desk like she's typing away an invisible
keyboard. Then there's Debbie again, not
her name, but she seems like a Debbie.
She's tall, brunettes, and eating the same cheap par fat
she brings in every day. I think it's strawberry
flavored. Nobody talks here, not out loud,
not unless they still want to work here.
(02:56):
We don't wear name tags, we don't introduce ourselves, we
don't even wear our own faces. Everyone's assigned a mask.
Not the sanitary kind, not the Halloween kind either.
They're corporate, sleek, smooth, almost artistic.
I describe it as a masquerade style mask without the usual
glitter and tassels. They start just below the
forehead and stop just above themouth.
(03:18):
They say it's part of the experiment.
What experiment? Nobody really knows.
That's kind of the whole point. We're not here to understand,
we're here to follow directions.Answer the call, don't say
anything. Let them speak, let them scream,
let them beg. Just sit there with the phone,
press to your ear and listen until the line goes dead.
(03:39):
That's it, that's the job. It seems.
Cheap gimmicking. Almost like we're a part of the
latest reality TV series where cameramen are hiding in bushes
with ulterior motives. I thought the same at first, but
if there is something that doesn't lie, it's money, and
lots of it. That's why I'm here.
I'm Ariana, 19 years old, college dropout.
(04:01):
A few semesters in, then I quit.Way too much debt, too little
hope. Credit card stacked like a tower
ready to fall. I spend weeks scouring every
corner of the Internet for something, anything that could
get me back on my feet, even if just for a little while.
That's when Mabel introduced me to her profession.
Mabel was unique, almost dressed, sharp, nice car, good
(04:23):
career, Chanel bag casually tossed over her shoulder.
A very independent woman. She lived in the city, paid her
own bills, and did whatever the hell she wanted to.
She was fun, serious, and motivating all at once.
We've been friends for a while now, but she always kept me at
arm's length. Sure, we could go out and have a
nice time together, bond over past relationships and mutual
(04:43):
interests, but there was something mysterious about her.
She never really talked about her work.
I assumed it was drugs or some kind of shady side hustle.
It wasn't like to her to keep secrets.
But when she saw how down on my luck I was, she took pity,
handed me a business card, and then just as quickly told me she
never gave me that card. If anyone asked you, I didn't
(05:05):
give you that card. You don't know Mabel and Mabel
don't know you, She said sharply.
Apparently that was against the company's rules.
Nobody can know anyone else who works there.
I was confused, but curious. I called the number.
A voice answered. Cold, mysterious.
They asked me two questions. Do you break under pressure?
(05:28):
Do you know anyone else who works here?
I said no and no. That was it.
No background check, no references, didn't even ask to
see the resume. I carefully prepared for the
occasion. They gave me an address and a
time. Simple as that.
The onboarding was as just as strange as everything else.
You'd think I was signing up forsome military program or a
(05:49):
secret government project. Everyone was tight lipped.
No smiling, no small talk. The rules were simple and
unsettling #1 Arrive at the building exactly when your shift
starts. Not a minute early, not a minute
late. 2 Keep your mask on the entire time.
No exceptions. 3 Don't identify yourself.
(06:11):
Don't try to identify anyone else. 4.
Do not respond or speak to the caller on the other end of the
line. It felt odd to say the least,
but I kept telling myself it wasjust one big experiment.
They're paying for data, not forus to help anyone.
We're not really answering calls.
We're the product being fed to someone or something higher up
the chain. That is what the assessors say,
(06:33):
at least. Assessors are basically
glorified managers, people with a flashy degree and people
skills that tell you the voices aren't real, that the people on
the other end aren't people at all.
They're artificial, synthetic, part of the test and nothing
more. Simulations.
They say you're not hurting anyone.
It's about resilience, exposure therapy, mental strength.
(06:55):
Sure buddy, I don't know what they are.
I refuse to believe they are people.
It wouldn't make sense. But they don't act like
simulations either. They don't sound fake.
They sob. They.
Stutter. They beg for their kids.
They talk about the thing outside their closet, or the
eyes under their bed or monster outside their window.
You sit there. You listen.
(07:16):
You grip your pen tighter and tighter until the call drops out
or the screaming stops or there's that awful sudden
silence, like something just grabbed the person out of
existence. Then you breathe.
You clear your throat and the phone rings again.
You pick up. I've been here 8 months now.
Not long, but long enough to know the rhythm.
This job isn't about smarts or motivation.
(07:38):
It's about routine, muscle memory.
You have to build your own little rhythm.
Listening to terror all day eatsat you, breaks you down slowly.
I've seen it happen. New masks come in wide eyed and
curious and by month 2 they're breaking rules are just gone.
My routine is pretty straightforward at this point.
I get in at 6:45 AM sharp. Same elevator, same Gray carpet,
(08:00):
same cubicle by the fire exit. I don't speak to anyone.
It's safer that way. Chatter is dangerous for me and
for whoever's already picking upcalls.
At 7:00 AM, my phone activates. The light goes on.
Not a ring, never a ring, just the light.
Blue means wait, red means answer, and when it's red, you
(08:21):
answer. You don't greet them, you don't
ask questions, you just listen. And what you hear?
Well, they're always running, always hiding, always being
chased by something they can't quite describe.
A. Little boy whispering say
something is scratching at his door.
His mom won't wake up. A woman panting saying she's in
(08:42):
the stairwell. Something is coming up behind
her fast and the police aren't answering their calls anymore.
A man with a crushed voice locked in a closet.
He mutters that he hears footsteps pacing back and forth
right outside. Stopping every time he breathes.
Different voices, same panic. Some of them say they're in a
hallway or a small bedroom or under a sink.
(09:05):
Sometimes they describe this building, the call center.
They'll mention glass double doors of the color of the carpet
or the smell of coffee from a nearby break room.
Sometimes they describe the workers.
You have a mask, they'll say. Black gloves.
I know you, you can help me. Then they scream.
We're not supposed to react, noteven a twitch.
I've gotten pretty good at it. Neutral face, steady hands.
(09:28):
A woman once asked me to sing toher while something chewed its
way through her front door. I didn't, but I wanted to.
It sticks to you even after the call ends.
Especially then. We all handle it differently.
Food, puzzles, fidgeting, anything to let out the tension,
to cope. I sketch what they describe not
out of interest or enjoyment, just release.
(09:50):
Macabre, maybe, but it makes theimages leave my head a little
faster. Dark figures, tall shadows,
doorways broken and bloody, a lot of staircases.
And then, just when I start to forget, the light turns red
again. The first few days were the
hardest. But then my first check came in.
After just one month of the job.I paid off my student loans.
(10:11):
That crushing weight finally lifted.
I felt like I could breathe again.
A month later, I bought my firstcar.
Used, but reliable. Then I paid off my credit card
debt for the first time in years.
The numbers in my bank account weren't a burden I needed to
figure out. Now I live in a multi bedroom
loft right in the city, The kindof place with exposed brick
(10:31):
walls and big windows that lit in way too much sunlight.
I'm driving the car used to drool over in magazines, the one
I thought I'd never afford. The money washes away the guilt
at this point. Synthetic manufactured guilt.
Like a fresh coat of paint covering the grind beneath,
except the grime is just as processed as the paint at this
point. Maybe that was the point all
along. Just an expensive, extravagant
(10:54):
experiment. A cold corporate bet that people
will do almost anything for the right amount of cash, even if it
means listening to fake snuff calls for hours on end.
That's what I told myself. The calls were just noise,
background static to the paycheck.
Until I heard something I never expected.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was halfway through my shift,
(11:15):
my eyes drifting between the crossword puzzle.
It started yesterday in the dullglow of my screen.
I was a little hungover, my headstill fuzzy from last night's
bad decisions. Maybe that's why I was so caught
off guard. Maybe that is why I made this
horrible mistake. The phone turned red.
I picked up instinctively. My eyes still fix on the
crossword puzzle. Hello, is, is anyone there?
(11:36):
I I need help. The voice was faint, but
unmistakable. It was her Mabel.
For a split second I forgot where I was, thought maybe I'd
picked up my personal phone by mistake.
My heart started to hammer. Mabel.
I whispered before I could stop myself.
The room was quiet. Not just the usual quiet of the
(11:57):
call center, but something heavier, Thicker, like the room
was holding its breath. I felt eyes on me, dozens of
mass faces turning my direction,watching, waiting.
I felt my face go red as hot embarrassment washed over me.
I dug my head below my cubicle wall, phone still pressed in my
ear. Shit.
(12:17):
I was done. Then Mabel spoke again.
Wait, Ariana? I waited to hang up, but
something stopped me. I just didn't understand why was
Mabel on the line? I've heard hundreds of simulated
voices plead and beg for response.
I never imagined it could sound like someone you know.
I was already reaching to hang up, but she said something
(12:39):
strange, something unexpected. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.
She stambered, voice trembling with confusion.
A cold shiver crawled down my spine.
This wasn't the Mabel I knew. Then she started laughing.
Not the light friendly laugh I remembered.
A manic, broken laugh. It didn't stop.
(12:59):
I slammed the phone down. I spun around, heart racing.
And there she. Was.
A member of HR standing just at the edge of my cubicle.
Black mask, no patent hand, expression unreadable.
She motioned me to follow. No words, just a slow,
deliberate walk through her office.
I sat down in the stiff plastic chair across from her desk, my
(13:21):
mind still reeling. The call played on a loop in my
head. The voice, the laugh, the way it
sounded exactly like Mabel. I couldn't stop shaking.
You broke the. Rules.
Yes. She asked flatly, scribbling in
her notepad without looking up. Yes, but you understand this
means you are terminated from these call center, correct?
She cut me off with such finality, like it was scripted,
(13:44):
like she was reciting lines froma procedure manual.
I recognized her. I said the voice.
I thought I picked up my own phone by accident.
I thought maybe it wasn't even the made her pause.
She looked up for the first time.
Her eyes were sharp behind the mask, almost disappointed.
Or was it fear? You thought what?
(14:05):
It sounded like someone I knew, a friend of mine.
She didn't just write anything down now.
She stared at me. When he first applied to this
job, you answered 2 questions. Do you remember them?
I hesitated. My stomach turned.
They asked if I was good under pressure and if I knew anyone
who worked here. And how did you answer no?
(14:25):
I said no to both. She stared a moment longer than
slowly ripped a sheet of paper from her pad and slid it across
the desk. You are hereby terminated from
this experiment. You can collect your final check
at the location printed on the slip.
You've also been granted a severance equivalent to one
month salary. I blinked at her.
Wait, that's all? She didn't respond, just went
(14:46):
back to typing like I wasn't there anymore.
No explanation, no follow up about the call, no mention of
what I heard. Just a polite termination and a
severance bonus. I grabbed the paper without
reading it and stormed out, pastthe rows of silent masks to
employees, past the flickering overhead lights, and out into
the daylight. I was halfway to my car when I
(15:08):
realized I hadn't even removed my mask.
I didn't look back. I felt everything over the next
few days. Sadness, anger, confusion.
Like my body kept going through the motions, but my mind was
stuck on a loop. That voice on the other end of
the call, The thing that soundedlike Mabel.
I didn't know what I was supposed to believe anymore.
On the second day, I caved and called her straight to
(15:29):
voicemail. That was weird.
We're supposed to hang out next weekend, maybe grab drinks and
vent about the call center. Mabel never ghosted me, not even
when she was sick or pissed or going through it.
Something was off. By the third day, I decided I
needed to get out of the house, clear my head.
The address they gave me for theseverance package wasn't far, so
(15:50):
I drove out. It led me to a hotel, one of
those upscale downtown places with giant flower arrangements
and staff that were gloves. I didn't even see a front desk,
just a wall of private mailboxesnear the back.
The code they gave me worked. The lock clicked open and inside
was a check, neatly folded like it had just been printed.
(16:11):
I left and crossed the street tothe parking garage, where I left
my car. As I reached the elevator, I
paused. There was someone standing on
the sidewalk a little ways down,right outside the garage
entrance. Big blonde hair, fur coat, tall
boots. Mabel.
I stepped forward without thinking, just a few feet,
enough to get a better look, andthat's when I saw it wasn't her,
(16:34):
not really. The thing looked like Mabel, if
she'd been made from melting wax.
Too tall, limping slightly. Her skin hung off her face and
folds, sagging like old leather.Her mouth was slack, her eyes.
God. Her eyes, 2 hollow pits ringed
with tiny, sharp teeth. Her hands were worse.
(16:56):
Loose skin, twisted, fingers bent at angles that didn't make
any sense. And yet people kept walking past
her like she wasn't there. They moved around her, avoided
bumping into her like she had a presence.
She took up space, but no one looked, not directly.
They didn't see her, not really.If they did, they would have
been as terrified as I was. The elevator behind me dinged
(17:19):
and the doors opened. I ran inside, slammed the closed
door button with shaking fingers.
As the doors slid shut, I heard footsteps on the concrete, slow,
deliberate, getting closer, too close.
I didn't look. I didn't want to see her again.
The elevator dropped me off a few floors up.
I got in my car and drove fast. Too fast.
(17:42):
Every red light felt like a trap.
Every time I glanced at my window, I expected to see her
there on the sidewalk, moving along in slow, rhythmic motion
like a snail wearing human skin.I called a few friends on the
way home just to hear voices. I didn't tell them what I saw.
Didn't want to sound insane, butI felt insane.
All those desperate calls I've been ignoring month after month
(18:04):
of people screaming in, crying and begging, and now it's like
the floodgates have opened. Everything's pouring in at once.
Maybe I was having a breakdown. That's what I kept telling
myself. Listening to pain and anguish
every day will do that to you. I just needed rest, some air,
maybe a little trip. I'm running now enough to
disappear for a few days, clear my head, and if I still didn't
(18:27):
feel right afterward, I'd find atherapist.
God knows I probably needed one anyway.
I took a detour from my apartment elevator to stroll
through the lobby. I wanted to grab a few snacks
from the shop beside the front desk before settling in for the
night. I needed a bottle or two of
something strong to drown out the sadness from my termination
from the call center. I was crossing the front desk
when I caught sight of somethingin the corner of my eye.
(18:49):
I turned and there was again Mabel walking toward me from the
lobby entrance. The site gave me chills, but
that feeling passed quickly. I felt steadier after the drive,
more level headed. I wasn't afraid, I was annoyed.
This wasn't real, it had to be some elaborate prank or a
figment of my imagination. Either way, it couldn't hurt me,
(19:13):
I just needed to prove it to myself.
I looked around, everyone else was just walking past.
I held my hands out, desperate. Really, nobody else has seen
this? I took a few deep breaths and
started towards it. Hey Sir, why are you following
me? I called out.
The thing didn't say anything, just kept lurching forward.
(19:33):
I socked a few feet in front of it.
The smell hit me first. Sour, rotten.
I went to the side of the bloated figure, writhing and
convulsing under its cheap makeable disguise.
Did you hear me? This isn't funny, creep.
I'm going to get security chomp a mouth.
It tore open from the thing's stomach and bit off the finger.
(19:54):
I was waving at his chest. Just like that.
Gone. I staggered back, screaming,
clutching the bloody stump wheremy finger used to be.
It kept limping forward. I screamed louder, begging for
help. No one looked.
No one even paused. I turned and bolted toward the
stairs, blood dripping behind me.
I was halfway up and I heard thestairway entrance slam open.
(20:15):
It was coming. I reached my floor and sprinted
down the hall, fumble my key outof my purse with trembling,
bloody hands. Got the door open, locked it
behind me. I back to wait until my spine
hit the wall at the other end ofthe apartment.
I pulled my phone out and started dialing 911 with my good
hand ringtone. Then silence.
No connection. I checked my service, full bars.
(20:38):
This didn't make any sense. I called friends, family, my
hair stylist, nothing. No ringtone, just silence.
I cursed and rushed to the peephole.
Nothing out there, not yet. Just a wide empty hallway.
Blood was getting everywhere. I could feel my heartbeat in my
hand from all the pain and swelling.
I stumbled into my bedroom, wrapped my finger to stop the
bleeding and popped a few painkillers.
(21:00):
Once I was taken care of, I sat at my desk and opened my laptop,
tried to get online, e-mail, social media, anything.
Blank screen, no connection. I sat down and cried.
I didn't understand what was happening.
Something was wrong. Not just with that thing in the
hallway. Not just with me.
Reality itself is broken. No one could hear me, no one
(21:21):
could reach me, no one cared. I was isolated, trapped.
Food for something that wore my friend's skin.
Maybe that was all that was leftof her.
Then it was here. I heard a few limping footsteps
outside the door, the light underneath it.
The front door was stifled by something large standing outside
it. I held my breath, waiting, but
(21:42):
nothing happened. It just sat there, doing
nothing. I grabbed the knife and waited.
It was bound to come in at some point.
But it didn't. Hours passed.
It was well into the night, and the shadow was still there.
It didn't make sense. I fumble with my phone.
I needed to get in contact with someone.
I knew it was futile, but I had to try again.
(22:02):
But then I heard something. Not from the phone, from the
door. It was Mabel.
Hey, Ariana, I'm here. I need your help.
I didn't move. I didn't speak.
It was her voice, but it soundedwet, guttural, like it was her
whispering through the mouth of a corpse.
Don't ignore me. Say anything, anything.
(22:24):
I need to know you're OK. It was monotone, no concern in
its voice. I carefully walked to my
bedroom, then a loud bang. Don't walk away from me, Ariana,
talk to me. The voice was deeper now, less
Mabel, more something else. I pushed my door closed with a
soft click and covered my ears as a barrage of loud bangs broke
(22:46):
out across the apartment. I heard them everywhere, my
door, the ceiling above the windows facing the city below.
The sound passed after an hour. My body was so tired at this
point, partially exhaustion, partially the blood loss from my
missing finger. I barricaded the door, clutched
my phone, and rested my eyes in the empty bed.
(23:08):
I slept maybe an hour or two before something woke me.
I sprang up and looked towards the bedroom door.
The shadow was under my bedroom door now, had somehow gone into
my apartment. It was standing there the same
way I had outside and now I was.Here I realized I couldn't
escape this thing. Whatever it was, it was going to
get me slowly but surely. Had no issue entering my
(23:29):
apartment. It would have no problem
breaking into my room. Maybe it was toying with me.
Maybe enjoy the chase? I felt panic wash over me.
Leave me alone, I screamed. I heard a soft laugh break out
from just outside the door. I returned to my phone, started
calling everyone in my contact list again.
Silence every time. Like the world outside my
(23:50):
apartment building just vanished.
Then I realized something. I realized the silence didn't
mean the calls were failing. They were going through every
time. No ringing, no static.
Just quiet. Someone on the other end of was
always there, always listening. It was a call center.
(24:12):
Every call I made was routed straight to the center.
I only figured it out because ofa tiny, almost imperceivable
sound, One you'd miss if you weren't desperate enough to
listen for it. A spoon scraping the bottom of a
plastic parfait cup. Debbie from work.
Debbie I sent into the phone. No response.
(24:33):
Of course not. Debbie wasn't a name, just the
one I gave her. None of us knew each other's
names. That's how they designed it.
Masks, code numbers, shift schedules.
They barely overlapped. Hey, I I know you well.
Not know you, but we work together.
Please just say something. I think you can help me.
Still nothing. And that's when it hit me.
(24:55):
They wouldn't answer. Not ever.
They couldn't. We don't speak, not to them.
It didn't matter what I said, how much I begged and cried, and
how could I really blame her? I ignored hundreds of calls just
like this. That is when I broke.
I started laughing. Loud, cracked, borderline
hysterical. The same kind of laugh I heard
(25:17):
from Mabel that day. She realized the truth.
That she was calling the same people that she sat next to
every day. That none of us said a word.
Not when it mattered. It was real, all of it.
Real people. Real demons.
God, those poor people. Men, women and children.
The poor children. The creature outside went quiet
(25:39):
during my breakdown. Maybe it enjoyed my pain.
Maybe it was hoping I'd walk outstill broken right into its
jaws. Once the laughter died and I
steadied my breathing, I felt a strange mental clarity.
Could have been the painkillers or sleep deprivation.
Either way, I had an idea. If they responded, the creature
(26:01):
moves on. How's my theory?
I never got confirmation from Mabel, but she had tried it.
She screamed into the phone until someone broke the rules
and the thing left her alone. At least that was the hope I
needed to get someone to answer,to break the rules like Mabel
did. Like I did.
I racked my brain for anything Iknew about the people I worked
with. Something, anything that could
(26:22):
crack their armor. Then it hit me.
Martha. She was always working during my
shift, the one with the crossword puzzles and clacking
acrylics. The only reason she came to mind
was because I knew something about her I shouldn't.
We do our best to hide our identities, but every now and
then something slips out. A phrase, the flash of a text on
(26:42):
your personal phone, the hint ofa tattoo.
Her mistake was much more telling and easy to forget.
One day I saw a brochure sticking out of her purse
assisted living facility. I recognize the name.
My mom had looked into it for mygrandfather once.
Nice place, private rooms, big windows, expensive.
(27:03):
Probably why Martha took the job.
I grabbed the phone, started dialing random numbers.
Cold calling the call center over and over.
Same silent line, same hollow wait.
I listened for her. I waited for the familiar tap of
nails on the cheap plastic desk.Fast, plasticky little clicks.
(27:23):
Call, hang up, call, hang up. Nothing.
Was Martha even on rotation today?
I started to feel hopeless. Outside the room, the door
handle started to twitch, a softrattle, like someone trying to
figure out the lock. It'd be in here soon.
Then I heard it. The clacking of nails.
(27:45):
I prep the script in my mind. I had one chance.
Hello. I said in the calmest voice I
can imagine. No answer.
I take another shaky breath before continuing.
I'm calling because your family member at Woodbrooks is in the
middle of a situation here. I hoped this was the right
angle. During my time working there,
(28:07):
every call was frantic, desperate, just like me.
But it couldn't show it. Not if I expected this to work.
Nobody at the call center would expect someone so calm and
collected. The clacking stopped.
I had her attention now, I needed to drive it home.
Sorry to call this line. Someone at the call center said
(28:27):
it was your work line. I just need to confirm some
information. Let's start with your first
name. I bit my tongue as the door
began to unlock. It creaked open slowly.
The barricade of furniture slid across this floor like it was a
pile of empty boxes. I put my hand over my mouth to
stifle a scream. What stood there wasn't wearing
Mabel skin anymore. That was gone, sloughed off like
(28:50):
wet clothing. What remained was something raw,
a bundle of dark flesh, tentacles and mouths writhing in
slow deliver motion. Snapping, smacking, clicking
wetly against each other. They turned toward me slowly,
the bundle of wiry flesh rise towards me in unison.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep my voice level.
(29:13):
Ma'am, this is an emergency. If I don't get a directive right
now, I will need to call 911. I felt warmth descending upon my
face, 100 little mouths breathing on my skin in
anticipation. Then she spoke.
Is my mom OK? She asked the sound of her
voice. If I'll take a lifeline being
caught in the middle of the ocean.
(29:35):
I opened my eyes. To my surprise, the thing was
gone. I caught just the tip of a black
tendril vanishing across the corner towards my front door.
I grabbed the phone again. Listen, this isn't Woodbrook.
I used to work with you. Something's coming for you.
The call center, it intercepts your calls.
You need to get someone to respond.
The line went dead. I stood there, useless.
(29:58):
I didn't even know her name, didn't know what she looked
like. And yet I may have just
sentenced her to a fate worse than what happened to me or
Mabel. I felt sick.
I didn't leave my apartment for weeks.
I needed time to process everything.
I'm in a better headspace now. You can thank a lot of expensive
therapy for that. I got into this job for the
(30:18):
money. I didn't care about the calls.
I told myself they were fake, but that was a lie.
The truth is, I was desperate. I don't know if I would have
taken the job if I'd known what was really going on.
Honestly, I probably. Still would have.
That's what scares me. But now I have a new purpose, a
better one. I'm going to end the call
center. I don't know how yet, but I'm
(30:39):
working on it. I owed it to Mabel and Martha.
I don't care if I go broke if I lose everything.
There are more important things and money in this life, and this
place is going to learn that thehard way.
Until then, you've been warmed. Don't accept a job from the call
center that ignores desert people, real people, scared
people being chased by a real threat.
(31:02):
I managed to make it out, but most people won't be so lucky.
Most people will be hiding in their homes, crying, pleading,
begging a bunch of corporate morons and masks to save them
from something truly evil. But if you already work in a
place like the call center, it isn't too late.
If you can help, help. Don't sit idly by and listen to
(31:22):
injustice. Don't let the corporations tell
you it's all synthetic garbage. Use your own judgment.
Be kind, be curious. You may just save someone's
life. We stopped for gas in the
Adriondack Mountains. What we saw was horrifying.
Written by Mindless Father, 3827The Adriondack Northway is a
(31:48):
stretch of Interstate 87 in New York that runs from Albany all
the way to the Canadian border in Champlin.
Its most rural sections begin after passing through Lake
George and Warren County. The road narrows, curves more
often, and exits become increasingly sparse.
Cell service is almost non existent, and driving there can
make you feel like you're slipping out of time.
(32:09):
I was 17, and I just finished myjunior year of high school,
around the same time I finally received my graduated driver's
license. In other words, no more curfew.
To celebrate, a few buddies and I decided to take a road trip to
the Adriandax, driving north formaybe an hour or so and then
turning around and heading back,just for the hell of it.
(32:30):
We'd grown up in Albany, only about an hour from the gateway
to the mountains, so it felt like the perfect mini adventure.
There were only four of us, me arising senior, Cody, another
rising senior, Tom a rising junior, and Sammy a rising
freshman we befriended a few weeks before at our high
school's welcoming orientation. While Sammy was the youngest,
(32:51):
Tom was the most impulsive of the group.
We left later than expected, around 6:30 PM.
We drove for a while, taking in the views and gradually watching
the sun dip below the horizon. Driving these roads during the
day is relatively safe, as long as you don't speed on the curvy
sections. During the night, however, it's
a completely different world. The road isn't lit at all, and
(33:12):
your only source of life besidesyour high beams are the minimal
number of cars driving around you.
It feels quite eerie, almost surreal.
We were laughing, sharing dark jokes with each other, talking
about girls we liked, sharing our disdain for AP classes,
etcetera. It was all typical team
behavior. Everything was fun and games
until the orange please refuel warning sign abruptly appeared
(33:35):
right in front of me on the small screen behind the steering
wheel. We only had 30 miles left.
Sammy checked her location and realized that by our own
carelessness, we travelled over 250 miles away from home for
nearly three hours. Tom played it off as
inconsequential as a knot began to form in my chest, while Sammy
frantically began searching Google Maps for the nearest
(33:57):
exit. Just as he was about to make a
suggestion, a sign appeared on the right advertising amenities
right off an exit 39 S in a towncalled New France.
The road connecting the towns tothe Interstate ramp was nearly
deserted, but that didn't surprise us in the slightest.
After all, we had travelled far north, well beyond where traffic
(34:17):
thins and silence settles in. We made a right turn and began
scanning the roadside for the mobile station we'd seen
advertised on the blue sign justbefore exiting the north way.
After roughly 3 miles, a small, though unmistakably present gas
station appeared on a right. It had just two pumps, but since
we're the only ones there, it hardly mattered.
(34:39):
Beside the pump stood a modest mobile Mart equipped it with a
single bathroom and a few shelves lined with the usual
assortment of unhealthy snacks you'd expect to find an average
off the highway rest stop. We were only there to get gas,
but Tom, despite having already eaten an absurd amount of
dinner, insisted on grabbing a variety of snacks sheets spotted
through the window. Without a second thought, he
(35:00):
headed inside to use the bathroom and make his purchases.
Meanwhile, we finished pumping in no time and we're finally
ready to hit the road again, bracing ourselves for the
inevitable lecture from our parents the following day.
Pacing ourselves, we all got back in the car and waited for
time to return. 5 minutes. Passed, then 10, then 15, then
(35:21):
20. Eventually, Sammy called him,
only to be greeted by the overlycheesy voicemail message
everyone knew and for some reason, loved.
Stop messing around to get back here.
He shouted into the phone beforehanging up, clearly annoyed.
We gave it. Another 10 minutes.
When there was still no sign of Tom, I finally decided to go in
and drag him out myself. The inside of the store was
(35:44):
fairly typical. Fluorescent lights humming
overhead, shelves lined with snacks and travel essentials, A
faint smell of coffee that had been sitting too long.
What wasn't settling, though, was the complete absence of a
cashier. Even at night, there's usually
at least one person behind the counter, half watching a small
TV or scrolling through their phone.
(36:04):
But here, the place was silent, empty, unmanned.
There wasn't even any music playing.
Before I could even think how toreciprocate, the lights
illuminated both the store and the gas station all shut off at
once, plunging the other boys and I all into complete
darkness. My heart began pounding as I
called Tom's name over and over again without any response.
(36:28):
I went back to the car to find my friends hyperventilating,
begging for us to leave. They claimed that right after I
had entered the store, a shadowyfigure had followed me inside
right before the power went out.Just as I was about to self
righteously assert how it would be completely wrong for us to
leave Tom alone here deserted, we then heard a low, deep but
audible growl coming behind the store.
(36:50):
Without thinking, I floored the accelerator and drove back to
where I believe the Interstate ramp was located.
However, after driving for 15 minutes straight, it was still
nowhere to be seen. I decided to pull over on the
shoulder and conduct some research on where exactly we
were. Using the one bar of service I
had left, I tried to do some quick research on where exactly
we were. Strangely, there were almost no
(37:12):
references to any place called New France this far north.
But we brushed it off, assuming the town was just too remote,
too peripheral to have much of an online footprint.
Eventually, I pulled up a travelguide for I87 and scrolled
straight to the exit list. That's when my stomach dropped.
There was no exit 39 S, There was a 39 N, even a 39 E, but no
(37:36):
mention anywhere of a 39 S or ofany town called New France.
Suddenly the air felt colder. The mountains stood too still,
and the trees, they seem to be curving ever so slightly toward
the road. Before I could react, I saw a
figure walking along the road. He was still a fair distance
(37:57):
from the car, but close enough to make out some details.
I raised my phone and zoomed in with the camera, and that's when
the horse set in. The figure was wearing Tom's
face. Not just looked like him, wore
his face, but it wasn't Tom. The gait was all wrong, stiff,
(38:18):
almost puppet like, and the figure was too tall, his limbs
moving just a bit too mechanically, like someone
mimicking a human walk without fully understanding how it
worked. Before I could react, it began
to smile. Not a friendly smile, no, this
was something else entirely. A twisted, sinister grin, The
kind you'd expect from a cartoonvillain.
(38:41):
Exaggerated, wrong, almost theatrical.
But this wasn't a cartoon. This was real.
Something that pulled straight from what Internet weirdos like
to call the uncanny valley. A bean that looked almost human,
but not quite. Just close enough to fool your
brain at first glance, and wrongenough to make your skin crawl
the moment you really saw it. Then I heard it.
(39:03):
A deafening scream, inhuman, guttural and impossibly loud
rips through the air as the thing started sprinting towards
the car. I slam my foot on the gas and
the car lurched forward, tires screeching as we speed down the
road, running straight over the Tom facade in the process.
There was a sickening thump, butI didn't dare look back.
(39:24):
Inside the car, everyone was crying, sobbing.
Really. We just wanted Tom back.
We just wanted to be home, safe in our own beds, pretending none
of this has ever happened. I kept driving, trying to focus,
try not to fall apart, until another realization hit me like
ice water. When I filled the tank earlier,
I had 340 miles of range. I was sure of it.
(39:46):
Now I was down to 90, and we'd only been driving for 30
minutes. I also realized that I
distinctly remember having left the gas station at 10:30.
The clock in my car still read that exact same time.
Now I was more desperate than ever to escape whatever we'd
fallen into. But it was no longer just about
the town, it was about the mountains themselves.
It didn't feel like we were lostanymore.
(40:09):
It felt like we'd crossed a threshold, stepped over some
invisible border, and entered into someone else's dominion.
Whatever ruled here didn't care who we were.
It only cared that we'd entered.And now it wasn't letting us go.
I'd stopped driving. The gas gauge was gradually
getting closer and closer to E. That's when we heard footsteps.
(40:30):
We turned, and Tom at the edge of the clearing.
But it wasn't Tom, not really. He was tall now, too tall.
His limbs stretched just a little too far, his shoulders
crooked like they'd been broken and never set right.
His skin looked almost like skin, but waxy and pulled tight
as his body had forgotten how tohold itself together.
(40:52):
His face. God, it wasn't Tom's face, but
wrong. The smile was too wide.
The eyes were glassy, unfocused.It was like staring at a
mannequin's approximation of someone we had once loved.
He took a step forward and then spoke.
I asked it to let you go, he said, and it said yes, but I
have to stay. He paused, his voice shaking not
(41:13):
from fear but from something deeper.
Surrender. Don't come looking for me, and
once I'm gone, leave immediatelyor it'll change his mind.
He looked at each of us, his face flickering like a warm
projection, trying to hold still.
This place was never ours to enter, and I, I'm the price for
our disrespect. He reached into his coat and
(41:35):
handed us a folded map, old, creased and slightly damp, as if
it had passed through many handsbefore his.
He didn't explain it. He didn't need to.
Somehow we understood this was our way out.
Then, without another word, Tom turned.
His movement was slow, almost mechanical, as if his body
(41:56):
didn't quite remember how to walk the way it once did.
He trotted into the woods, his frame swallowed by the trees,
and we never saw him again. We unfolded the map out of the
Dome light of the car. It showed roads none of us had
ever heard of. No ways results, no pins on
Google Maps, nothing recognizable to any GPS system.
But it was clear, intentional, marked with the path we could
(42:19):
follow. And so we did.
We followed the paper map down winding, narrow mountain roads
that didn't seem like they should exist.
Unmarked intersections, faded, trail signs cracked, asphalt
buried and leaves. We kept going, and just when it
felt like we might vanish into the trees again, we saw it.
A dark blue sign, white letters 87.
(42:43):
I didn't even think. I slammed my foot on the gas and
tore up the ramp, tires spittinggravel behind us as we surged
back onto the freeway, back intothe real world.
We got home very early in the morning.
Our parents scolded us for staying out too late, but our
car privileges thankfully still remain intact.
Nothing unusual. However, what disturbed us most
(43:03):
wasn't what happened in the woods, it was what came after.
No one questioned Tom's his appearance.
No police reports, no missing posters, no calls from worried
parents. In fact, nobody seemed to
remember. Tom at all?
Not classmates, not teachers, not even his own parents.
When we mentioned his name, theyjust blinked, confused, polite
(43:26):
and distant, like we brought up some sort of stranger.
It was as if Tom had been a race, not just from the world
but from memory itself. Like the price he paid wasn't
just his life, but the right to have ever been.
Even the photos on our phones had changed.
Group shots where his face was once clear now had empty space
(43:48):
or the edge of a jacket with no body attached.
Text threads with his name were gone.
Playlists he made disappeared. Only we remembered.
And even now I can feel those memories starting to fade, not
all at once, but like a slow leak.
Quiet. The last we ever heard from him,
or whatever took him, came a fewweeks after his.
(44:09):
All over it arrives in the mail.No return address, no postage
stamp. Just a single envelope, aged and
weather warped, as if it had taken a long, unnatural route to
reach us. Inside was one line, handwritten
in uneven ink. Stay out of our territory.
(44:31):
In All Right guys, that wraps upsome disturbing stories.
From. Reddit, I love this series.
I used to do it a ton. I kind of got burned out from
it, but I'm here and back and better than ever.
And if you'd like to see anotherReddit story video in the
future, please like the video comment down below.
Let me know if you'd like to seeanother one.
I would love to record some morefor you stories like this.
(44:54):
Yeah, it's just been a long, long time since I've last made a
Reddit story video like this, sohopefully you guys enjoy it.
Hopefully you guys have, you know, been wanting this Ice.
I've seen a lot of comments wanting this.
And yeah, coming down below whatyour favorite story was?
Mine was definitely the first one with the call center that
was crazy, creepy, crazy twist at the end.
I was not expecting it. Really interesting story I
(45:15):
enjoyed. It a lot.
Hopefully you did as well. Check out some other videos on
my channel. I'm sure you'll love the
channel. And this was Snook and we'll see
you next time. Bye.
Hey, what's up guys? And welcome back to another
Reddit Stories video. And today we're getting into
some disturbing stories from Reddit.
And it's been a long time since I've made one and you guys have
been begging for some more Reddit Stories videos.
So here I am to deliver and thank you so much for stopping
by. And today's stories are great,
super disturbing, creepy, weird,and you'll just want to stick
around. So grab a snack, grab some
(00:22):
water, hydrate, relax, or turn this on before you go to sleep.
I don't know. Whatever you do, I'm sure you'll
enjoy this and. Thank you so much for something
by Like I said, please like the video and subscribe to the
channel. It helps more than you know.
And without further ado, let's get into some disturbing stories
from Reddit. I get paid to answer phone calls
all day, but I am only allowed to listen by Mythic under score
(00:45):
Mellon. We've all heard of odd jobs
before. Quirky social media gigs,
requests from strangers on the Internet.
Sometimes legit, mostly illegal.I want to warn you about my
latest adventure. The premise is simple, but
confusing. You're paid to answer calls, but
you can only listen if you talk back.
If you say anything at all, you're done.
(01:07):
Curious, so was I, but before I jump in, I want to set the scene
for you. There's a lot of ground to
cover, but I promise it'll be worth the wait.
Let's start with the call center.
There's a certain unease in the building.
It's not the lights or the computers or the AC rumbling
through the white paneled ceiling.
It's deeper than that. A quiet, unnerving buzz.
(01:28):
The longer you are here, the easier it gets, but the feeling
never quite goes away. It just gets buried deeper and
deeper into that steel case you call your mind.
You'd be surprised how many people there are in this office.
It's quiet, but it isn't silent.Never silent.
If you sit still long enough, ifyou really listen, you can hear
(01:51):
them. The voices, the steady rhythm of
desperation. Cries, pleas, whispers and
screams. They're not loud, not loud
enough to disturb anyone, just soft enough to make your skin
crawl like a bad feeling you can't place.
They're not coming from the workers, they're pouring out of
the phones, the never ending seaof desperate callers ringing in
(02:14):
day after day. Every call is different, every
voice is different, but the words, the stories, always the
same. Please, they say.
I don't know where I am, something's outside the door, I
need help. But no one responds.
No one ever does. 2 cubes down. Martha, that's what I call her,
(02:34):
is filling out a crossword. She taps her acrylic nails
against her desk like she's typing away an invisible
keyboard. Then there's Debbie again, not
her name, but she seems like a Debbie.
She's tall, brunettes, and eating the same cheap par fat
she brings in every day. I think it's strawberry
flavored. Nobody talks here, not out loud,
not unless they still want to work here.
(02:56):
We don't wear name tags, we don't introduce ourselves, we
don't even wear our own faces. Everyone's assigned a mask.
Not the sanitary kind, not the Halloween kind either.
They're corporate, sleek, smooth, almost artistic.
I describe it as a masquerade style mask without the usual
glitter and tassels. They start just below the
forehead and stop just above themouth.
(03:18):
They say it's part of the experiment.
What experiment? Nobody really knows.
That's kind of the whole point. We're not here to understand,
we're here to follow directions.Answer the call, don't say
anything. Let them speak, let them scream,
let them beg. Just sit there with the phone,
press to your ear and listen until the line goes dead.
(03:39):
That's it, that's the job. It seems.
Cheap gimmicking. Almost like we're a part of the
latest reality TV series where cameramen are hiding in bushes
with ulterior motives. I thought the same at first, but
if there is something that doesn't lie, it's money, and
lots of it. That's why I'm here.
I'm Ariana, 19 years old, college dropout.
(04:01):
A few semesters in, then I quit.Way too much debt, too little
hope. Credit card stacked like a tower
ready to fall. I spend weeks scouring every
corner of the Internet for something, anything that could
get me back on my feet, even if just for a little while.
That's when Mabel introduced me to her profession.
Mabel was unique, almost dressed, sharp, nice car, good
(04:23):
career, Chanel bag casually tossed over her shoulder.
A very independent woman. She lived in the city, paid her
own bills, and did whatever the hell she wanted to.
She was fun, serious, and motivating all at once.
We've been friends for a while now, but she always kept me at
arm's length. Sure, we could go out and have a
nice time together, bond over past relationships and mutual
(04:43):
interests, but there was something mysterious about her.
She never really talked about her work.
I assumed it was drugs or some kind of shady side hustle.
It wasn't like to her to keep secrets.
But when she saw how down on my luck I was, she took pity,
handed me a business card, and then just as quickly told me she
never gave me that card. If anyone asked you, I didn't
(05:05):
give you that card. You don't know Mabel and Mabel
don't know you, She said sharply.
Apparently that was against the company's rules.
Nobody can know anyone else who works there.
I was confused, but curious. I called the number.
A voice answered. Cold, mysterious.
They asked me two questions. Do you break under pressure?
(05:28):
Do you know anyone else who works here?
I said no and no. That was it.
No background check, no references, didn't even ask to
see the resume. I carefully prepared for the
occasion. They gave me an address and a
time. Simple as that.
The onboarding was as just as strange as everything else.
You'd think I was signing up forsome military program or a
(05:49):
secret government project. Everyone was tight lipped.
No smiling, no small talk. The rules were simple and
unsettling #1 Arrive at the building exactly when your shift
starts. Not a minute early, not a minute
late. 2 Keep your mask on the entire time.
No exceptions. 3 Don't identify yourself.
(06:11):
Don't try to identify anyone else. 4.
Do not respond or speak to the caller on the other end of the
line. It felt odd to say the least,
but I kept telling myself it wasjust one big experiment.
They're paying for data, not forus to help anyone.
We're not really answering calls.
We're the product being fed to someone or something higher up
the chain. That is what the assessors say,
(06:33):
at least. Assessors are basically
glorified managers, people with a flashy degree and people
skills that tell you the voices aren't real, that the people on
the other end aren't people at all.
They're artificial, synthetic, part of the test and nothing
more. Simulations.
They say you're not hurting anyone.
It's about resilience, exposure therapy, mental strength.
(06:55):
Sure buddy, I don't know what they are.
I refuse to believe they are people.
It wouldn't make sense. But they don't act like
simulations either. They don't sound fake.
They sob. They.
Stutter. They beg for their kids.
They talk about the thing outside their closet, or the
eyes under their bed or monster outside their window.
You sit there. You listen.
(07:16):
You grip your pen tighter and tighter until the call drops out
or the screaming stops or there's that awful sudden
silence, like something just grabbed the person out of
existence. Then you breathe.
You clear your throat and the phone rings again.
You pick up. I've been here 8 months now.
Not long, but long enough to know the rhythm.
This job isn't about smarts or motivation.
(07:38):
It's about routine, muscle memory.
You have to build your own little rhythm.
Listening to terror all day eatsat you, breaks you down slowly.
I've seen it happen. New masks come in wide eyed and
curious and by month 2 they're breaking rules are just gone.
My routine is pretty straightforward at this point.
I get in at 6:45 AM sharp. Same elevator, same Gray carpet,
(08:00):
same cubicle by the fire exit. I don't speak to anyone.
It's safer that way. Chatter is dangerous for me and
for whoever's already picking upcalls.
At 7:00 AM, my phone activates. The light goes on.
Not a ring, never a ring, just the light.
Blue means wait, red means answer, and when it's red, you
(08:21):
answer. You don't greet them, you don't
ask questions, you just listen. And what you hear?
Well, they're always running, always hiding, always being
chased by something they can't quite describe.
A. Little boy whispering say
something is scratching at his door.
His mom won't wake up. A woman panting saying she's in
(08:42):
the stairwell. Something is coming up behind
her fast and the police aren't answering their calls anymore.
A man with a crushed voice locked in a closet.
He mutters that he hears footsteps pacing back and forth
right outside. Stopping every time he breathes.
Different voices, same panic. Some of them say they're in a
hallway or a small bedroom or under a sink.
(09:05):
Sometimes they describe this building, the call center.
They'll mention glass double doors of the color of the carpet
or the smell of coffee from a nearby break room.
Sometimes they describe the workers.
You have a mask, they'll say. Black gloves.
I know you, you can help me. Then they scream.
We're not supposed to react, noteven a twitch.
I've gotten pretty good at it. Neutral face, steady hands.
(09:28):
A woman once asked me to sing toher while something chewed its
way through her front door. I didn't, but I wanted to.
It sticks to you even after the call ends.
Especially then. We all handle it differently.
Food, puzzles, fidgeting, anything to let out the tension,
to cope. I sketch what they describe not
out of interest or enjoyment, just release.
(09:50):
Macabre, maybe, but it makes theimages leave my head a little
faster. Dark figures, tall shadows,
doorways broken and bloody, a lot of staircases.
And then, just when I start to forget, the light turns red
again. The first few days were the
hardest. But then my first check came in.
After just one month of the job.I paid off my student loans.
(10:11):
That crushing weight finally lifted.
I felt like I could breathe again.
A month later, I bought my firstcar.
Used, but reliable. Then I paid off my credit card
debt for the first time in years.
The numbers in my bank account weren't a burden I needed to
figure out. Now I live in a multi bedroom
loft right in the city, The kindof place with exposed brick
(10:31):
walls and big windows that lit in way too much sunlight.
I'm driving the car used to drool over in magazines, the one
I thought I'd never afford. The money washes away the guilt
at this point. Synthetic manufactured guilt.
Like a fresh coat of paint covering the grind beneath,
except the grime is just as processed as the paint at this
point. Maybe that was the point all
along. Just an expensive, extravagant
(10:54):
experiment. A cold corporate bet that people
will do almost anything for the right amount of cash, even if it
means listening to fake snuff calls for hours on end.
That's what I told myself. The calls were just noise,
background static to the paycheck.
Until I heard something I never expected.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was halfway through my shift,
(11:15):
my eyes drifting between the crossword puzzle.
It started yesterday in the dullglow of my screen.
I was a little hungover, my headstill fuzzy from last night's
bad decisions. Maybe that's why I was so caught
off guard. Maybe that is why I made this
horrible mistake. The phone turned red.
I picked up instinctively. My eyes still fix on the
crossword puzzle. Hello, is, is anyone there?
(11:36):
I I need help. The voice was faint, but
unmistakable. It was her Mabel.
For a split second I forgot where I was, thought maybe I'd
picked up my personal phone by mistake.
My heart started to hammer. Mabel.
I whispered before I could stop myself.
The room was quiet. Not just the usual quiet of the
(11:57):
call center, but something heavier, Thicker, like the room
was holding its breath. I felt eyes on me, dozens of
mass faces turning my direction,watching, waiting.
I felt my face go red as hot embarrassment washed over me.
I dug my head below my cubicle wall, phone still pressed in my
ear. Shit.
(12:17):
I was done. Then Mabel spoke again.
Wait, Ariana? I waited to hang up, but
something stopped me. I just didn't understand why was
Mabel on the line? I've heard hundreds of simulated
voices plead and beg for response.
I never imagined it could sound like someone you know.
I was already reaching to hang up, but she said something
(12:39):
strange, something unexpected. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.
She stambered, voice trembling with confusion.
A cold shiver crawled down my spine.
This wasn't the Mabel I knew. Then she started laughing.
Not the light friendly laugh I remembered.
A manic, broken laugh. It didn't stop.
(12:59):
I slammed the phone down. I spun around, heart racing.
And there she. Was.
A member of HR standing just at the edge of my cubicle.
Black mask, no patent hand, expression unreadable.
She motioned me to follow. No words, just a slow,
deliberate walk through her office.
I sat down in the stiff plastic chair across from her desk, my
(13:21):
mind still reeling. The call played on a loop in my
head. The voice, the laugh, the way it
sounded exactly like Mabel. I couldn't stop shaking.
You broke the. Rules.
Yes. She asked flatly, scribbling in
her notepad without looking up. Yes, but you understand this
means you are terminated from these call center, correct?
She cut me off with such finality, like it was scripted,
(13:44):
like she was reciting lines froma procedure manual.
I recognized her. I said the voice.
I thought I picked up my own phone by accident.
I thought maybe it wasn't even the made her pause.
She looked up for the first time.
Her eyes were sharp behind the mask, almost disappointed.
Or was it fear? You thought what?
(14:05):
It sounded like someone I knew, a friend of mine.
She didn't just write anything down now.
She stared at me. When he first applied to this
job, you answered 2 questions. Do you remember them?
I hesitated. My stomach turned.
They asked if I was good under pressure and if I knew anyone
who worked here. And how did you answer no?
(14:25):
I said no to both. She stared a moment longer than
slowly ripped a sheet of paper from her pad and slid it across
the desk. You are hereby terminated from
this experiment. You can collect your final check
at the location printed on the slip.
You've also been granted a severance equivalent to one
month salary. I blinked at her.
Wait, that's all? She didn't respond, just went
(14:46):
back to typing like I wasn't there anymore.
No explanation, no follow up about the call, no mention of
what I heard. Just a polite termination and a
severance bonus. I grabbed the paper without
reading it and stormed out, pastthe rows of silent masks to
employees, past the flickering overhead lights, and out into
the daylight. I was halfway to my car when I
(15:08):
realized I hadn't even removed my mask.
I didn't look back. I felt everything over the next
few days. Sadness, anger, confusion.
Like my body kept going through the motions, but my mind was
stuck on a loop. That voice on the other end of
the call, The thing that soundedlike Mabel.
I didn't know what I was supposed to believe anymore.
On the second day, I caved and called her straight to
(15:29):
voicemail. That was weird.
We're supposed to hang out next weekend, maybe grab drinks and
vent about the call center. Mabel never ghosted me, not even
when she was sick or pissed or going through it.
Something was off. By the third day, I decided I
needed to get out of the house, clear my head.
The address they gave me for theseverance package wasn't far, so
(15:50):
I drove out. It led me to a hotel, one of
those upscale downtown places with giant flower arrangements
and staff that were gloves. I didn't even see a front desk,
just a wall of private mailboxesnear the back.
The code they gave me worked. The lock clicked open and inside
was a check, neatly folded like it had just been printed.
(16:11):
I left and crossed the street tothe parking garage, where I left
my car. As I reached the elevator, I
paused. There was someone standing on
the sidewalk a little ways down,right outside the garage
entrance. Big blonde hair, fur coat, tall
boots. Mabel.
I stepped forward without thinking, just a few feet,
enough to get a better look, andthat's when I saw it wasn't her,
(16:34):
not really. The thing looked like Mabel, if
she'd been made from melting wax.
Too tall, limping slightly. Her skin hung off her face and
folds, sagging like old leather.Her mouth was slack, her eyes.
God. Her eyes, 2 hollow pits ringed
with tiny, sharp teeth. Her hands were worse.
(16:56):
Loose skin, twisted, fingers bent at angles that didn't make
any sense. And yet people kept walking past
her like she wasn't there. They moved around her, avoided
bumping into her like she had a presence.
She took up space, but no one looked, not directly.
They didn't see her, not really.If they did, they would have
been as terrified as I was. The elevator behind me dinged
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and the doors opened. I ran inside, slammed the closed
door button with shaking fingers.
As the doors slid shut, I heard footsteps on the concrete, slow,
deliberate, getting closer, too close.
I didn't look. I didn't want to see her again.
The elevator dropped me off a few floors up.
I got in my car and drove fast. Too fast.
(17:42):
Every red light felt like a trap.
Every time I glanced at my window, I expected to see her
there on the sidewalk, moving along in slow, rhythmic motion
like a snail wearing human skin.I called a few friends on the
way home just to hear voices. I didn't tell them what I saw.
Didn't want to sound insane, butI felt insane.
All those desperate calls I've been ignoring month after month
(18:04):
of people screaming in, crying and begging, and now it's like
the floodgates have opened. Everything's pouring in at once.
Maybe I was having a breakdown. That's what I kept telling
myself. Listening to pain and anguish
every day will do that to you. I just needed rest, some air,
maybe a little trip. I'm running now enough to
disappear for a few days, clear my head, and if I still didn't
(18:27):
feel right afterward, I'd find atherapist.
God knows I probably needed one anyway.
I took a detour from my apartment elevator to stroll
through the lobby. I wanted to grab a few snacks
from the shop beside the front desk before settling in for the
night. I needed a bottle or two of
something strong to drown out the sadness from my termination
from the call center. I was crossing the front desk
when I caught sight of somethingin the corner of my eye.
(18:49):
I turned and there was again Mabel walking toward me from the
lobby entrance. The site gave me chills, but
that feeling passed quickly. I felt steadier after the drive,
more level headed. I wasn't afraid, I was annoyed.
This wasn't real, it had to be some elaborate prank or a
figment of my imagination. Either way, it couldn't hurt me,
(19:13):
I just needed to prove it to myself.
I looked around, everyone else was just walking past.
I held my hands out, desperate. Really, nobody else has seen
this? I took a few deep breaths and
started towards it. Hey Sir, why are you following
me? I called out.
The thing didn't say anything, just kept lurching forward.
(19:33):
I socked a few feet in front of it.
The smell hit me first. Sour, rotten.
I went to the side of the bloated figure, writhing and
convulsing under its cheap makeable disguise.
Did you hear me? This isn't funny, creep.
I'm going to get security chomp a mouth.
It tore open from the thing's stomach and bit off the finger.
(19:54):
I was waving at his chest. Just like that.
Gone. I staggered back, screaming,
clutching the bloody stump wheremy finger used to be.
It kept limping forward. I screamed louder, begging for
help. No one looked.
No one even paused. I turned and bolted toward the
stairs, blood dripping behind me.
I was halfway up and I heard thestairway entrance slam open.
(20:15):
It was coming. I reached my floor and sprinted
down the hall, fumble my key outof my purse with trembling,
bloody hands. Got the door open, locked it
behind me. I back to wait until my spine
hit the wall at the other end ofthe apartment.
I pulled my phone out and started dialing 911 with my good
hand ringtone. Then silence.
No connection. I checked my service, full bars.
(20:38):
This didn't make any sense. I called friends, family, my
hair stylist, nothing. No ringtone, just silence.
I cursed and rushed to the peephole.
Nothing out there, not yet. Just a wide empty hallway.
Blood was getting everywhere. I could feel my heartbeat in my
hand from all the pain and swelling.
I stumbled into my bedroom, wrapped my finger to stop the
bleeding and popped a few painkillers.
(21:00):
Once I was taken care of, I sat at my desk and opened my laptop,
tried to get online, e-mail, social media, anything.
Blank screen, no connection. I sat down and cried.
I didn't understand what was happening.
Something was wrong. Not just with that thing in the
hallway. Not just with me.
Reality itself is broken. No one could hear me, no one
(21:21):
could reach me, no one cared. I was isolated, trapped.
Food for something that wore my friend's skin.
Maybe that was all that was leftof her.
Then it was here. I heard a few limping footsteps
outside the door, the light underneath it.
The front door was stifled by something large standing outside
it. I held my breath, waiting, but
(21:42):
nothing happened. It just sat there, doing
nothing. I grabbed the knife and waited.
It was bound to come in at some point.
But it didn't. Hours passed.
It was well into the night, and the shadow was still there.
It didn't make sense. I fumble with my phone.
I needed to get in contact with someone.
I knew it was futile, but I had to try again.
(22:02):
But then I heard something. Not from the phone, from the
door. It was Mabel.
Hey, Ariana, I'm here. I need your help.
I didn't move. I didn't speak.
It was her voice, but it soundedwet, guttural, like it was her
whispering through the mouth of a corpse.
Don't ignore me. Say anything, anything.
(22:24):
I need to know you're OK. It was monotone, no concern in
its voice. I carefully walked to my
bedroom, then a loud bang. Don't walk away from me, Ariana,
talk to me. The voice was deeper now, less
Mabel, more something else. I pushed my door closed with a
soft click and covered my ears as a barrage of loud bangs broke
(22:46):
out across the apartment. I heard them everywhere, my
door, the ceiling above the windows facing the city below.
The sound passed after an hour. My body was so tired at this
point, partially exhaustion, partially the blood loss from my
missing finger. I barricaded the door, clutched
my phone, and rested my eyes in the empty bed.
(23:08):
I slept maybe an hour or two before something woke me.
I sprang up and looked towards the bedroom door.
The shadow was under my bedroom door now, had somehow gone into
my apartment. It was standing there the same
way I had outside and now I was.Here I realized I couldn't
escape this thing. Whatever it was, it was going to
get me slowly but surely. Had no issue entering my
(23:29):
apartment. It would have no problem
breaking into my room. Maybe it was toying with me.
Maybe enjoy the chase? I felt panic wash over me.
Leave me alone, I screamed. I heard a soft laugh break out
from just outside the door. I returned to my phone, started
calling everyone in my contact list again.
Silence every time. Like the world outside my
(23:50):
apartment building just vanished.
Then I realized something. I realized the silence didn't
mean the calls were failing. They were going through every
time. No ringing, no static.
Just quiet. Someone on the other end of was
always there, always listening. It was a call center.
(24:12):
Every call I made was routed straight to the center.
I only figured it out because ofa tiny, almost imperceivable
sound, One you'd miss if you weren't desperate enough to
listen for it. A spoon scraping the bottom of a
plastic parfait cup. Debbie from work.
Debbie I sent into the phone. No response.
(24:33):
Of course not. Debbie wasn't a name, just the
one I gave her. None of us knew each other's
names. That's how they designed it.
Masks, code numbers, shift schedules.
They barely overlapped. Hey, I I know you well.
Not know you, but we work together.
Please just say something. I think you can help me.
Still nothing. And that's when it hit me.
(24:55):
They wouldn't answer. Not ever.
They couldn't. We don't speak, not to them.
It didn't matter what I said, how much I begged and cried, and
how could I really blame her? I ignored hundreds of calls just
like this. That is when I broke.
I started laughing. Loud, cracked, borderline
hysterical. The same kind of laugh I heard
(25:17):
from Mabel that day. She realized the truth.
That she was calling the same people that she sat next to
every day. That none of us said a word.
Not when it mattered. It was real, all of it.
Real people. Real demons.
God, those poor people. Men, women and children.
The poor children. The creature outside went quiet
(25:39):
during my breakdown. Maybe it enjoyed my pain.
Maybe it was hoping I'd walk outstill broken right into its
jaws. Once the laughter died and I
steadied my breathing, I felt a strange mental clarity.
Could have been the painkillers or sleep deprivation.
Either way, I had an idea. If they responded, the creature
(26:01):
moves on. How's my theory?
I never got confirmation from Mabel, but she had tried it.
She screamed into the phone until someone broke the rules
and the thing left her alone. At least that was the hope I
needed to get someone to answer,to break the rules like Mabel
did. Like I did.
I racked my brain for anything Iknew about the people I worked
with. Something, anything that could
(26:22):
crack their armor. Then it hit me.
Martha. She was always working during my
shift, the one with the crossword puzzles and clacking
acrylics. The only reason she came to mind
was because I knew something about her I shouldn't.
We do our best to hide our identities, but every now and
then something slips out. A phrase, the flash of a text on
(26:42):
your personal phone, the hint ofa tattoo.
Her mistake was much more telling and easy to forget.
One day I saw a brochure sticking out of her purse
assisted living facility. I recognize the name.
My mom had looked into it for mygrandfather once.
Nice place, private rooms, big windows, expensive.
(27:03):
Probably why Martha took the job.
I grabbed the phone, started dialing random numbers.
Cold calling the call center over and over.
Same silent line, same hollow wait.
I listened for her. I waited for the familiar tap of
nails on the cheap plastic desk.Fast, plasticky little clicks.
(27:23):
Call, hang up, call, hang up. Nothing.
Was Martha even on rotation today?
I started to feel hopeless. Outside the room, the door
handle started to twitch, a softrattle, like someone trying to
figure out the lock. It'd be in here soon.
Then I heard it. The clacking of nails.
(27:45):
I prep the script in my mind. I had one chance.
Hello. I said in the calmest voice I
can imagine. No answer.
I take another shaky breath before continuing.
I'm calling because your family member at Woodbrooks is in the
middle of a situation here. I hoped this was the right
angle. During my time working there,
(28:07):
every call was frantic, desperate, just like me.
But it couldn't show it. Not if I expected this to work.
Nobody at the call center would expect someone so calm and
collected. The clacking stopped.
I had her attention now, I needed to drive it home.
Sorry to call this line. Someone at the call center said
(28:27):
it was your work line. I just need to confirm some
information. Let's start with your first
name. I bit my tongue as the door
began to unlock. It creaked open slowly.
The barricade of furniture slid across this floor like it was a
pile of empty boxes. I put my hand over my mouth to
stifle a scream. What stood there wasn't wearing
Mabel skin anymore. That was gone, sloughed off like
(28:50):
wet clothing. What remained was something raw,
a bundle of dark flesh, tentacles and mouths writhing in
slow deliver motion. Snapping, smacking, clicking
wetly against each other. They turned toward me slowly,
the bundle of wiry flesh rise towards me in unison.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep my voice level.
(29:13):
Ma'am, this is an emergency. If I don't get a directive right
now, I will need to call 911. I felt warmth descending upon my
face, 100 little mouths breathing on my skin in
anticipation. Then she spoke.
Is my mom OK? She asked the sound of her
voice. If I'll take a lifeline being
caught in the middle of the ocean.
(29:35):
I opened my eyes. To my surprise, the thing was
gone. I caught just the tip of a black
tendril vanishing across the corner towards my front door.
I grabbed the phone again. Listen, this isn't Woodbrook.
I used to work with you. Something's coming for you.
The call center, it intercepts your calls.
You need to get someone to respond.
The line went dead. I stood there, useless.
(29:58):
I didn't even know her name, didn't know what she looked
like. And yet I may have just
sentenced her to a fate worse than what happened to me or
Mabel. I felt sick.
I didn't leave my apartment for weeks.
I needed time to process everything.
I'm in a better headspace now. You can thank a lot of expensive
therapy for that. I got into this job for the
(30:18):
money. I didn't care about the calls.
I told myself they were fake, but that was a lie.
The truth is, I was desperate. I don't know if I would have
taken the job if I'd known what was really going on.
Honestly, I probably. Still would have.
That's what scares me. But now I have a new purpose, a
better one. I'm going to end the call
center. I don't know how yet, but I'm
(30:39):
working on it. I owed it to Mabel and Martha.
I don't care if I go broke if I lose everything.
There are more important things and money in this life, and this
place is going to learn that thehard way.
Until then, you've been warmed. Don't accept a job from the call
center that ignores desert people, real people, scared
people being chased by a real threat.
(31:02):
I managed to make it out, but most people won't be so lucky.
Most people will be hiding in their homes, crying, pleading,
begging a bunch of corporate morons and masks to save them
from something truly evil. But if you already work in a
place like the call center, it isn't too late.
If you can help, help. Don't sit idly by and listen to
(31:22):
injustice. Don't let the corporations tell
you it's all synthetic garbage. Use your own judgment.
Be kind, be curious. You may just save someone's
life. We stopped for gas in the
Adriondack Mountains. What we saw was horrifying.
Written by Mindless Father, 3827The Adriondack Northway is a
(31:48):
stretch of Interstate 87 in New York that runs from Albany all
the way to the Canadian border in Champlin.
Its most rural sections begin after passing through Lake
George and Warren County. The road narrows, curves more
often, and exits become increasingly sparse.
Cell service is almost non existent, and driving there can
make you feel like you're slipping out of time.
(32:09):
I was 17, and I just finished myjunior year of high school,
around the same time I finally received my graduated driver's
license. In other words, no more curfew.
To celebrate, a few buddies and I decided to take a road trip to
the Adriandax, driving north formaybe an hour or so and then
turning around and heading back,just for the hell of it.
(32:30):
We'd grown up in Albany, only about an hour from the gateway
to the mountains, so it felt like the perfect mini adventure.
There were only four of us, me arising senior, Cody, another
rising senior, Tom a rising junior, and Sammy a rising
freshman we befriended a few weeks before at our high
school's welcoming orientation. While Sammy was the youngest,
(32:51):
Tom was the most impulsive of the group.
We left later than expected, around 6:30 PM.
We drove for a while, taking in the views and gradually watching
the sun dip below the horizon. Driving these roads during the
day is relatively safe, as long as you don't speed on the curvy
sections. During the night, however, it's
a completely different world. The road isn't lit at all, and
(33:12):
your only source of life besidesyour high beams are the minimal
number of cars driving around you.
It feels quite eerie, almost surreal.
We were laughing, sharing dark jokes with each other, talking
about girls we liked, sharing our disdain for AP classes,
etcetera. It was all typical team
behavior. Everything was fun and games
until the orange please refuel warning sign abruptly appeared
(33:35):
right in front of me on the small screen behind the steering
wheel. We only had 30 miles left.
Sammy checked her location and realized that by our own
carelessness, we travelled over 250 miles away from home for
nearly three hours. Tom played it off as
inconsequential as a knot began to form in my chest, while Sammy
frantically began searching Google Maps for the nearest
(33:57):
exit. Just as he was about to make a
suggestion, a sign appeared on the right advertising amenities
right off an exit 39 S in a towncalled New France.
The road connecting the towns tothe Interstate ramp was nearly
deserted, but that didn't surprise us in the slightest.
After all, we had travelled far north, well beyond where traffic
(34:17):
thins and silence settles in. We made a right turn and began
scanning the roadside for the mobile station we'd seen
advertised on the blue sign justbefore exiting the north way.
After roughly 3 miles, a small, though unmistakably present gas
station appeared on a right. It had just two pumps, but since
we're the only ones there, it hardly mattered.
(34:39):
Beside the pump stood a modest mobile Mart equipped it with a
single bathroom and a few shelves lined with the usual
assortment of unhealthy snacks you'd expect to find an average
off the highway rest stop. We were only there to get gas,
but Tom, despite having already eaten an absurd amount of
dinner, insisted on grabbing a variety of snacks sheets spotted
through the window. Without a second thought, he
(35:00):
headed inside to use the bathroom and make his purchases.
Meanwhile, we finished pumping in no time and we're finally
ready to hit the road again, bracing ourselves for the
inevitable lecture from our parents the following day.
Pacing ourselves, we all got back in the car and waited for
time to return. 5 minutes. Passed, then 10, then 15, then
(35:21):
20. Eventually, Sammy called him,
only to be greeted by the overlycheesy voicemail message
everyone knew and for some reason, loved.
Stop messing around to get back here.
He shouted into the phone beforehanging up, clearly annoyed.
We gave it. Another 10 minutes.
When there was still no sign of Tom, I finally decided to go in
and drag him out myself. The inside of the store was
(35:44):
fairly typical. Fluorescent lights humming
overhead, shelves lined with snacks and travel essentials, A
faint smell of coffee that had been sitting too long.
What wasn't settling, though, was the complete absence of a
cashier. Even at night, there's usually
at least one person behind the counter, half watching a small
TV or scrolling through their phone.
(36:04):
But here, the place was silent, empty, unmanned.
There wasn't even any music playing.
Before I could even think how toreciprocate, the lights
illuminated both the store and the gas station all shut off at
once, plunging the other boys and I all into complete
darkness. My heart began pounding as I
called Tom's name over and over again without any response.
(36:28):
I went back to the car to find my friends hyperventilating,
begging for us to leave. They claimed that right after I
had entered the store, a shadowyfigure had followed me inside
right before the power went out.Just as I was about to self
righteously assert how it would be completely wrong for us to
leave Tom alone here deserted, we then heard a low, deep but
audible growl coming behind the store.
(36:50):
Without thinking, I floored the accelerator and drove back to
where I believe the Interstate ramp was located.
However, after driving for 15 minutes straight, it was still
nowhere to be seen. I decided to pull over on the
shoulder and conduct some research on where exactly we
were. Using the one bar of service I
had left, I tried to do some quick research on where exactly
we were. Strangely, there were almost no
(37:12):
references to any place called New France this far north.
But we brushed it off, assuming the town was just too remote,
too peripheral to have much of an online footprint.
Eventually, I pulled up a travelguide for I87 and scrolled
straight to the exit list. That's when my stomach dropped.
There was no exit 39 S, There was a 39 N, even a 39 E, but no
(37:36):
mention anywhere of a 39 S or ofany town called New France.
Suddenly the air felt colder. The mountains stood too still,
and the trees, they seem to be curving ever so slightly toward
the road. Before I could react, I saw a
figure walking along the road. He was still a fair distance
(37:57):
from the car, but close enough to make out some details.
I raised my phone and zoomed in with the camera, and that's when
the horse set in. The figure was wearing Tom's
face. Not just looked like him, wore
his face, but it wasn't Tom. The gait was all wrong, stiff,
(38:18):
almost puppet like, and the figure was too tall, his limbs
moving just a bit too mechanically, like someone
mimicking a human walk without fully understanding how it
worked. Before I could react, it began
to smile. Not a friendly smile, no, this
was something else entirely. A twisted, sinister grin, The
kind you'd expect from a cartoonvillain.
(38:41):
Exaggerated, wrong, almost theatrical.
But this wasn't a cartoon. This was real.
Something that pulled straight from what Internet weirdos like
to call the uncanny valley. A bean that looked almost human,
but not quite. Just close enough to fool your
brain at first glance, and wrongenough to make your skin crawl
the moment you really saw it. Then I heard it.
(39:03):
A deafening scream, inhuman, guttural and impossibly loud
rips through the air as the thing started sprinting towards
the car. I slam my foot on the gas and
the car lurched forward, tires screeching as we speed down the
road, running straight over the Tom facade in the process.
There was a sickening thump, butI didn't dare look back.
(39:24):
Inside the car, everyone was crying, sobbing.
Really. We just wanted Tom back.
We just wanted to be home, safe in our own beds, pretending none
of this has ever happened. I kept driving, trying to focus,
try not to fall apart, until another realization hit me like
ice water. When I filled the tank earlier,
I had 340 miles of range. I was sure of it.
(39:46):
Now I was down to 90, and we'd only been driving for 30
minutes. I also realized that I
distinctly remember having left the gas station at 10:30.
The clock in my car still read that exact same time.
Now I was more desperate than ever to escape whatever we'd
fallen into. But it was no longer just about
the town, it was about the mountains themselves.
It didn't feel like we were lostanymore.
(40:09):
It felt like we'd crossed a threshold, stepped over some
invisible border, and entered into someone else's dominion.
Whatever ruled here didn't care who we were.
It only cared that we'd entered.And now it wasn't letting us go.
I'd stopped driving. The gas gauge was gradually
getting closer and closer to E. That's when we heard footsteps.
(40:30):
We turned, and Tom at the edge of the clearing.
But it wasn't Tom, not really. He was tall now, too tall.
His limbs stretched just a little too far, his shoulders
crooked like they'd been broken and never set right.
His skin looked almost like skin, but waxy and pulled tight
as his body had forgotten how tohold itself together.
(40:52):
His face. God, it wasn't Tom's face, but
wrong. The smile was too wide.
The eyes were glassy, unfocused.It was like staring at a
mannequin's approximation of someone we had once loved.
He took a step forward and then spoke.
I asked it to let you go, he said, and it said yes, but I
have to stay. He paused, his voice shaking not
(41:13):
from fear but from something deeper.
Surrender. Don't come looking for me, and
once I'm gone, leave immediatelyor it'll change his mind.
He looked at each of us, his face flickering like a warm
projection, trying to hold still.
This place was never ours to enter, and I, I'm the price for
our disrespect. He reached into his coat and
(41:35):
handed us a folded map, old, creased and slightly damp, as if
it had passed through many handsbefore his.
He didn't explain it. He didn't need to.
Somehow we understood this was our way out.
Then, without another word, Tom turned.
His movement was slow, almost mechanical, as if his body
(41:56):
didn't quite remember how to walk the way it once did.
He trotted into the woods, his frame swallowed by the trees,
and we never saw him again. We unfolded the map out of the
Dome light of the car. It showed roads none of us had
ever heard of. No ways results, no pins on
Google Maps, nothing recognizable to any GPS system.
But it was clear, intentional, marked with the path we could
(42:19):
follow. And so we did.
We followed the paper map down winding, narrow mountain roads
that didn't seem like they should exist.
Unmarked intersections, faded, trail signs cracked, asphalt
buried and leaves. We kept going, and just when it
felt like we might vanish into the trees again, we saw it.
A dark blue sign, white letters 87.
(42:43):
I didn't even think. I slammed my foot on the gas and
tore up the ramp, tires spittinggravel behind us as we surged
back onto the freeway, back intothe real world.
We got home very early in the morning.
Our parents scolded us for staying out too late, but our
car privileges thankfully still remain intact.
Nothing unusual. However, what disturbed us most
(43:03):
wasn't what happened in the woods, it was what came after.
No one questioned Tom's his appearance.
No police reports, no missing posters, no calls from worried
parents. In fact, nobody seemed to
remember. Tom at all?
Not classmates, not teachers, not even his own parents.
When we mentioned his name, theyjust blinked, confused, polite
(43:26):
and distant, like we brought up some sort of stranger.
It was as if Tom had been a race, not just from the world
but from memory itself. Like the price he paid wasn't
just his life, but the right to have ever been.
Even the photos on our phones had changed.
Group shots where his face was once clear now had empty space
(43:48):
or the edge of a jacket with no body attached.
Text threads with his name were gone.
Playlists he made disappeared. Only we remembered.
And even now I can feel those memories starting to fade, not
all at once, but like a slow leak.
Quiet. The last we ever heard from him,
or whatever took him, came a fewweeks after his.
(44:09):
All over it arrives in the mail.No return address, no postage
stamp. Just a single envelope, aged and
weather warped, as if it had taken a long, unnatural route to
reach us. Inside was one line, handwritten
in uneven ink. Stay out of our territory.
(44:31):
In All Right guys, that wraps upsome disturbing stories.
From. Reddit, I love this series.
I used to do it a ton. I kind of got burned out from
it, but I'm here and back and better than ever.
And if you'd like to see anotherReddit story video in the
future, please like the video comment down below.
Let me know if you'd like to seeanother one.
I would love to record some morefor you stories like this.
(44:54):
Yeah, it's just been a long, long time since I've last made a
Reddit story video like this, sohopefully you guys enjoy it.
Hopefully you guys have, you know, been wanting this Ice.
I've seen a lot of comments wanting this.
And yeah, coming down below whatyour favorite story was?
Mine was definitely the first one with the call center that
was crazy, creepy, crazy twist at the end.
I was not expecting it. Really interesting story I
(45:15):
enjoyed. It a lot.
Hopefully you did as well. Check out some other videos on
my channel. I'm sure you'll love the
channel. And this was Snook and we'll see
you next time. Bye.
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