CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I volunteer on a crisis hotline. This is the caller that made me quit" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 15, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Conscious_Ant_5900: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...​Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...​iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...​CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Josh Leichliter: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/xz...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I volunteer in a crisis hotline once a week. Most of the time, people who call the line just need someone to hear them, someone to sit in the darkness with them, so they know that they aren't alone in their suffering. We get calls from all types of people. Distressed teens, drug addicts, people fighting with mental illnesses, elderly folks who have no one left to share their final days with, third-party callers who know someone who is displaying suicidal behavior.

Many of these calls are silent, or the caller instantly hangs up. Most calls center around loneliness. People going through hardship often feel like a burden when sharing their pain with friends and family, so they keep it bottled up inside, where it festers and builds to a point where the pain is so overwhelming they would do anything to make it stop.

Our job is to listen and help them find options. It's not something I normally speak about, but I had once been on the other, side of the line here. After years of struggling with alcohol addiction and a series of very bad choices, I'd hit rock bottom and this really had been my lifeline. Calling the hotline had been the first step on a long journey that I'm still far from finishing, but after years of therapy and abstinence later, I feel that if I can be that voice

that pulls even one person out of that rut, all that might have been worth something. I remember the first time that caller unknown called me. Our caller ID usually shows the calless number, unless they intentionally block it. So, I thought, it was probably a police department or some social service representative calling. I worked the midnight to 4 a.m. shift. I am a pretty nocturnal guide to begin with, and that shift needed the most help, so I had no problem signing up for it. call volume is a lot lower during these hours, so it's usually just me and a few other counsellors

and one supervisor in the call centre during this time. Caller Unknown first contacted me at 1.27am on February 17th. I answered with my standard. Suicide Prevention Centre you're speaking with, my name, can I get your name? There was no answer for a few seconds. This is pretty standard, especially with the new callers who don't know what to say

once they've opened that door. I'm here to listen when you're ready to talk, I told the silent line, take your time. I waited for a bit longer, then heard a loud, digital static interfere with the line. The digital static stopped

and returned to the regular phone static, then cut out, leaving the line completely silent. I checked the call application to see if the call are disconnected, but the time counter continued to tick. I checked my headset to see. see if I'd muted or messed it up somehow.

The digital static returned, much louder this time. Then the call disconnected. I didn't think anything of it at the time, and went on with my shift as per usual. February 24th at 1.27 a.m., caller unknown called back. It was the same as before. A long silence, then loud digital noise, then disconnection. I wouldn't have noticed it is unusual, if not for the digital noise. I checked my call log and realised that it had come in the exact same time as last week.

I figured it could be some sort of spam bot set with the call numbers and a schedule. I messaged my supervisor about it, and he sent me a gift with the Chandler Bing from friends, shrugging in an exaggerated manner. My thoughts exactly. One week later, I'm March 3rd. things got stranger. I accepted a call from a woman, Jane Doe, going through a divorce who was suffering nightly from thoughts of suicide. Her call came in around 1.19 a.m.

And we'd just gotten through the basic risk assessment and the beginning of a story when her voice started cutting out. The digital static returned, this time even louder than before. I hate to pull the headphones away from my ears. The clock read 1.27am. The digital noise stopped and the line went dead, just like before. Then the normal phone static returned. Are you still there, Jane? I asked.

I think we got cut off there for a minute. There was no answer immediately. Then I heard a man's voice that sounded like he left the phone on the table and was speaking from many feet away. Please, help. Hello, can you hear me? I asked. You sound like you're far from the phone. Can you move any closer? Again, barely audible, far from the receiver, I heard the words. Please, help.

Are you in danger right now? I asked. If you're in need of immediate medical assistance, I need to know your location, or you need to call 911. Please. Then the line popped, and Jane's voice came back. Are you still there? She asked. Yes, Jane. I'm sorry, I heard someone else's voice.

Are you with someone right now? No, I'm alone, she said. Confused, I apologise for the technical difficulties and continued with the call. I pinged IT about the issue and they said that they didn't notice any sort of interference on their end. But we'd keep an eye up for issues. The next week, call. unknown returned. I answered and didn't say anything this time.

I waited through the introductory static, then heard the man's voice. He was closer to the phone this time. He sounded old, like his vocal cords were damaged. The words were strained and gravely, as if pushed through broken reeds. Please, help. Sir, if you want me to help you,

I need to know what's happening. Are you able to hear me? Please Help Sir, please call 911 if you need immediate medical assistance I'm going to have to end the call if we can't communicate here Along silence

Then as if he had turned speakerphone on and placed a receiver to his lips Please Blasted into my ears at full volume I threw the headset off my ears And the call disconnected Because there was no number listed, we couldn't place the caller on alert, but we noted it, and I finished my shift. My supervisor said it was probably some sort of prank caller or someone with mental illness in an obsessive cycle.

He didn't have any idea why the cause kept getting assigned to me. No one else had reported a call from caller unknown yet. On my drive home that night, the man's voice was stuck in my head, almost as if I could hear him in the the distance. It didn't feel like a prank to me. It was so much pain in that voice, physical, psychological. The tone was pure suffering, a death rattle. I imagined a frail old man crumbled on the floor of his cluttered apartment without the mental clarity to call 911. He called the one number that he had memorized. Perhaps he'd received help on the hotline before. I took some deep breaths and tried to ground myself.

it isn't healthy to take the calls home with you. I did what I could to the best of my ability, and there was nothing else I could do for call or unknown. It did stick with me, though. The thought that disturbed me the most was how much I wanted a drink to drown out that damn voice. I came down with some sort of flu the next week. By Wednesday, my fever was down,

but I still felt too exhausted to stay awake and supportive through the graveyard shift, so I called him for a substitution, and took the night off. I passed out around 10pm into a restless fever sleep and was awoken by the ringing of my phone at 1.28 a.m. I stumbled across my room to the dresser and grabbed the phone. It was set to do not disturb at night.

The only way a call could come through as if the caller dialed it multiple times. Unknown caller My thumb hovered over the again. set button, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After a minute, a voicemail appeared. I pressed

play and held the phone to my ear. Static. Loud digital noise. Silence. Then a low moan. It sounded like a feral cat at first, then wavered as he ran out of breath. He let out another loud moan

through this broken vocal cords. It crescendoed into a scream of agony. I could hear an echo across his room. Please help, please help, please help, please help. The line cut out. I know I should have kept the call for evidence or whatever, but it felt cursed. It felt like having that voice stored on my phone had tainted the device, and by holding it, I was cursed by extension.

I deleted the voicemail and powered off my phone. I laid awake in bed, head spinning. The whole thing felt like a fever. dream. And for a while, I convinced myself it was just that. I could live with a fever dream. It had been a while since I'd had a drink. But tonight, I felt like I'd earned one. Anything to get to sleep. I'd work tomorrow. I'd be useless, half sick and sleep deprived. Besides, I'd worked hard for self-control these past years. I got out of bed and walked across the street to the 7-11 and grabbed a cheap bottle of Jim Bean.

I took a few swigs on the way home, then took a couple of classes to put me to sleep. Apart from a hangover the next morning, things were fine, and I was able to move past it. A week later, however, all hopes of this being some sort of flu-induced nightmare, faded.

I returned to my shift at the call centre. I only had one real call and two hang-ups by 1.15 a.m. I turn my status than not available in our call application and told my supervisor I was going to take a quick walk. I shut off my cell phone and left it at my desk and went outside. It was chilly that night and I'd forgotten to bring a jacket. I walked along the side of the street for a while. I sat at a bus stop nearby and watched the empty night street.

A car drove by about every other minute. I always wondered where these people were driving this late on a weeknight, maybe other graveyard shifts, coming home from. from a lover's apartment, or maybe they were wondering. I'd done my fair share of that. I glanced to my watch. 1.28 a.m. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and felt the cool air fill my lungs.

I'd heard a deep bass of music coming from a black SUV down the street. Then my heart stopped. The SUV came to a stop at the light in front of me, and the deep base of the music cut it. out, interfered by that familiar static. By the time the begging came out of the car speakers, I was sprinting back to the parking lot at the call centre. Please, help, echoed behind me.

I could hear the two guys arguing and trying to retune the radio to get their music back, but I didn't care to hear any more. I jumped into my car, forgetting about the shift altogether and floored it away from the call centre, leaving my phone and bad at the phone and battery. at my desk. I made sure the radio in my car was off. I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to go back to my apartment, because I feared

I'd hear that curse voice coming through any speaker I had laying around in the cluttered mess of gadgets I kept laying around. I drove as fast as I could to the outskirts of town, just past the state line, until the roads became more wooded and the lights of civilization faded behind the hills. I pulled over at a gas station

off the interstate and filled up. Head still spinning, I grabbed another cheap bottle of whiskey to calm myself. This wasn't an issue of cheating on my sobriety. This was a medical use to maintain my damn sanity. I pulled over on a county road and dove into the bottle. I got out and stared at the stars until the whiskey made them spin, and my nerves began to cool. It was impossible.

All of it, I needed to talk with the water. to my therapist. We hadn't spoken in months. I hadn't felt the need for any more support lately, but maybe I did still need help. Maybe this was the first of many delusions, and some part of me always knew I would lose it someday. The familiar feeling of hopelessness began to creep back in, but I took another drink and cut it off. I wasn't that person anymore. I'd fought hard to climb out of that hole, and I had the tools to keep myself out now. What I needed now was to sleep and then come up with a safety plan for myself. I got back into the car and turned around, heading back home.

It was a dark county road, no one around for miles. I knew I'd be sober enough by the time I got back into areas where people would be driving. I was thinking about that when my head dipped down. Thinking about how easy it would be to slip off to sleep later and wake up with a new plan, a new direction. Then I heard that sickening thump. It bounced me a few inches out of my seat, then again as it hit the rear wheel.

I slammed on the brakes and came to a complete stop. The road behind me was illuminated red with my brake lights. At the edge of that hellish glow, the humanoid figure wriggled on the ground. I stared at my rearview mirror at the man I'd just run over. An elderly man were in a blue baseball cap

and an oversized jacket that was mostly torn from his broken body. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The light from his shattered cell phone glinted in his pupils. Then,

came the moan. That soul-shattering cry of anguish. Please, help. He spluttered through his broken trachea. My mother. mind went blank. The clock read 2.27 a.m. My foot lifted off the pedal and his body faded into the

darkness, but those two glinting eyes remained in the rearview for what seemed like miles. I don't even remember getting into bed that night, but I woke up the next morning in my apartment. An officer appeared at my door and I was certain that they knew what I had done. But it turned out to be a wellness check from the suicide prevention centre after I hadn't returned for my things. I told him I was okay, just dealing with a personal crisis. The officer didn't give me any grief and filled out a quick report. A news article came out later that day in the neighbouring county

that one of their older residents, known for taking nocturnal walks, had been killed in a hit-and-run accident. I realised that they were in different time zones, an hour behind us. I looked at the photograph of the man, alive and smiling, thought about his kids and grandkids, thought about how long he must have lay there on the road, gasping for air, begging for help. It's been a few weeks now, and it doesn't seem to matter where I am every Wednesday morning

at 1.27am. Somehow, his call for help will find me, and I know there's nothing I can do now. Maybe if I hadn't been drinking, maybe if I hadn't been so... so damn scared of that voice. If my flight instinct hadn't kicked in, I wouldn't have just left him there. I wouldn't have ever received that call from unknown caller. If I hadn't been alive. I may never understand, but all I know now is that I can't take any more of these calls. These pleas for help. It's all I hear, and no amount of booze can drown it out. I don't think... I can take it anymore.