Creepy - Text You Later

Episode Date: July 13, 2020

This is more than a wellness check...***Written by Onetiredbat and narrated by Michelle Kane***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents. Text you later. Written by one tired bat and narrated by Michelle Kane. If you're reading this right now, I'm going to ask you to do something very important. You may not want to do it, but you. You will feel so much better when it's done. You will feel a relief that you did not know you needed.

A weight that you did not know you were carrying will fall off your shoulders. I promise. Don't allow yourself to end up in a situation like the one I am in now. I have never been so terrified, so miserable, ever before. My hands are shaking as I type this. The monitor is blurry from the tears. Please, I am begging you, go into your contacts on your cell phone, call every single person you love, and if they don't answer, tell them to call you back as soon as they can. Don't skip a single one. Make it clear that you need to hear their voice.

Do not text them and assume they are fine. Statistically, yes, they are probably going on with their lives and they will only find your out-of-the-blue call to be an amusing but unnecessary wellness check. For your sake, I hope that's all that happens. It's weird, you know, how much we rely on our phones to tell us that our loved ones are okay? How satisfied we feel when we get a text message or a response to our comment on Instagram.

The thought that it could be anyone else on the other end of that phone typing away never goes through our heads. It certainly never went through mine, millennial, that I am. The boomers joke. We were born with phones in our hands, and we turn our noses up at their criticism. But they have a point. Our brains are different. The way we maintain our relationships. It's different.

Different, but not better. We text our mothers a goddamn heart emoji and tell ourselves, yeah, that's enough. I'm sure she knows I love her. We get a difficult text from a significant other and have the privilege to just sit on it and ask our friends to play psychologist so they can tell us what to say. We text friends we haven't seen in months and assume that when they text back, everything the text reads is true. As I found out earlier today, that isn't always the case. My best friend and I have known each other since we were five. We went to elementary, middle, and eventually high school together,

and even as our own social circles ebbed and flowed, we always stayed close. I'm talking first-name basis with each other's parents, sleepovers, being first on the call list when something bad happened. She got her driver's license three months before I had. and she drove me everywhere to soccer practice to the diner for disco fries at 2 a.m. Home, after I got drunk with a boy, I should not have let my guard down around. My parents still don't know about that night and I don't know if I'll ever tell them. Long story short, Madison was practically my sister. My best friend.

And when she went away to college, moving halfway across the country to pursue the sorority lifestyle, I had always gently mocked her for wanting. I assumed that wouldn't change. I hoped it wouldn't. And it didn't. Not until sophomore year. I still knew her like the back of my hand for the first year of our separation. We called each other every weekend.

Video called frequently enough that the people living on my dorm floor got used to the sound of her voice and noticed when she dyed her hair. We kept each other updated on grades, guys, and hopesn sickness. Nothing felt all that different. I miss the way she smelled, but that was about it. Yeah, I know it sounds creepy. Fuck off. You all know exactly what I mean. The people that you love always smell.

a certain way, and it's comforting. It's not something you notice until you've been reunited after a long separation. It's like coming home. Unfortunately, Times Arrow marches forward, and the calls became less frequent. If she noticed this subtle change, she never voiced it to me, but by summertime, I almost felt weird about calling her up to make lunch plans. Time does this to us. If too much of it passes by, it becomes harder and harder to rekindle the flame. We doubt ourselves. We stay in stasis.

We tell ourselves that this is just how things are now. And besides, don't we have new friends that need our attention more? Why dedicate the precious hours we have left after classes in schoolwork to someone who hasn't called us? in three weeks. When your neighbor just knocked on your door with a bottle of wine and a smile on their face. By junior year, my best friend and I communicated solely through text. Don't get me wrong, when we got to texting, we got to texting. He went whole hog, gifts, strings of nonsensical emojis, novel after novel of blue bubble confessions and life updates. We'd text for so long, our thumbs would cramp up, and then we'd text each other about our thumb cramps, and

everything felt normal for a little bit. But then the last text of the conversation would be sent, and my thumbs would linger over the keyboard. Wasn't there more to say? Could I keep the conversation going longer? Was I being needy? Was I annoying her? And every time, I'd put the phone down and find something else to do. The cycle would repeat, not frequently enough for our conversations to feel meaningful, until six months ago. Keep in mind that I am now a senior. At that point, she and I had not spoken for over a year.

Sure, I'd seen her face on Instagram, and I'd automatically double-tap the picture, no matter the subject matter. But we had not spoken in 13 months. I hadn't seen her over summer break either because she had been studying abroad. I'd been annoyed that she hadn't made an effort to see me at all. The study abroad program had only been for a month. She could have given me at least an hour for coffee and a hug. So, when I got a text from her out of the blue, I was both surprised and annoyed.

Her. Hey, I miss you. Me. Yeah, you didn't miss me over the summer. I admit I was being harsh. And I probably surprised her with my attitude. She didn't seem to understand why I was upset with her. Her.

Damn, someone's feeling feisty today. Me. Girl, you blew me off all summer. Her. What do you mean? You know I was in, redacted. Me. Yeah, and you came back halfway through July.

I didn't go back to school until August, and I know for a fact that you left even later than I did. Her. What do you mean you know for a fact? Me. You posted about it on Instagram. She didn't answer me for a few hours after that. I felt justified in my anger.

But then she. texted me back and apologized. For the first time in forever, we stayed up late, updating each other on what had been going on in our lives. When she told me about the guy she'd been dating and how they'd met on her study abroad trip and hit it off, I was ready to let her off the hook. But then she dug a little deeper and told me how he seemed to change the longer they dated. He became controlling and his mood swings, turned into full-on rages. I was concerned even before she told me about the first time he hit her. At that point, I was ready to fly to her school and kick his ass,

years of childhood memories and mama-bear instinct rising up in me. She LOLed it off and told me that she'd finally managed to break up with him, and she had, in fact, done it not half an hour before she texted me. She'd been sitting in her room, crying. and needed comfort, so she naturally reached out to me. She added the naturally part on her own. I immediately felt like a shithead for being mad at her. I assured her it was fine that we were good,

and to my surprise, we ended up texting on a nearly day-to-day basis. It seemed like now that the dark cloud of her ex-boyfriend's presence had been banished, she was free to be my best friend again. She started reminiscing about all the good times we had growing up, how much she missed our hometown. It felt good to have her back. I didn't think anything was off about any of it until the anniversary. The anniversary of my assault. Remember that boy I mentioned earlier, the one I shouldn't have gotten drunk around?

Yeah. That was the worst night. of my life. I'm still in therapy because of it. Anyway, my best friend had a bit of a tradition when it came to the anniversary. She always, always texted me the morning of to see how I was doing. For years after the assault, I would have horrible, horrible nightmares of that night. And while we were still in high school, I would always call her to calm me down. As time went on, the nightmares went away, but she still checked in with me to make sure I was okay. Even last year when we didn't really speak, I'd woken up to a long, heartfelt text that assured me I could always call her if I needed on that day.

This year, no text, nothing. At first, I didn't want to worry, didn't want to come off as damaged and desperate by reaching out first. If she texted me, she had text me, I told myself. But when she texted me around noon, complaining about her subpar cafeteria lunch, I couldn't help it. Her. The food at this house sucks. I don't know why I still come here. What do they serve at your school?

Anything good? Me. Nah, L-O-L. Me. You know, I missed your text this morning. Kind of threw me off my routine, you know? Her. What text? Me.

Did you forget what today is? Her. Tuesday? I remember frowning down at the phone. Was she playing dumb? Me. Remember what happened in high school? I called you, drunk, begging you to come pick me up? There was a brief delay before she responded.

The reply I received? made my blood run cold. Her. Oh, yeah, ha ha, you were so wasted. What the fuck? I remember thinking. At the time, her response made no sense to me. That night was not the kind of night you just forgot.

And she had never been so cold about what had happened, so blaze. Was she blaming me? Was she suggesting that what had happened? happened to me was my fault? I had no idea. I didn't have an in me to respond, and she noticed my sudden detachment. She started texting me, asking what was wrong? Her, what, are you offended? Girl, get over it. We were in high school. Her, why aren't you responding? Her. Look, I'm sorry if I offended you. Didn't know you were still so hung up about it. Can you imagine? Can you imagine? Imagine, thinking that your best friend is judging you for still being hung up about being raped.

I was floored. I was furious. I wanted to call her, scream at her over the phone, and demand that she apologized. I don't know why I didn't. Instead, I did what I imagined most millennials do. I ghosted her. I shut her out. I didn't respond to a single one of her texts after that, and believe me when I say,

there were a lot. There was a lot of apologizing, a lot of desperate requests for communication. A lot of, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry texts, all of which I ignored. But you know what there never was? A phone call, a voicemail. Christmas break came up, and I was packed. I always went home for Christmas, staying with my parents so I could be pampered by my family for upwards of two weeks. She texted me again, trying a different tactic this time.

Instead of starting out with an apology, she asked me if I was going to be in town for Christmas. Her, if you won't accept my apology over the phone, will you let me apologize in person? She was asking to meet up. This would have been the first time I'd seen her in person, since the summer between our sophomore and junior years. At first, I wanted to say no. But if she wanted to apologize in person, wasn't that a sign that she was seriously sorry?

If she didn't really care, wouldn't she have been content to just let our friendship fester and die like so many do? Despite my misgivings, I agreed to meet up. But things got weird again, as soon as I tried to make actual plans. She didn't seem to want to stick to anything solid, and if I suggested one of our old haunts from back in the day, she shot me down.

The diner was out. Starbucks was lame. Even coming over to my house to hang out in the basement was out. We'd spent a good part of our childhoods in my basement. It was finished with a full bar and an entertainment system. I actually used it as my house. bedroom on Christmas visits because my parents had turned my bedroom into a storage unit. She wanted to meet up at the park for some weird reason.

We'd never hung out at the park before, ever. It was so out of character for her. When I called her out on this, she only had this to say. Me. Why in the hell would we hang out at the park in the middle of winter? Her. What? You've never boozed. it up in the park before, my friends and I do it all the time. Me, it doesn't sound fun. It sounds cold and stupid. Her, come on, I'll bring something warm and we'll shoot the shit on the swings or something. Me. Why can't we just get lunch at the diner? You were crypted now or something?

Her or something, smiley face. I never really agreed to meet up with her. but eventually she wore me down to a soft maybe. At that point, I was traveling home and too excited to see my parents to worry about it. I got home on Friday and took yesterday to just catch up on sleep and finish my Christmas shopping. Today is Sunday. Tonight is the night I was supposed to meet up with her. But I won't be doing that. Instead, I'll be at the high.

police station, giving testimony. My best friend's parents will be with me, her mother sobbing into tissue after tissue, while her father shakes with rage. Three hours ago, I decided to go straight to my friend's house to see her. I'd done it a million times after all, and knew I was always welcome there. Her parents had always loved me. I stopped by the local donut shop for a basic dozen as a piece offering, in case my showing up would be an unwelcome surprise. Three hours ago, her mother answered the door when I knocked. She looked awful. I'm not saying that to be mean. She really looked awful. Like she'd aged 20 years since I'd seen her last. She didn't seem to recognize me at first, which was strange, but then she said my name,

under her breath and she softened. She let me in, thanked me for the donuts, and immediately went to go make me a cup of coffee. I took a moment to let the familiarity of the house wash over me. And when my best friend's mother came back into the living room with my coffee, I asked her where her daughter was. She gave me this look, one that I'll never forget. Excuse me? She asked.

Let me guess. she's still asleep. Once a bum, always a bum, right? To my surprise, she started to cry. I was immediately on my feet rushing to comfort her, despite not knowing the reason for her tears. She kept muttering something under her breath, repeating herself over and over again. You don't know. You don't know. You don't know. I tried to make it better, but the crying just kept getting worse. Eventually, I was able to hurt her toward the couch, and at that point I was relieved when my best friend's father appeared from upstairs. As he descended the staircase, demanding to know what was wrong, I couldn't help but notice how gray he'd gotten. When he saw me, his eyes widened, and he seemed to freeze.

She just started crying, Mr. Redacted. I don't know what I said that could have upset her. He nodded, acknowledging that he'd heard me. before gently pushing me out of the way. He knelt by his wife's side, gently shushing her as her tears fell faster and her cries turned into sobs. I looked on, helpless,

until I realized that I could just find my friend on my own. I still knew where her room was. Maybe she would be able to help her mom calm down. I excused myself, but I don't think either one of them hurt me and I took off down the hallway in the direction of my friend's room. I saw the door shut tight with no light seeping up from underneath and reached out to grasp

the knob. A hand reached out from behind me to slam the door shut just as I started to pull it open. I jumped, shocked by the sudden closeness of the body hovering over me. It was her father. He had tears in his eyes as well. He laid his hand on my shoulder and asked me, very quietly, to rejoin them in the living room. We don't go in there anymore. He said as he nodded toward the still-shut room. Why? He didn't answer me, instead, guiding me back down the hallway. Mrs. Redacted, had gotten a hold of herself by that point, but was still shaking. I could tell when she grabbed both of my hands and hers. Mr. Redacted, remained standing, arms folded. Oh, honey, my best friend's mother said. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for scaring you. You caught me off guard and I remembered that

we had never called you to tell you what happened. My stomach sank. A bad feeling crept its way at my spine. What do you mean? That's when I found out that my best friend had been murdered. Six months ago, her body had been found in her apartment. The same day, she texted me to tell me that she missed me. But she hadn't been the one texting me. No, by the time I'd gotten that text, the hey, I miss you, text, she had been dead for 40 minutes. I think I blacked out once I realized what that meant.

I don't remember leaving their house. I don't remember driving home. The next thing I knew, I was at home staring down at my phone. I was rereading the messages, looking for signs. My first innocent thought was supernatural. Could this have been a ghost? No. No, it was worse than that.

Much worse. I should have known something was wrong when my best friend didn't remember the anniversary of my rape. I should have known something was wrong when my best friend didn't want to meet up somewhere we could be seen. I texted my best friend for the last time an hour ago. I got a response ten minutes later. And now I'm begging you. all of you, to call your friends. Call your parents. If you haven't seen them in person in at least a month, call them, hear their voices, demand they send pictures, FaceTime them if you can. Make sure they're still alive.

Make sure that the person you think you're talking to is actually there. Don't assume like I did. I spent six months of my life, assuming that my best friend was still alive. Six months. And all this time, I was talking to her murderer. Me. I know Madison was murdered. Who the fuck are you and why are you doing this? Them, smiley face.

So I take it that means no perk tonight. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At CreepyPod on Twitter, Instagram. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta Wikia.com. and are protected by a creative commons license. Some rights reserved unless otherwise stated. The Bloody Disgusting Podcast Network. Home of horror queers.

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