Full Body Chills - The Text

Episode Date: October 17, 2023

A story about a text sent from a long-lost friend. Written by Cody Newton. You can read the original story and view the episode art at fullbodychillspodcast.com.Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck Brought to you by FX's American Horror Stories. Four Episode Huluween Event Streaming October 26th. Only on Hulu.

This episode was produced with audio effects in full surround sound. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hi, listeners. I'm Anthony Koons, and I have a story I want to tell you. A story about a text sent from a long-lost friend. So, gather around and listen. Close. The bed had an aggressive creak in one spot. The spot where I always shifted myself off.

It had been there at least the 15 years I'd been staying at this place. A tiny old rental home on the Oregon coast, just south of Cannon Beach. You probably know what I'm talking about. You've likely already been to it, or one like it. And if not, you will someday. Well-kempt, exposed wood, shiplap, green glass balls, thick rope decorations, and a sign that reads, Life is a Beach. I've been renting this place once a year for the last 10 years, on the anniversary of my best friend's death. It's the same spot our group used to go for years before he died. After his death, I made the decision to just come here alone. You see,

Jake and I, Jake's the dead dude, we were always the closest. And when I say he was my best friend, I mean it in the most literal sense. We were like soulmates. I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I'd taken a late evening nap and it was dark now. Like so many years before, there was this nasty storm. So I didn't bother going to the beach that day or anywhere for that matter. I really never left the house on those anniversary weekends.

I stayed inside, drank Jack Daniels, mine and Jake's favorite. I watched old videos of us in college. Me, Jake, and our group of friends went through a phase where we'd film ourselves doing damn near everything. Thank God I was smart enough to save him. This year was special, though. Not only had I spent some time getting a little extra drunk with our old friend Jack, but it was also the ten-year anniversary of Jake's death. So, this year I grabbed a bunch of old stuff that I had saved in a moving

box. One of those things was a cell phone. It was the same phone I had at the time of Jake's death. It wasn't operational anymore, but the cool thing about old phones is the text messages live on them in perpetuity, like physical photographs or ghosts. I had all the remaining texts between Jake and I on that phone. I poured myself a jack on ice, set the bottle down on the counter with a sharp clank that filled the small house for a brief fleeting moment, then walked out to the living room where the U-Haul box sat on a coffee table. The leather sofa moaned as I sat on it. I grabbed a coaster, and this one said, Heaven is closer to home by the water.

The O in home was a seashell. My favorite coaster said, Home sweet beach. I'd probably left that one back in the kitchen. The inside of the box was like a tiny world in and of itself. A different area in the universe that I once knew so well and no longer could visit. It was all Jake. Luckily, I was smart enough to bring the old phone charger.

The battery on the phone was as dead as Jake by this time. So, I shifted my ass over the edge of the sofa to reach the outlet and plug the old phone in. Waves crashed on the beach and rain belted the windows on the west side of the old house. I listened to the wild weather outside while the phone slowly groaned to life. The phone was a time capsule, no doubt. There's a lot to explore, but with the Jack I had just poured working its magic, my buzz from before the nap had come back with a quick and authoritative conviction. I opened the messages and froze. I looked at my big glass at Jack, he was usually to blame, then back at my phone.

You see, mine and Jake's last conversation used to be down the line quite a way. After Jake died, I got a lot of texts from friends and family telling me how much they loved me. But now, now it was right at the top. I clicked it open. The rain crashed against the window. My entire world shifted for a fast and aggressive moment. What was I looking at? There was a new message from Jake. My heart began to race. Quickly, I stood, grabbing my drink.

I took a long, hard pull, then stopped, realizing Jack might be part of the Jake problem I'm now having on my phone. For no explainable reason, maybe to distract myself, I walked toward that cabinet that all rentals have with all the games. My drink in one hand, the other hand shaking as if something were stuck to it. I opened the cabinet and pulled out a tattered old Clue board game and slapped it on the table nearby. My breathing was heavy as I ran my hand through my hair. I could taste sweat on my palm as I wiped my face with it. Then I went back to the sofa. The phone seemed heavier than normal, but I clicked the once-old text thread between Jake and I. He texted me after he was dead. I read it. Hey man, it's been about 10 years now. I know you can't read this, but I just had to say something. You have no idea how much I miss you. Well, maybe you do, but I miss you a lot. I love you, brother.

My mic was twitching like crazy. I couldn't focus. Was this even real? How did he... I had to text back, right? So I did. Jake? The gravity around my hand pulled harder than I can explain. But I hit send. Instantly I shot up. Once again running my hand down my face, sweating now. Fuck. No, this isn't happening. He won't reply.

I paced. And paced. Then the phone lit up. I ran over to it. A text had come through. It was from Jake. Don't fuck with me. This used to be my best friend's old phone number.

Who is this? Just like him to go on the attack first. Guess I just have to lean into this. There is something that can prove he's real. How do I know this is Jake? I typed. You first. Eight years old, on my trampoline.

A girl I told you I'd marry someday. Who was she? The phone showed no activity for some seconds. Then. Adriana Lima. Dead on. But I wanted more. Okay. I typed.

But what about you? We were 22, drinking a bottle of Jack at our apartment table. I asked you what you were most afraid of. What did you say? Another pause. Having kids. My heart raced again. I took a drink of Jack. What the fuck was happening?

Then the phone chimed again. I told you I wanted kids, but I was scared. My dad was such an angry man, and I'm an angry dude. I told you I was terrified that I'd be bad to my kids. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I don't know how, but I was texting my best friend. Jake, I texted. Dude, what the fuck? I don't know. When I texted you, I really didn't think this would work. I just needed to say something. I have so many questions. Like, what is it like where you are? Really, I could have asked any number of things, anything to keep this conversation with a dead man alive. But there were only two things I needed to know. Was Jake okay? And could he forgive me? Honestly, not that exciting.

I'm actually down in the south now. I'm married. That line, down in the south now, did that mean what I thought it meant? Regardless, I was happy to hear he's married. I responded, I didn't know you could get married down there. They let you get married anywhere, smartass.

I still couldn't believe what was happening. When he died, nothing was the same without him. But now, here I am, texting him. What about you? He asked. I looked around. I spend a lot of time at that beach house, man. Well, at least once a year.

I swear it still smells like your cheap body spray. Took a while for him to respond, and my heart began to race. I couldn't lose contact now, but then his message came through. I miss that place. I miss being there with you. Dude, you have no fucking idea how much I miss you. This is insane that we're texting like this. I'm right there with you. I miss you too. I typed. The wind, rougher than usual, picked up and blasted the west side windows.

I waited for a response. I re-read our old texts. Every year. The last ones we sent to each other. Jake and I were always alike. Even in death, it seems. God, I wish you could be here. What does your world look like? I was afraid of what he'd say.

I never really considered what heaven or hell might look like, but... I'd only hoped whatever Jake got was good. He deserved good. He deserved good. He typed back. Same as ours, when you were around. Just a little updated, I guess. Is that really all it is? Just the world we left, copied over? I guess in some ways that isn't too bad. I wondered if that meant everyone was there, or if they shared that world together. So I asked him, are the others there? Like, anyone else we lost? There was a longer than usual pause. The ice in my drink had mostly melted and the condensation left a small island of water around my glass. Uh, I'm not totally sure what you're talking about, man.

He sent that text, but quickly following it came one more. Do you remember the end? The last time we were together? I, I did remember. I do do The car accident Yeah I was driving And I'll never forgive myself I took another drink of my Jack This part of the story was always hard to tell But I had to tell it

We were headed to our buddy's house that night And there was that 30 mile per hour corner But I had to tell him. We were headed to our buddy's house that night. And there was that 30 mile per hour corner. And I totally missed it. We shot across the road and hit that tree. Paramedics saved me, but that's where you died. I felt my muscles fight as I typed each word, but it needed to be said. Actually, I needed to add more. I am so fucking sorry. I'm sorry for everything.

I took another drink of my Jack, terrified of what he'd say. Did he resent me for what I did to him? Did he forgive me? The text thread showed three dots. Then they went away. Three more showed up, then gone. And again, I took another drink. Had I said something wrong?

Finally, a text came through, and the light from the screen lit up my face. I'm not sure how I felt, but I felt all of it. Took one last smooth sip of Jack and set the phone down. As much as I wanted to text him back,

I realized I didn't need to. I finally saw it. The details were so vivid, like I could hear them playing in real time. The rain, the wind, the crash, and the tree. The tree that missed Jake. I closed my eyes, and his last message played in my head. Daniel, I don't know what to say.

I didn't die in the accident that night. You did. I wanted to leave this small house I'd been in, but that storm outside. How long had it been going on? When was the last time I was actually outside? Outside this place where I felt closest to the person I loved most. I pulled the plug from my phone.

And decided maybe I'd sleep a while longer. This episode was written by Cody Newton and read by Anthony Koons. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original and full on our website. So what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?