Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - A Ham Radio Connection Across Time A Voice from 1938 Echoes Through the Static PART2 #18

Episode Date: October 10, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #hamradiomystery #timetravelencounters #1938echoes #creepyphenomena #unexplainedvoices  “A Ham Radio Connection Across Time: A Voice from 1938 Echoes Through the Static PART 2” continues the chilling story of a mysterious voice received via ham radio. The account deepens the intrigue with unexplained messages and eerie events that suggest a connection across time. Each encounter intensifies the suspense, leaving a lingering sense of fear, wonder, and the unexplainable.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, hamradiomystery, timetravelencounters, 1938echoes, creepyphenomena, unexplainedvoices, chillingtales, eerieexperiences, unexplainedevents, darkparanormal, unsettlingstories, nightmarefuel, hauntingmoments, mysteriousencounters, truehorrorstories

Horror. Jeremy leaned back in the chair, grinning like a kid who'd just been told recess was extended for the rest of the year. This is the most interesting conversation I've had in a while, he said. So I say, screw it, let's play time travelers. I hesitated. The whole thing still had that we're being messed with vibe, but Jeremy was already fired up. I could see the sparkle in his eyes, the same one he got when he convinced himself to order ghost peppers on pizza just to see what would happen. All right, I said finally, throwing my hands up, fine, let's do it. We launched into it. We told the mysterious voice about our world, about our future, at least from his point of view.

I tried to keep it simple, but how do you even explain modern tech to someone who apparently had never even heard of it? We started with airplanes, describing how you could get into a giant, metal tube and fly across entire continents in hours. He seemed impressed, but skeptical, like he was mentally checking our story against some kind of internal plausibility meter. Then came self-driving cars, which were somehow harder to explain than airplanes. Jeremy took over for that part, describing sensors and cameras and algorithms, which was hilarious because I don't think Jeremy actually understands how any of that works. He just parrots YouTube and explainers like he's an authority. From there we talked about space stations, satellites, and microchips.

Each time we mentioned something new, he would respond with a mix of broken English and Jeremy's equally broken German. The smartphone was the real challenge. How do you explain to someone that you carry a pocket-sized slab of glass and metal that can show you videos of cats, play any song you can think of, take high-definition photos, and instantly talk to someone on the other side of the world. He thinks we're making it up, Jeremy whispered after a particularly long pause, but the voice didn't accuse us of lying. He just marveled. His tone shifted to awe, especially when we talked about the moon landing. You could hear the wonder in his voice when we told him humanity had walked on another world. Jeremy, for reasons I'll never understand,

spent an unusual amount of time talking about his Vitamex blender, like this was one of the great pinnacles of human achievement. I let him run with it. All the while, the man kept repeating two words in English. Beautiful. Soul. It was kind of eerie, the way he said it, like he wasn't just talking about the inventions, but about something bigger. Eventually, I said, All right, enough about us. Your turn. Tell us about your world. Silence. A long one. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a low, almost fear. My world is very dark, bad things happening. I do not know how we will escape. The shadow. Jeremy glanced at me with raised eyebrows. He mouthed the words, this guy is a great

improviser. Then the voice spoke again. Please, my friends, I have question. It is very important. I must ask you. Sure, man, go ahead, Jeremy said into the mic. The man asked something in German. Jeremy's confident expression suddenly faltered. Before I could ask what was wrong, the radio erupted with chaos, a sharp noise like glass-shattering, followed by the man's startled gasp. Then came other voices, angry voices, shouting in German, overlapping and urgent. It sounded like a crowd had burst into the room, knocking things over, loud thuds, furniture scraping, something heavy hitting the floor.

The noise was frantic and ugly. Each sound layered over the last. And then one enormous crash, like the whole place had collapsed. Silence. I stared at Jeremy. What the hell just happened? He shook his head slowly. I don't know. Other people were there. They kept saying something over and over. Dog. Ruthless dog. He hesitated. It sounded like they smashed the place up. I twisted the tuner, scanning frantically for any trace of the voice. Nothing but static. Jeremy and I sat there for a moment, the hum of the radio filling the space between us.

Finally, I asked, what did he ask you? Jeremy didn't look at me. He just kept staring at the radio. He said, he said, can they be stopped? That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay there staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster, like they were going to magically lulling.

me into unconsciousness. My eyes grew heavy. I felt myself drifting. Then, a burst of static. I jerked upright in bed, my heart hammering. The static faded and his voice returned. He was speaking German quietly this time, almost like he didn't want anyone to hear. Something in me snapped. The frustration, the weirdness, the creeping unease, it all boiled over. I grabbed the mic and shouted, for God's sake, leave me alone. I don't care about your stupid time travel crap. Stop bothering me. The voice kept talking, like he hadn't even heard me. His tone was shaky, tired. I didn't understand the words, but I felt them. Sadness, deep and heavy. I reached for my phone, opened the voice recorder, and hit record. If Jeremy was going to translate later, I wanted it all. I sat there in the dark,

listening, the glow of my phone screen casting faint shadows on the walls. His voice carried on for several minutes. Then, abruptly, it stopped. I waited another minute to make sure nothing else was coming through. Nothing. I shut the radio off and immediately sent the audio file to Jeremy with a quick explanation. The next day at school, Jeremy found me at lunch. He didn't say anything, just handed me a folded sheet of paper and walked away. It was the translation. My friend, I do not know if you can hear me. I do not know if you could ever hear me. Or if I was imagining our encounter. But I hope you are also real. The machine is critically damaged. Perhaps with great effort, it could be repaired. I doubt I will have either the resources or the time for such a

task. I am deeply saddened that we could not speak further. There are so many questions I wanted to ask. So much more I wanted to learn about your world. But Please know that in the brief time we were able to speak, you gave a tired man a reason to continue living. I know now that the madness is coming. My country cannot be stopped. I tell my son to be strong. I tell him that our people have endured for thousands of years. I tell him that if people are strong enough to build the pyramids, we are strong enough to withstand a few cunning apes and jackboots.

But he knows I am afraid, too. They are marching forward into a nightmare that will take a terrible toll on all of us. I do not know when it will end. The only thing I can cling to is that somehow our world will lead to yours. I think of your world, and I feel something I haven't felt in many years, in emotion almost unknown to the people in my time. I feel hope. For, in a world such as yours, a world of such wondrous invention and progress, what you

could there be for war? What reason for hunger? What tolerance for injustice? I know in my heart that you have solved the problems that have plagued our species and created a world of enduring peace and unity. I do not know how such a world could spring from the darkness that is now enveloping this continent, but I hope that the future is as beautiful as you described it. I hope you have built the world that we could not. I hope you have learned from our mistakes. I hope you treat each other with the dignity and respect that is the birthright of all humanity. I hope you have forgotten the word for hate. I hope such things are defined only in history books. Goodbye, my friends. From the Shadows. Dr. Albert Bachman, Frankfurt, Germany, November 12th, 1938. I read it three

times. My brain kept telling me it was a prank, that there was no way this was some sci-fi miracle. but I still keep the radio on at night. I tell myself it's habit, or maybe that I just like the white noise. But the truth, sometimes, when I'm lying there on the edge of sleep, I think I hear him again. A faint voice, calling from far away. A voice from the shadows. Small, fragile, yet full of hope.

I sit up and listen, straining for any word, any sound. but it's always the same. Just static. Probably just my mind playing tricks. Probably the soda keeping me awake. There's always a reason to explain it away. There's also always a reason to be afraid. The end.