As a young radio DJ back in the 80’s I was beyond thrilled when I landed my first job at a local station. But my excitement quickly turned to dread when I was assigned to the night shift. It wasn’t just the strange hours that unnerved me; it was the stories I heard from my coworkers.
They spoke of a mysterious caller who had been plaguing the station for years. No one knew who the caller was or what they wanted, but their calls were always unsettling. The equipment in the studio would malfunction, and strange whispers could be heard in the background. Some even claimed to have seen shadowy figures darting around the studio.
At first, I dismissed these stories as nothing more than urban legends. But as I settled into my new routine, strange things began to happen. The equipment would malfunction at random intervals, and I could swear I heard whispering in the background of some of the calls I received.
One night, as I was about to take a break, the phone rang. I answered it, expecting to hear a request for a song or a shout-out. But as soon as I said my usual greeting, I heard a faint buzzing on the other end of the line.
“My name is…I don’t have a name,” came the reply in a hushed tone.
The caller’s voice was distorted, almost like it wasn’t human. I tried to keep the conversation going, but the caller seemed hesitant to speak. Every time I asked a question, there was a long pause before they responded.
As the night wore on, the caller’s voice became more and more distorted. It was like they were speaking in another language. The equipment in the studio continued to malfunction, making it difficult to focus on the conversation.
And then, suddenly, the call dropped. I was relieved, but also disappointed. I had hoped to keep the conversation going and find out what was going on.
The next night, I returned to the radio station feeling even more uneasy. The strange call from the night before had stayed with me, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off.
As I settled into my seat, I noticed that the equipment was still malfunctioning. The soundboard emitted a low, continuous hum, and the microphone crackled even when it was turned off.
Despite the technical difficulties, I tried to stay focused and professional. But as the night wore on, I felt increasingly on edge.
And then, just as I was about to take a break, the phone rang.
I hesitated before picking up the phone. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face that strange caller again. But something compelled me to answer.
“Good evening, you’re on the air with me. What’s your name?”
This time, there was no pause. The caller spoke immediately, their voice low and menacing.
“You should have listened to me. You should have stopped playing my music.”
My heart sank. I had never played any music that wasn’t part of the station’s playlist. But before I could respond, the caller spoke again.
“You don’t know who I am, do you? I used to be a musician. I had a band, and we played all over town. But then something happened. I can’t explain it, but everything changed. The music…it wasn’t mine anymore. It was like something else was playing through me. And then people started getting hurt. I had to stop. I had to destroy all of our recordings. But one survived. One recording that I couldn’t bring myself to destroy. And I heard it on your station. You played it, and now you have to pay.”
My blood ran cold as I listened to the caller’s words. I could feel the weight of their words settling on me, like a thick fog that wouldn’t lift. The caller’s voice had an otherworldly quality to it, like it wasn’t coming from a human at all. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I realized then that the caller was not just a voice on the other end of the line, but something much more sinister. A dark presence that had haunted the station for years, waiting for someone like me to play that one surviving recording.
I knew that I had to get out of there, but the door was stuck. I tried to force it open with all my might, but it wouldn’t budge. I was trapped, alone with the shadowy figure and his haunting melody.
As he played his guitar, the room began to spin. I felt like I was being pulled into a vortex, into a dark and twisted realm beyond my comprehension. And then, suddenly, it stopped.
The man disappeared, leaving me alone in the station once more. I was trembling, my mind racing with the knowledge that something evil had been unleashed that night.
I managed to escape and never returned to the station again. But the memories of that night continue to haunt me to this day. I know that the man with the guitar is still out there, waiting for someone to play his music and summon him once more.
I warn you, dear reader, if you ever hear a strange recording on the radio, turn it off. Don’t play it, don’t listen to it. For if you do, you may unleash a darkness beyond your wildest nightmares, and it may be the last thing you ever do.
Credit: J L Grimwood
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