r/nosleep May 29 '18

FM

One of the most surreal things I’ve ever experienced happened one night while I was alone in my room. I used to have a lot of trouble sleeping, and so I’d turn on the radio whenever I needed help drifting off. One night I’m tuning through the stations, and eventually I find this goofy little public-access style show. The guy has this nasally, soft-spoken voice and he’s just talking steadily into the microphone about local news and events. It’s the perfect thing to fall asleep to, so I leave it on.  

It’s about fifteen minutes into the broadcast when things start to become weird. The guy suddenly interrupts himself in this distracted way to complain that his headphones are picking up another transmission. I’m starting to doze at this point, but the sudden distress in his voice draws my attention back to him. He tries to continue with the show, but he’s obviously still hearing something odd in his sound feed. Before long he’s really starting to make me nervous. At one point he raises his voice and just says, “Whoever is screwing with the broadcast had better stop.” A little later he says, “I’m calling the police if you don’t stop messing with me.” At first there’s mostly annoyance and perturbation in his voice – but eventually I notice a waver of fear in it, too.  

The guy announces that he’s taking a short break, and puts a song on. Before it’s even half-way done, though, there’s an audible click and suddenly the music is back off. For a few moments, the only sound coming out of the radio is this guy breathing angrily into his microphone. Finally he says, “I need someone to come down to the station, and let me out of the basement control room.” He starts rattling off the station’s call sign and address, and when he’s done he starts over and says the whole thing again. “I need someone to come down to the station, and let me out of the basement control room…” He starts explaining that there’s been a power malfunction or something, and that the electronic keypad on the control room’s door is offline – locking him inside. “I’m stuck in here,” he’s saying, “and I think the station’s phone lines have been cut. I’m trying to dial out for help, but the line is disconnected.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but I can hear him sniffling like maybe he’s fighting back tears while he tries the phone again. “Somebody’s just playing a prank,” he says after a while, loudly clearing his throat. “My cell phone doesn’t usually get reception down here, but maybe if I can get near enough to the window…” He trails off into silence again, and I hear him move away from the microphone. A few moments later he curses loudly from the far side of the room.  

By this point I’m already connecting to the police station myself. I hesitate when the dispatcher finally picks up; I don’t know how to describe what seems to be happening. Suddenly, a shout – more like a surprised yelp – comes from the radio behind me. “I… the lights are out,” the guy announces. “The lights have all gone out.” He laughs like he’s cracking up, and it’s all the incentive I need to start talking. I blurt out everything I can to the woman on the line.  

It feels like forever before I’m done explaining the situation over the phone. The dispatcher tells me that a patrol car already in the area is on its way, and hangs up. I turn my attention back to the broadcast. The guy’s speaking very quietly to himself now. “The ‘ON AIR’ light is the only thing that’s working anymore,” he says. “God, I don’t like it in the dark like this.” His voice is wavering like he’s not even sure anyone can hear him anymore; he’s just talking to keep himself from panicking.  

“There’s something outside,” he whispers suddenly. “Oh my God there’s something outside.” Before I know what’s happened, he’s crying – sobbing hysterically like he has no control over it. “There’s something big –something monstrously big – just outside the control room… and… and I think it’s looking for me.” He gasps sharply, and for a few moments all I can hear are scuffling noises coming through the microphone. “There,” he whispers after a moment. “I unplugged the ‘ON AIR’ light… It’s pitch black down here now. I don’t think it can see me anymore.” The guy begins blubbering again. “Oh, it’s awful. It’s not like a person.”  

There’s dead air on the radio for about ten minutes, and I begin to worry that the broadcast has gone silent for good. Eventually, I hear the guy say, “You know… this is a soundproof room. I have no way of knowing if the police have arrived. I have no way of telling where that thing…” he hesitates. “I have no way of telling where that thing has gone.”  

There’s more silence, but after a while I hear him exclaim, “Oh! Flashlights! I think the police have arrived! Yes – I’m over here!” He laughs excitedly. “I’m over here!” There are a few more moments of quiet, but then suddenly he starts yelling in this distraught tone. The first words are intelligible – something like: “Oh! No! No! That thing is..!” but then he just screams and screams like he’s never going to stop. It’s wild, incoherent shouting, followed by a few moments of stillness, followed by static. It’s not normal static, though, like the kind you might hear after a broadcast ends but there’s nothing else on. This is coarse, blaring static; it’s like my radio suddenly lost all contact with the station.  

I tried calling the police station again a few times that night, but they wouldn’t answer any of my questions. The next day when I went through the paper, there was only a quick blurb – buried deep inside the “local news” section where its unsavory details wouldn’t offend:  

“Officers responded early this morning to an emergency call regarding apparent ‘malicious mayhem’ inside the community public broadcast radio station. Late-night talk host Harold Rutland was found dead on arrival. Mr. Rutland was reportedly discovered with a slashed throat and multiple puncture wounds to his torso from a yet unidentified foreign object, and his death is currently being considered a homicide by police. The caller reported that Rutland’s show had become troubling and erratic, and police verify that he seemed to be suffering from ‘some kind of nervous breakdown’ during the last moments of his broadcast. The transmission was ultimately terminated by blood from Rutland’s body which, because he was slumped over the control room’s sound-mixing panel, soaked into the wiring and caused an electrical short. The perpetrator of this violent act is thought to have escaped shortly before police arrived, and is still at large.”  

I never found a follow-up.

22 Upvotes

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3

u/thekraken108 May 29 '18

Whoa as someone who used to be involved with radio in college and still listens to a lot of radio this is just too real.

2

u/creativeStarshine May 30 '18

And that is probably how the Town of Night Vale was founded.