This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Smart-Bus3973 on 2024-09-30 09:30:23+00:00.
I’ve been working the night shift at this small-town radio station for the better part of three years. My show ‘Night Vibes’ wasn’t exactly prime-time radio, but it paid the bills, and I got to talk about whatever the hell I wanted.
Insomniacs, long-haul truckers, and the occasional stoner called in to chat about their weird theories or play requests. Most nights, it was the same old thing.
Until the night Daniel called. And that call changed my life forever.
It was close to midnight. The phone lines had been quiet for a while, and I was halfway through sipping my coffee when the line lit up. I hit the button, leaned into the mic, and put on my usual cheery DJ voice.
“Night Vibes, you’re on the air. Who’s this?”
“Mark, I’m calling from the future.” I heard a voice blare from the other end of the line.
I immediately rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair.
‘Not another prank call,’ I sighed to myself. Or worse, this could be a conspiracy nut. I was about to hang up when the voice continued speaking.
“Tomorrow morning at 7:42, there will be a crash on Highway 4. A delivery truck will turn turtle. No one will die, but it’ll cause a pile-up and lead to a ton of traffic on the highway stretching back miles.”
“Sure,” I said, smirking into the microphone. “You’ve got my attention buddy. What’s next? An Alien invasion? Somebody winning the lottery? Or maybe even a zombie apocalypse?”
The voice on the other end didn’t flinch. In fact, he stayed silent for so long that I thought the line had gone dead. Then his voice cut across the static, more resolute this time, carrying an edge of certainty that chilled me.
“Check the news in the morning, Mark. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”
But the next morning was different.
I woke up late, groggy from the long shift, and checked my phone like I always did, scanning the latest headlines. My eyes stopped at one in particular: "Delivery Truck Causes Massive Accident on Highway 4: No Fatalities."
The timestamp read 7:42 am.
My stomach dropped, and a shiver crawled up my spine. My hand trembled as I stared at the screen, unable to fully process what had just happened. This couldn’t be real. But it was—exactly as Daniel had warned. The accident, the time, the location—every detail matched.
For the first time, I felt it—that creeping unease, like the world had shifted slightly off balance. I spent the rest of the day turning the call over in my head, trying to convince myself it was just a coincidence.
“People predict things all the time, right?” I asked myself, but deep down, I knew better. It wasn’t just a lucky guess. I tried to chalk it up to mishearing the time or imagining the entire thing, but the knot in my stomach refused to loosen.
When I returned to work that evening, I couldn’t help but wonder—would Daniel call again? Part of me hoped he wouldn’t, but part of me needed to know.
As I began my shift, I clicked to take the first call. "Night Vibes, you're on the air."
A familiar voice crackled through the line. "It's Daniel," he said, calm and matter-of-fact. "There’s going to be a fire tomorrow. In the basement of St. Mary’s Hospital. No one will be hurt, but they won’t find out what caused it."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine once again. This time, there was no mocking reply, no sarcastic comeback from me.
I was shaken, and Daniel could hear it in my silence. He did not laugh nor did he gloat about getting it right the previous night. He had simply moved on to his next prediction and that made me panic even the more.
“Don’t bother warning them,” he added. “They won’t believe you. In fact nobody will believe you. They never do.”
“What the hell do you want?” I asked suddenly, my voice more aggressive than I had intended.
“You’ll see,” he said, in a matter of fact manner. “I’ll call again tomorrow.”
Click. He disconnected the call and was gone, leaving me speechless for the second time in two days. This was getting very frustrating and also made me very anxious at the same time.
I I considered calling the police, but what if they thought I was involved? If the fire happened just like Daniel said, I could easily be pegged as the culprit. But since he insisted no one would be hurt, I decided to wait. To see if his prediction was real.
The following morning, the news confirmed it: a fire had broken out in the basement of St. Mary’s Hospital. Just like he said, no one was hurt, and the cause remained unknown. I tried to let it go, but I couldn’t. It was too real. Paranoia crept in, making me feel like someone was watching me, like I was being manipulated in some twisted game.
But this time I knew he would call again, in fact I was certain of it. So when the third call eventually came in, I was already dreading it.
“Tomorrow evening, Mark, at 7:34. A shootout will happen at Riley’s supermarket. One person will die from a bullet wound.”
I clenched my fists as my heart started racing uncontrollably.
“Why are you telling me this? Are you doing this all by yourself? Are you making these things happen? Are you so starved for attention?” I asked, almost yelling into the microphone.
“No, Mark. I’m just telling you what I know,” Daniel replied in a calm voice.
“You’re full of shit!” I snapped, slamming my hand down on the desk. “If you can predict this, why not stop it? Why not prevent people from getting hurt?”
There was a pause, then the voice came back, quieter this time. “It’s not about stopping anything, Mark. It’s about what happens after.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked leaning into the microphone. “What will happen later?”
But to my growing frustration, Daniel had already disconnected the call.
That night, I realized I could no longer keep quiet. I called the police, told them about the shooting and the location. They thought I was crazy, but after some convincing, they agreed to station a patrol car nearby, just in case.
But I later learned I was in for more disappointment. The shooting had happened despite the police presence. The footage showed a body being carried out on a stretcher, loaded into an ambulance. My heart sank.
I didn’t go into work the next night. I couldn’t. Daniel’s phone calls were gnawing at me, and I felt like a pawn in his twisted little game. Sleep was impossible; his voice kept replaying in my head: “It’s about what happens after.”
I didn’t want to know what came after.
As I sat there in the dark, my thoughts spinning, my phone suddenly rang. The display flashed an unknown number. I hesitated, my heart pounding, but I answered.
It was Daniel.
"I thought you quit," he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Tell me what you want," I whispered, barely holding myself together. "What happens after?"
“You’ll find out soon enough, Mark. We’re getting close now. I’ll call again tomorrow. But this time, it’ll be for you. So you need to be in your office for this.”
The line went dead, and I was left in a cold sweat.
What did he mean by ‘for me’? This wasn’t just about some event I’d hear about on the news anymore—this was different. This felt personal.
I spent the entire morning pacing my apartment, chain-smoking, and staring at the clock. Each time I glanced at the phone, I half-expected it to ring, Daniel’s voice slipping through the static. By nightfall, I had made my decision: I had to go to the station. Hiding wouldn’t make a difference, and something deep inside told me Daniel wanted me there.
But I was in for more surprises. When I arrived at the parking garage, I was shocked to find my car missing. It had vanished without a trace, and I couldn’t fathom how. My heart raced as I noticed a strange figure peering at me from behind one of the concrete pillars. I caught only a glimpse, but it sent me into a panic and I began running towards the exit.
I ran all the way to my office, relief washing over me only after I finally locked the door behind me and sank into my chair. The familiar hum of the studio provided comfort, but it was short-lived. A couple of minutes later, the phone began to ring.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the receiver. This was it. Whatever Daniel wanted, it was about to happen. Swallowing hard, I finally picked up the phone.
"Mark," his voice crackled through the line. "I told you I’d call. Are you ready?"
“Yes,” I replied after a moment’s pause, determined to see this through.
“Very well,” Daniel said, his voice cold and detached. I heard a sound—like fingers snapping.
Suddenly, the TV in my studio flickered on and my jaw dropped when I saw video footage myself sitting alone in my car, parked across from Riley’s Supermarket. A police car was stationed just some feet ahead of me. I realized I was staking out the place, waiting for something.
Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead as two figures, dressed in black and wearing masks, approached the supermarket entrance. They were heavily armed. In an instant, the police jumped out of their vehicles, guns raised, and gunfire erupted.
The masked men sprayed bullets indiscriminately from their automatic weapons, and I watched in horror as one of the stray bullets slammed into my chest while I sat helpless in the car. I gasped, feeling a sharp, phantom pain as I saw myself slump forward, blood soaking through my shirt.
The police eventually overpowered the gunmen, arresting them, but it didn’t matter. I watched in disbelief as my consciousness faded.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the car anymore. I stood next...
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