Something's Not Right

Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. Today's story is a bit of a mystery that a story detective can identify. Let's see if you can figure it out. My name is Edwin, and here a Scary story. It was weird of me to be excited to meet up with my college friends again. It had been about fifteen years since we all had gotten together, and I always thought of a reunion was something that I'd rather skip, you know, I'd rather watch football in my garage, But not this time. Looking back at it, though, it's tough not to think of how much my life changed just from that silly decision. I wouldn't have caught up with Benny. I wouldn't be looking over my shoulder. We met up at a new Burger place, against my suggestion of the Thai food restaurant we used to go to. I forgot how large the group of friends from college had gotten, and how it continued making itself sizeable enough to have people still being introduced to each other. We were like the whole engineering department. Alex and George were still the same old goofballs, I remembered, Paul and the rest still cracked the same jokes and before we knew it. We were talking about the old days, bringing up all of the random things we used to do. It would get awkward at times because we would end up around in a circle answering one single question without really knowing we were doing so. One of those questions was what we had been up to since we left. Few of us had actually kept in touch, I mean, if you count Facebook, but it was weird. Some of us had dropped out, others had failed to get a job like the others. Then you had the successful ones working for large tech companies and drubbing around in their range rovers and BMW's. One of my old friends, Benny, was strangely quiet during the conversation, and we all politely agreed to skip him or not to pressure him to answer anything. I remember that at the end of the night, Alex ended up paying for his burger and drink. But I mean, my so called career didn't turn out very well either. I don't think he should have been embarrassed of anything. I mean, I ended up managing a Harry's restaurant, the one by the warehouses in factories that nobody knew about. It wasn't exactly my dream job, but I was insured and was putting money away for retirement. I think that's what the goals of an adult are, right. Everything else will be better once you retire, or so you hope. I had many stories from the fast food restaurant, though bad employees theft. The time our cashier got held up at gunpoint was a good one. The guy ended up jumping over the counter and one of the ladies from the back whacked the robber on the head with the wet mot The gun went right under the friar. Of course, I had to share that one. Overall, everyone had a good time that night, not exactly like how things used to be, but we all got along despite our obvious differences in income and opinions on good business ideas. At the end of the night, Benny came up to me and asked if I was hiring. I had forgotten that his house wasn't too far from that area of warehouses and factories where Harry's fast food restaurant was. And yes, I was hiring. I was always hiring. I could tell Benny was desperately looking for something to do, and he was a good guy, the hard worker who happened to be going through a rough patch. And so I asked him to stop by that next day after four in the afternoon, when I would be there, and that we would talk about it. I was looking for an assistant, but I didn't want to suggest it at the time. Just in case things didn't work out, I would just sort of test the waters first. Working with an old friend could get complicated pretty fast. The next day, he showed up dressed in a tucked in polo shirt promptly ten minutes before. I had been hanging out in the car before starting my shift, so I followed him inside as soon as I saw him. He would get a choice of the front or the kitchen, and he chose the cashier position, obviously not frightened about my attempted robbery story, and so I gave him the application. He took a while fleeing it out, and when he was done, I got his shirt size and gave him the instructions for the training and one that was going to start the next day. Standard stuff. We hired people all the time, and few would stay longer than a year. But again, I knew Benny needed this and I needed to help him right. I didn't know I would end up in one of the most horrifying situations of my life. When Benny first showed up and started working, I got a comment by one of the ladies in the kitchen. Benny would constantly make mistakes. He would mess up the computers by activating the wrong cash register, going to the one on the left instead of the one on the right. He would own up to it and say that he had a problem with coordinating himself or whatever. You should see how many times Google Maps has to update on me, he joked one time. I think because he just couldn't follow directions, But overall he was doing his best, and his best was good enough for me and for the restaurant. When he had been working there for about two months, he called me at three in the morning, at the time I was taking four days to go visit my wife's family out of state. Mary had been left in charge now when Lester had been a fire, there was no reason for him to be calling me that late, and so I just watched the phone ring as I came up with all these scenarios before I remember that Benny was a friend. First, come on, Benny. It was frustrating because I had been on new sleeping pills because of this insomnia, something that had started bothering me for several months by that time. I absolutely hated being woken up, But just as I was about to pick up the call, it ended. About thirty seconds later, I got a voicemail. I was grunting the whole time. I needed to punch in my password on the thing, and then I listened, Hey man, we should meet up to talk about this. Call me back, please talk about this. My mind calmed down, thinking he called the wrong person, and relieved that I had nothing to do with the restaurant, I fell asleep. I what about my day as usual, being forced to go somewhere or fake conversations with people up until nine in the evening, and that's when I got another phone call from Benny and I picked up this time. Hey man, what are you doing? What are we gonna do about this? He asked? Frantically, asked him what he was talking about, and he said he wasn't joking, that we should meet up to talk about this. He sounded angry and frustrated, afraid to say something he wasn't supposed to say. I asked him if he was all right, and he kept going back to the same thing where are you. I'll go let's just talk about this please. I had no idea what he was talking about, really, and he wouldn't tell me, but I genuinely thought he had the wrong person the whole time. Ben. He was known to get confused at this sort of stuff, messing up with numbers, people directions. I practically had to hang up on the guy he would keep insisting, up to the point that I thought I was being recorded as some type of joke. Eventually, though, just like with any other time off work, including those fifteen minute breaks, time just went by too quickly, and soon I found myself back in my hometown, driving in right at four in the morning, knowing that I would have to be up and ready in about two hours to get ready for the breakfast rush. Mary had said that the new person had hired had not shown up to work in several days now, and that we would need a new person to help with the drive through. You have no idea how much I hated that. That's how a lot of people are around this line of work. Every once in a while, you get a good one like Mary or Benny, I guess, but most don't call in when they're not going to show up or like this other person simply stop coming into work. Hated it. I think it was that frustration that used to keep me up at night so often that I needed those pills to go to sleep. And I kind of knew this girl would stop showing up just the first time I saw her. I knew it. She was late even to her training when she first started. It's how they walk or talk or something. You can just tell they're going to be useless. But we have a policy to keep people from being biased in the hiring practices, so I have to give everyone a shot. Thinking about work became even more unbearable when I saw Benny's car on the curb across the street from my house. As I was getting out of the car, I saw him open his door and pace nervously in front of his car. I looked over to him and asked, if everything was all right, just give me a minute, basically shouting across a quiet street. At this point that all I needed was to get our stuff inside. My wife knew about Benny, already jokingly calling him a weirdo, although this scenario would probably get rid of the joking part from now on. Hey man, he said, as I was walking inside with the bags. I'll be right out, I said, showing him away, and yet he just kept approaching. I put the stuff down inside the house inside loudly as I walked back out. It was cold out and Benny was only wearing a T shirt and jeans, so it didn't surprise me that he wanted to go in his car to talk. The doors had just been shut and we were in complete silence for about five seconds. Then I sighed again and asked him what was up, and then he let it all out. He had not been able to sleep, he was having a very tough time processing what had happened. He kept wondering what we were going to do about it. He had become paranoid of everything, and soon he started yelling, not at me, but it made me very uncomfortable. I felt bad for the guy. I knew he had been going through a tough time, and yet I had no idea what was going on or how to get him to stop, at least long enough so that I could ask him questions. Then he started sobbing, Benny, what happened? What do you mean what happened? I remember him basically yelling about Jillian. It was her, wasn't it. I had to ask a few more questions before I was hit by his account of what happened. According to him, had called him a few nights before to come help out at the restaurant, that it was late past midnight. Benny, not living far from there and always willing to help, showed up. He said he thought I was preparing for the inspection company from the franchise, you know how they come in and do their random check ins. But he said that all I asked him to help with was a trash and then loading it into the trunk of my car. It being a dead body that we had taken it to the edge of town by Brushborough Road and into the trail on one of the roads that splits off into a fork. He said that right by the trees we buried it. That event had happened the night before I left, and I had been home getting everything ready. Who was he talking about? Part two of Something's Not Right? It's coming on right after this, Stay with me with Hello Fresh. You get pre portioned fresh ingredients right to your doorstep, saving you money and trip to the grocery store along the way. And this may you get to try limited time recipes that were created in partnership with chef Surbisani of New York City's Talgmore Restaurant, just in time for Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. The fast and fresh options are quick, fifteen minutes tops and you'll be done. It's better than takeout, both in taste and price. Now people think that I know how to cook, but really I just follow the instructions, and I think that's another point that no one talks about. There are pictures, clear instructions and the exact portions already measured out. Now you have no idea how easy this is. They give you this sheet and it's in full color. It's just so nice and the food looks great, so you kind of know what you're aiming for. And every once in a while they do say something like add to taste, which makes sense, and usually I just guess and it works. Anyway, you get to try this for yourself, go to HelloFresh dot com slash scary Story sixteen and use a code Scary Story sixteen for sixteen free meals plus free shipping. Again, that's HelloFresh dot com slash scary Story sixteen and use the code Scary Story sixteen for sixteen free meals plus free shipping. Cooking at home with HelloFresh is easy, fund and affordable. That's why it's America's number one milk it. Jillian hadn't shown up to work for several day, not even to collect her paycheck. That was the only strange part. Everyone comes back to collect their paycheck, no matter how irresponsible they had been while they were working there. One of the employees said that the police had been there and left their business card to get back to them, just in case she came around. Everyone assumed that she was on the run by that point, except for Benny, was convinced that we had buried her. That night, he was completely pale when he showed up to work, and yeah, I was starting to worry a bit. I had known him for years and had never seen him so nervous and upset. That Monday. He waited for me after I got done with my shift to talk about what had happened, and he explained even more things, details that he had no way of knowing. He said that I had been wearing my green slippers, the ones that my wife makes fun of at home, mentioned the music I had on in my car a CD by these Singing Vegetables that we used to play for our niece. I told him repeatedly that I had not done that, and that he must have gotten things confused. There was no way that could have happened. It was not me. He trusted me, I could tell, and he wanted to believe me. But then he said, angrily, what then? What had he seen that night? He suggested that we go and look for the spot where we had buried it. But the idea seemed silly. There was no way, and I knew exactly the area he was talking about. I had been there many times. There's no way anyone, not even the dumbest serial killer, would go bury a body right by the walking path that went across the street from mister Hill's property. That guy has a collection of guns so large has even made the news. I try to talk him into going on his own, maybe to find out that there had been nothing there and make him reason it out by himself, but he insisted up until I told him, looking at him directly in the eyes, that it had not been me. That if someone out there actually did kill that girl and took her away to bury her that he should be calling the police, but he was afraid of going to jail for helping with it. He said, even though I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, at this point, I wish I had n't brought up calling the police because I would somehow end up in trouble as well. I had no way to prove that I wasn't at the restaurant that night. Our security cameras don't even work, and with all the chicken and steak my wife gets at the farmer's market, any stain in there might look like blood. It's just not worth risking it, and Benny agreed with me. He called me that next morning asking if he could take the week off. He had been having trouble sleeping and forgetting about the whole ordeal, saying that he had stayed up looking information on body doubles, double walkers. He called them beings that look and act like you doppelgangers. I didn't mean to laugh when you mentioned them, but come on, the idea was absurd, and I asked him if he needed help with sleeping, that had been on these sleeping pills lately, and that maybe he should go see a doctor. But he thought that idea was the absurd one, but still curiosity got the best of me and I started looking information on these double walkers. They were like mimics, exact copies of yourself going to places you visit. You've been roaming around your house when you're not there. I read several bizarre accounts, including the one of the teacher one that was fired because of a mimic a Doppelginger that kept showing up to the school and scaring everyone, but the account of the man who saw himself as he was walking up to his apartment from the parking garage. He saw himself going down the stairs as he was about to come up to the second floor. The hair, face, and even clothing looked the same. Scared him so much that he turned around and ran across the first floor until he found another staircase. Making eye contact with yourself must be something else. The groupiest thing about this is the idea that if you or others see this double walker, it can be a sign that death is following you. You might be about to die. And Benny, another member of the engineering department at our university, was believing this stuff. Did he actually believe that a mimic. Someone pretending to be me had called him to work from my phone number convinced them to help him bury a body out in the woods. He seemed convinced of what had happened, and that was growing concern for him because of the way he spoke about it. His hands would shake and his eyes would focus very far away as he would say what he remembered, and I believed him, and he believed me too, but it became too much for him. He would text and call me to tell me of something else he had remembered, and then we would meet up after work to talk about it, like how he had thrown up that night, or little details about the weight of the body or how it was still warm. Things nobody thinks about when they think about the death of someone, like liquid sloshing inside the bag, or the way a neck bends when it isn't supported by a conscious person anymore. And he would use code words and his messages and over the phone saying that we would meet up to quote talk about cars. On the other side of all this, though, the news of Jillian had taken a turn. She had vanished and it had been determined that she simply did not make it home after work, all adding up to Benny's account of that night. Since she hadn't been there that long, nobody really knew her. The address she gave turned out to be fake, though, That's what we get for not checking these our selves. I was already expecting this, but around Thursday, I got a knock on my door from a police officer asking me if I could accompany him to the police station to fill out some paperwork. Benny had made some reports. He had gone and told them his bizarre story, and they wanted me to provide as much information as possible in order for them to figure out their next steps. I learned much later that Benny had told them that it had been someone that looked like me but was not me, and he was visibly upset. But I ended up going to the police station with them, and then in separate undercover police cars, we went down Brushborough Road and then we made a right into the path by mister Hill's home. I don't know why I was so nervous about the whole thing, yet I knew that during those times, our minds get a little bit weird, so I wanted to get my story straight from the start, if I thought about not acting nervous, I would get even more nervous. So I simply played my reactions over and over inside my head until I knew them. I could see the police officer checking up on me through the rear view mirror every so often, but I had done nothing wrong. I have to admit that I was also curious about what Benny had seen that night, and if there actually was anything there. A team of about four or five people had already arrived and had been searching the area, with a few curious walkers and troll runners looking at us. As we stepped out of the car. Benny and I first made eye contact by those trees where he was pointing. The playe had already been dug up by hand and inspected by a police dog. It looked uneventful like they were ready to leave. I think Benny had already pointed them toward that direction before they came to get me. There was nothing there, something. The police waited until we got back to the station to tell us they had inspected the area and they had found absolutely nothing. Benny and I were allowed to speak to each other then, but we still kept quiet until we left the station. We lost about three hours. I told him that perhaps he should get help, that it was a good idea that I believed he had seen what he saw, but to cross out some of the possibilities to make sure that there wasn't anything wrong. I knew what that was like would start acting funny with new medication, and I would imagine bizarre scenarios in my sleep. Sometimes I knew even then that I was gaslighting the poor guy, and yet there was little I could do about it. But soon the idea started growing on me. Mimics, doppelgangers, time skipping portals, those things didn't sound as weird anymore. As I kept getting images in my head of driving out toward Brushboro Road, I had replayed the same scene over and over way too many times. Then I started understanding Benny, and it had gotten to me. Friday night, I drove home late after closing the restaurant, and I kept imagining that drive to the edge of town, Benny in the car, like a memory, becoming a story of something that had actually happened. Saturday morning, my wife came in complaining that the shovel from the shed was missing and was nowhere to be found. She needed it for gardening stuff. Saturday afternoon, I kept thinking of Benny at work and the complaints against him for messing up. Saturday night, I was out driving towards Brushburg Road, and I was angry to have taken Benny's story as fact. The guy couldn't tell the difference between left and right at work, and so I got to the start of the trail in the car, a road white enough for two cars to fit through. But instead of making a right Benny had said, I made a left. I drove to the first patch of trees and parked the car. Among the bushes was a shovel. I walked five steps away from the tree trunk and started digging. It was it long before it got stuck on something. I lift the shovel toward my eyes and saw, even with the faint light of the moon, the dark strands of hair that Benny had been talking about. Another mysterious story in this podcast is from an episode called Knox. Check it out and let me know what you think. Subscribe to get the next week's story. Thank you very much for listening, See you soon.