Wrong Number

Summary

Full Body Chills – “Wrong Number”

Host: Ashley Flowers (audiochuck)
Narrator: Michael David Axtell
Story by: Jesse Pullins
Release Date: October 3, 2025

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Episode Overview

This chilling episode of Full Body Chills, titled “Wrong Number”, tells a haunting story of a late-night text message from an ex-girlfriend that quickly descends into an unsettling psychological and supernatural nightmare. Through a series of bizarre, cryptic, and disturbing texts and images, the protagonist is drawn into a sinister mystery. As the story unfolds, reality blurs; the episode explores themes of identity, technology, and the uncanny terror of not knowing who—or what—is communicating with you.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Breakdown

1. A Late-Night Text from the Past

[02:00–05:40]

• The narrator is awoken at 2 AM by a message from Jen, an ex-girlfriend he hasn’t spoken to in two years. Initially, he’s confused but curious.
  • Quote:
    Narrator (Michael David Axtell) [04:03]: “Not only was it out of pocket, it was out of character. It didn’t seem like something Jen would say.”
• Jen’s first text: “Do you ever wonder what’s under your skin?”
• She follows up with more bizarre messages about her bones wanting to escape and muses if they would know where to go.
• Then abruptly:
  • Jen [05:34]: “This is Jen. Haha. Just kidding. See you around.” (with a thumbs up emoji)

2. Escalating Oddness and Unsettling Messages

[05:40–13:18]

• The next day, Jen’s texts appear more normal but remain vague; she claims to be “working on something” and simply replies “Art.”
• The narrator receives a lifelike, disturbing photo of a smashed mirror with the faint outline of someone in the glass and a pipe wrench in the sink.
  • Narrator [08:56]: “It could have been a fine display of her honed skills, but the level of detail was borderline lifelike.”
• Jen’s replies become philosophically disturbing:
  • Jen [11:53]: “How do you know the you looking at you is really you?”
  • Jen [12:25]: “Can you trust the cameras of your eyes? Is the footage real? Has it ever been?”
• The narrator tries to call Jen, but she rejects the call and sends another strange message:
  • Jen [13:24]: “Can’t talk right now. Just kidding.”

3. Desperate to Reconnect, Real Danger Emerges

[13:18–21:40]

• The narrator, concerned for Jen’s well-being, suggests meeting up.
• Jen responds cryptically:
  • Jen [14:20]: “I’m so sorry you’re experiencing this. I gotta go.” (thumbs up emoji)
• Later, receives another chilling message:
  • Jen [16:04]: “Just because you don’t breathe doesn’t mean you’re not alive. If you’re not breathing, they can’t feel how close you are.”
• Jen sends a photo of an empty, smoking frying pan on a red-hot burner—implying she’s actively in a dangerous state.
• The narrator attempts (unsuccessfully) to reach her or make sense of the bizarre communications.

4. Trying to Make Sense: Is It a Prank or Something Worse?

[18:19–22:09]

• The narrator reaches out to Jen’s old friends and family, to no avail. Nobody has heard from her and people are unnerved by the strange, robotic tone in the texts.
  • Narrator [20:12]: “Those I met in person and physically showed the chat logs to said the texts were off putting. Like I was talking to a bot. The thought made me deeply uncomfortable, not knowing who was behind the wheel at the other end.”
• Jen finally texts, “I want to see you.”
• When the narrator offers to meet in public, Jen refuses, insisting on coming to his place instead.

5. The Deadly Mistake

[22:09–25:00]

• The narrator, wary but still feeling responsible, gives Jen his address—only to later realize he made a typo (typed 600 North instead of 500 North).
• He waits anxiously as a storm brews outside, but Jen never arrives.

6. The Climax: A Video Call of Horror

[26:26–32:13]

• Jen texts: “You’re not home,” then “I looked everywhere. Where are you?”
• When urged to video chat, Jen initiates a call—showing the outside of a house (not the narrator’s), her bare, muddy feet, and eventually the inside of a house in disarray.
  • The camera pans over chaos: overturned furniture, a broken TV, blood, possible bodies, and more.
  • Narrator [29:38]: “The camera pushed past the door and showed a living room in complete disarray. The couch was pushed out of place, the coffee table turned over. The television had been knocked on its side, painting the room in a strange blend of multicolored hues.”
• The horrifying realization: the narrator gave Jen the wrong address, sending her to someone else’s house, where something violent has occurred.

7. Aftermath & Final Revelation

[32:13–36:07]

• In a panic, he drives to the police and surrenders his phone as evidence; the officers’ somber reactions confirm the gravity of what happened at 1400 West, 600 North.
• While en route to the station, he sees Jen’s last texts:
  • Jen [35:52]: “I’m sorry, it appears there’s been a miscalculation somewhere. I’ve addressed the issue. It appears the error was on your part. The error has been corrected. See you soon.” (thumbs up emoji)
• The ambiguity of Jen’s fate—and what might happen next—leaves a lingering dread.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• The uncanny valley of communication:
  • Jen [11:53]: “How do you know the you looking at you is really you?”
• On Jen’s character:
  • Narrator [08:56]: “She always had a cold and calculated way about her, but she was never one to spare words.”
• Blurred lines between reality and perception:
  • Jen [12:25]: “Can you trust the cameras of your eyes? Is the footage real? Has it ever been?”
• Chilling sign-offs that escalate tension:
  • Jen [13:24]: “Can’t talk right now. Just kidding.”
  • Jen [14:20]: “I’m so sorry you’re experiencing this. I gotta go.” (thumbs up)
• The technological horror:
  • Narrator [20:12]: “Like I was talking to a bot. The thought made me deeply uncomfortable, not knowing who was behind the wheel...”
• Final, ominous message:
  • Jen [35:52]: “I’ve addressed the issue. It appears the error was on your part. The error has been corrected. See you soon.”

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• 02:00 — First eerie text from Jen: “Do you ever wonder what’s under your skin?”
• 05:34 — Jen’s abrupt “just kidding” sign-off
• 08:54 — Jen claims she’s working on “Art”, sends strange broken mirror photo
• 11:53 — Creepy philosophical questions about identity in texts
• 13:24 — Jen’s “Can’t talk right now. Just kidding.”
• 16:04 — Deeply disturbing message about being alive without breathing
• 17:51 — Jen sends a photo of a burning pan, escalating concern
• 20:12 — Friends remark the texts don’t “sound” like Jen
• 21:37 — Jen: “I want to see you.”
• 24:06 — Jen: “Can I just come over to your place?”
• 26:26 — Jen: “You’re not home.” The realization of the address mix-up
• 27:41 — Start of the horrifying video call
• 29:38 — Viewing the ransacked house and possible victims
• 35:52 — Final message: “The error has been corrected. See you soon.”

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Tone & Style

The episode masterfully builds a sense of mounting dread through subtle, realistic dialogue and relatable technological moments (late-night texts, emoji sign-offs, video calls). Jen’s increasingly robotic and surreal communications blend existential terror with the mundane, making the horror feel both intimate and inescapable.

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Summary

"Wrong Number" is a gripping, atmospheric tale that plays on the fear of miscommunication, trust in digital technology, and the existential anxiety of not truly knowing who is on the other end of a communication thread. The horror is not just in the supernatural implications of Jen’s altered state, but the all-too-human fear of error, isolation, and unseen danger. Listeners are left questioning the reality of the exchange and the consequences of a single mistyped number.

Full Body Chills delivers another episode perfectly suited for headphone listening, a rainy night, and a strong lock on your front door.

Transcript

[Yvette Gentile]

Every mystery has an answer, but some have way more than one possibility. I'm Yvette Gentile.

[Racha Pecorero]

And I'm her sister Racha Pecorero. Every week on our podcast so Supernatural, we invite you to explore the unknown and to consider the many theories behind each unsolved mystery.

[Yvette Gentile]

We'll guide you as you question the world you think you know through investigations into spine chilling hauntings, unexplainable encounters, strange disappearances, and so much more.

[Racha Pecorero]

So if you're ready to be haunted by stories of the unsolved and of the unknown, listen if you dare to sew Supernatural every Friday wherever you get your podcasts.

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[Ashley Flowers]

You'll float too. From the director of it comes a horrifying new story set in 1960s Derry, Maine that explores the origins of Pennywise the Clown. Get ready to go back to where it all began. The new HBO original series, welcome to Derry premieres October 26th at 9pm on HBO. MA hi listeners. I have a story I want to tell you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

There was this doctor over at St. Augury's who would kill his patients. Oh yes, it was madness.

[Jen]

Aren't you afraid the light take might get you?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. That adrenaline. I want more of it. I snapped. Totally lost it. He had no idea what was on those tapes. It was like a song Ol and the Outcast. So gather around, gather round around and listen close. The text woke me in the middle of the night. I remembered the rattle, the vibration and reaching out of habit. I rubbed my eyes, annoyed. The who and why stumbling in my brain as I fought to sit up. I unlocked my phone. The light was blinding and through squinting eyes I narrowed them on the most important detail of the screen. The time. It was just after two in the morning. Before I could even groan at how early it was, I was transfixed on the name bubbled at the top. Jen. We had broken up two years ago back at uni. I hadn't heard from her since. Had she been drinking? Was she thinking of getting back together? It was a pleasant surprise. Sure but as soon as I started reading the message, all of my drowsy excitement died like a kite with no wind. Her message was short, only a few words, but they seemed off. It read plainly, do you ever wonder.

[Jen]

What'S under your skin?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I read the message again, then a third time. Not only was it out of pocket, it was out of character. It didn't seem like something Jen would say. With a sigh, I thumbed the keys and responded in the only way I knew how.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

What?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I stared into the screen, scratching my head and still frowning at the time. After two years of not talking, it was a little late for a prank. It took a moment, but she started texting back. The little dot, dot dots were buffering as she worked up a reply. The next message made even less sense, but it gave me the chills.

[Jen]

My bones want to escape. Do you think they can make it on their own? Do you think they would know where to go?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

What the. I thought to myself. Maybe she was at a party and had drank too much. Probably texted me on accident. Maybe it was a bad trip. I texted back, this time swinging my feet over the bed and using both thumbs.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Jen, is everything all right? Have you been drinking or something?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Sitting in the glow of my dark bedroom, I awaited a reply that would hopefully clear things up. Her response was quick. Two texts, one right after the other.

[Jen]

This is Jen. Haha. Just kidding. See you around.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

And a thumbs up emoji to top it off. How strange. I responded with an okay and returned my phone to the nightstand, crawling back under the covers. Just kidding. It didn't make any sense. I tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn't shake the weirdness of the short interaction. The two of us had only dated briefly and she was quirky, sure, but the whole thing felt off. I double checked the number to make sure I wasn't confused. It was Jen's number, just as I had last saved it. Maybe she was at a party and her friends dared her to text me or something. Maybe she had gotten a new number and this was just a stranger having a good laugh. Either way, it was bizarre. I didn't receive another text that night, and as I drifted off to sleep, I pushed away the thought of my bones wanting to escape. The next day, Jen texted me again. I was at the store doing my shopping for the week when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Hunching over the cart, I was surprised to see her name again. I had chalked up last night to either a dare or drunken mistake, but this text seemed relatively Normal? More like the gen I used to know. Anyway, it read simply, Hey. I mulled it over for a while, idly chewing my lip as other shoppers passed by. Was she interested in hanging out, or was this the start of an apology? I didn't even have to scroll to see her messages from the night before, and just seeing them hanging there served as a reminder of how odd she had been. I played it cool.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

What's up? Do you remember texting me last night? Is everything okay?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I hit send and waited. There was nothing for a moment, and I considered putting my phone away and going about my day. But just before I could hit the lock button again, I saw her begin to type. So I lingered. Her responses came one after another, but not at all like I expected.

[Jen]

I see. I texted you. Everything is fine. I'm working on something.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Seeing the plain responses made me pause. Back when we dated, Jen would usually send a paragraph with no detail spared, and it would usually take her a while if she was just trying to break the ice again. It was an interesting way of doing it. I typed back, what are you working on? The second my message went through, she sent another.

[Jen]

Art.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Jen went to college for software engineering. She always had a cold and calculated way about her, but she was never one to spare words. I tried to rationalize the way she was writing. The simple but concise messages felt automated and vague. It was like someone else had her phone. It felt weird texting back, like I was talking with a stranger. I asked if I could see what she was working on. When she didn't respond, I started to feel embarrassed. Too soon, I guess. I pocketed the phone and returned to my shopping. I wanted to shrug it off, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. Could it be stress? Life did have a way of pulling you into its tide. Maybe she had changed since uni. I finished my shopping and retreated to the self checkout, scanned, bagged and paid. Enjoyed the warm sun on my skin as I crossed the parking lot. Just as I was putting the bags in my trunk, I felt a vibration again. I packed everything up and closed the trunk. After climbing back into my car, I finally checked the message. This time Jen sent an attachment. I waited for the image to load, and when it did, I felt that chill return. The image was a shattered mirror, like a bathroom vanity or something like it. There was a crater in the center, like someone had chucked a rock hard as they could. Glass was everywhere. Reflective shards scattered the frame and all around the photo. Through the broken glass, I could see the faint outline of someone, but not enough detail to tell who that was. A pipe wrench was laying idly in the sink. It looked real, but with her savviness in tech, Jen had a hand in digital design. It could have been a fine display of her honed skills, but the level of detail was borderline lifelike. I replied, wow.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Did you design that or did you actually break that mirror?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I added a laughing emoji to disguise the fact I was growing incredibly nervous. As she started typing, a voice in the back of my head toyed with the idea she had possibly experienced a psychotic break. That or her ability to bring a picture to life was out of this world. I leaned towards the latter. More texts, one after another.

[Jen]

Thanks. How do you know the you looking at you is really you?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I didn't know how to answer that. Goosebumps crawled across my arms and I felt a cold sweat glistening on my forehead. I wiped my brow and tried to come up with an appropriate response, but the only thing I could think of was concern and a growing unease. Before I could reply, she beat me to it.

[Jen]

Can you trust the cameras of your eyes? Is the footage real? Has it ever been?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

What the. I looked at the texts in disbelief and decided to do something I really hadn't planned on doing. Against my better judgment, I gave her a call. Clearing my throat nervously, I listened to the phone ring. I figured if I just asked if she was okay, I would recognize her voice. Maybe get a handle on the situation and the person you are trying to reach. On the second ring, Jen sent the call to voicemail. It didn't time out and get redirected. She had deliberately swiped my call. Sweating now, I sent her a Is everything okay?

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Jen just wanted to see what's up.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I probably could have done better. Jen was already typing.

[Jen]

Can't talk right now. Just kidding.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I felt queasy. Something wasn't right. I rubbed my eyes before sending the next one. One specifically to try and get her undivided attention. I wanted her to know I was serious.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Hey, I know this is kinda sudden and all, but I miss you. Would it be cool if I stopped by? I'd like to see you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I swallowed hard and felt stupid. But if I could just get some kind of human interaction, I'd know whether something was up or not. We hadn't dated in a while, but I thought maybe a welfare check couldn't hurt. It's not like I was a total stranger. I chewed my nails as she typed, and when the next message popped, it sent shivers down my spine.

[Jen]

I'M so sorry you're experiencing this. I gotta go.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I'll flew around followed by the same thumbs up from the previous day. I tried calling again, but it went straight to voicemail. She must have shut off her phone. The series of texts stuck with me into the night and I couldn't resist the urge to check my phone to see if she would follow up. Jen was an introvert, much like myself. I remembered her being awkward and shy, but she had never acted like this. The more I thought about it, the less these interactions made sense. She had seemed so put together back then, always focused on her work. She was an ace in every class. Did a close family member pass away? Was she going through a bad breakup? Either something was really wrong or this was some kind of messed up elaborate ruse. It was getting late, so I decided first thing in the morning I'd try to connect with some old friends and see what they knew or if they had received any strange messages themselves, whether it was a prank or not. However, before I would even make it to the next day, I heard from Jen again. The vibration on the end table's surface pulled me from sleep. It was just after 1am and as I felt from my phone, I had a feeling I knew who it was.

[Jen]

Jen, just because you don't breathe doesn't mean you're not alive. If you're not breathing, they can't feel how close you are.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

What the hell? I called her immediately. Either she needed help or someone was seriously screwing with me. It barely rang before it was sent to voicemail.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

The person jen, what's going on? You're freaking me out.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I texted. She started typing immediately, like she had just been staring at her screen, waiting for a reply.

[Jen]

Oh, I'm just cooking.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I stared at the words, dumbfounded, my thumbs typed back slowly. It's late.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

What are you cooking?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I waited for a response. In the darkness of my bedroom, the air felt cold and the shadows around me grew unsettling. It was windy outside and the sound of the gust against the window made me shiver. Jen sent another attachment without a word. The sight of the picture alone both confused and terrified me. The picture was of a stove top with a frying pan sitting on the burner. There was nothing in it, but smoke was billowing everywhere below. The electric burner was red hot. No food, only scorched Teflon. The sight alone was alarming to say the least. I called again. Again it was manually sent to voicemail. The person Frustrated, I texted, pick up your phone, Jen.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Are you trying to burn the House.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Down, she typed back immediately. The responses made me sick to my stomach.

[Jen]

Can't talk right now. Doesn't feel hot.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

What do you mean it doesn't feel? I started texting back, but she hit me with her signature sign off.

[Jen]

I gotta go. See you around.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Thumbs up. I sighed and laid back down. Tomorrow I would get to the bottom of this. I spent the next day desperately trying to reconnect with people I knew at the time. Jen and I were dating. Old friends, her girlfriends, mild acquaintances. Those whose numbers I didn't have, I found on social media. I reached out to them all, each provoking the same awkward trip down memory lane. We dated two years ago, remember? No, she broke up with me. No, we're not back together. I'm just worried about her. No, I'm not trying to hook up with her. Sure, you haven't seen her? Haven't seen her since Unique. Yeah, me neither. Two years ago. Yeah. Look, I'm just trying to get a hold of her. No, she's been sending these weird messages. You haven't gotten any texts at all? No, no, I'm not trying to get back together. Have you seen her or not? I felt like a maniac. Nobody from around that time had heard from her recently. And those that did, whether or not they really did, wouldn't tell me anything. Whenever I mentioned the things she sent, they accused me of messing around. But those I met in person and physically showed the chat logs to said the texts were off putting. Like I was talking to a bot. The thought made me deeply uncomfortable, not knowing who was behind the wheel at the other end. I thought back to when our relationship ended. When she broke up with me, she was irritable, distant. She had been wrapped up in a project at the time, one that seemed to consume her. I remembered being upset and confused as to why she was breaking it off. But she just pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. She just kept saying something like, you wouldn't understand. You're always unplugged. I was hurt in the moment, but over time I just accepted it, thinking she was just too smart and I was holding her back from something. I didn't know her current living situation or if she had a roommate. I reached out to her parents on social media. Her father didn't respond, but her mother did. She asked me if we were back together before saying they hadn't heard from Jen in a while. Something about being busy with work, exhausted and out of leads. I slumped into the couch and wondered if there was anything else I Could do. I couldn't report her missing. Her texts were right here. And if anyone should pull the alarm, it should be her parents, right? Not the short term ex boyfriend. But through it all, I kept thinking, this has to be a prank. Until my phone buzzed. The text was only five words, but it put my stomach in knots. It came from Jen.

[Jen]

I want to see you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I stared at it for some time. This is what I wanted, right? If I saw her face to face, I'd be able to know everything was all right. Had I been misinterpreting? Overreacting? I wished she would just answer her phone so I could hear her voice. I texted back, want me to drop by? The answer was immediate.

[Jen]

No.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I started typing out a reply, but she beat me to it. When I read it, I felt myself fall into an anxious pit.

[Jen]

I I'll come to you. What's your address again?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Smiley face. Something about that last touch made me sick to my stomach. I live alone. I've been renting out a small house outside of town since I graduated college. It's nice and quiet and there isn't a neighbor for at least a mile. If she was in some sort of fragile state, she would be less embarrassed coming around with no prying eyes and all. The more I thought about it, the less it seemed like a bad idea.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

I texted her, want to meet somewhere in town? I can get you something to eat. Not like a date or anything. We can catch up.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I didn't want her to worry about making some kind of scene, but the idea of having other people close by made me a little less anxious. If she was having a meltdown of some kind, I might be able to get her help and not be alone while doing so. She didn't respond. I stared at the screen and waited, hoping for a cheery response, something close to how things used to be. I couldn't shake the feeling I was talking to a complete stranger. If I had gotten any kind of lead in my calls earlier, I would have sent the police to conduct a welfare check, but I still had no idea where she even was. Suddenly, Jen started typing, then stopped, then started again. After what felt like an eternity, her response made me feel bad. It was the realest text I had received since she reached out.

[Jen]

I don't really feel like being around other people right now. Can I just come over to your place?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

It felt like older Jen. It still made me uneasy, but I imagined her as she was when we were together. If she was hurting, really hurting, I'd want to be there for her. Maybe she just needed a friend. Worst case scenario, I could call the police. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach. With a heavy sigh, I typed in my address. 1400 West, 600 North. Her reply was instantaneous.

[Jen]

Great. I'll see you soon.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Thumbs up. I stared at my phone for a while before locking it, wishing I would have gotten her to meet me in town. Everything will be fine, I told myself. But as I turned on the porch light and sat in the living room, I couldn't help but feel the slow creep of dread, like I had made a mistake. I watched outside and waited, growing increasingly nervous. It was dark out and it had started to rain. Beyond the porch light, trees were swaying and casting eerie shadows. I couldn't see the road. I stared outside as I waited, phone in my pocket. I didn't want to get lost in scrolling. I wanted to stay on the lookout for when she drove by. The thought of her arriving unnoticed and unseen wasn't one I cared to keep. For 20 minutes there was nothing. No passing cars, no headlights turning into the drive. Only sheets of rain and the slow sway of trees. I lived outside of town, but I didn't think we had lived that far apart. At the 45 minute mark, I decided I'd try to call her. Just as I pulled my phone, it lit up. A text from Jen.

[Jen]

You're not home.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Startled, I sprang off the couch and looked through the windows. I had been watching the entire time and there wasn't a soul in sight. Nobody so much as used my driveway to turn around. I called straight to voicemail. I was annoyed, nervous. I texted with sweaty palms.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

I don't see you. Did you go to the wrong house?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Maybe she misread the directions. She texted again.

[Jen]

I looked everywhere. Where are you?

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

I texted back.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Where are you? I don't see anyone here. I've been watching for you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

An immediate reply.

[Jen]

There was nobody watching here.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

The knot in my stomach worsened. I went to text some kind of frantic reply, but I had an idea. She wouldn't take my calls, but maybe she'd do something else. I took a deep breath and texted again.

[Narrator's Text Replies]

Video chat me. You don't have to say anything. Just show me where you're at so we can figure this out.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

For an agonizing moment, there was nothing. I was sweating now, occasionally glancing outside to make sure there wasn't anyone standing there. I was alone. Finally, my phone vibrated. A video call from Jen. The smiling face of her old contact photo filled my screen. Reluctantly, I answered. When the screen changed, I noticed two Things immediately. One, the camera was flipped to face away from her, and two, she had muted herself in stunned silence. I watched as she angled the camera to show what was in front of her. She was standing in front of a house, but it wasn't mine. It was the same kind of country home I had, with a similar background of darkened trees. She was standing outside in the pouring rain, and little droplets speckled the camera. Jen, where are you? Is that where your GPS took you? I asked aloud, startled by my own voice. The phone angled down and I assumed she was texting a reply. But as she lowered the camera, I felt sick to my stomach. Her feet were bare and muddy, like she had walked through a field. The text popped up at the top of my screen.

[Jen]

You're not here. I'll show you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Jen, how did you get there? That's not my house. But she was already on the move. The camera showed her steadily walking under a trellis and up the porch, taking each step slow. She trained the camera perfectly, still, taking me along with her. The window of the front door was broken, like someone had forced their way in. The camera showed a small feminine hand reach and turn the knob. A hand that was covered in blood. Jen. I started, but the words caught in my throat. The camera pushed past the door and showed a living room in complete disarray. The couch was pushed out of place, the coffee table turned over. The television had been knocked on its side, painting the room in a strange blend of multicolored hues. She moved quick, but something caught my eye. I could only see it briefly, but there was no mistaking the shape. It looked like a pair of legs, stained sweatpants poking out from beneath the toppled entertainment center like they had been crushed. Jen didn't linger on any place for long, but she slowly panned around the house. But everywhere the camera pointed, there was nothing but destruction. The dining room was destroyed, pictures knocked from the walls. The dining table flipped. The kitchen was worse. The counters looked to be swept over entirely, dishes broken, a knife block laying on its side. Knives everywhere. I caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen floor. It looked like a trash bag, but whatever was tied up in it looked almost too big. The bottom leaked a sickly red. Jen, what have you done? I croaked. If she could hear me, she gave no sign, only panning, the camera focusing on the blurry black carnage, focusing on the lack of me. Finally, the camera stopped, viewing down a dark hallway of the house. The hall light had been busted, but at the very end a door was slightly ajar. The Light left, left on the camera, focused long enough to show the stained trail leading into the room. Then the call ended. The texts followed immediately after.

[Jen]

See? Where are you? I didn't see you. They weren't you.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

The phone shook in my hand. I read the texts over and over, like I could hear the malicious confusion. I paced my living room, my heart racing. What was happening? What did she do? Was that even Jen? A detail in our chat log forced me to stop. I looked at one of the messages, suddenly unable to breathe. It was one of mine, one I had sent almost an hour prior. 1400 West, 600 North. I didn't live at 600 North. I lived at 500 North. I must have hit six on accident, but I didn't see the mistake until now. The whole time I was waiting for her to show up, she was heading somewhere else. Even though it was a typo, it was still someone else's address. A parallel country road not even a mile away. And I had sent her there. I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door. My phone continued to vibrate, but I ignored it, instead dialing the police as I got into my car and peeled out of my driveway. I reported the incident in a ramble of panicked sobs, the scene of Jen's video fresh in my mind as I white knuckled the wheel. My mind was reeling so much I hardly processed my drive to the station or the squad cars flying in the opposite direction, headed to whatever misery awaited them at the address I had sent. I hoped it was a prank, some kind of sick joke. I wish it was a nightmare, that I had made it all up. I prayed that maybe I was the one who had lost their mind and had imagined the whole thing like some sort of lucid dream. But there was no denying the sternness in the officers that greeted me, the sickly shade that washed over the precinct as the details of the scene made their way back through the chatter, the side eyes cast my way as they collected my phone for evidence and when I sat for questioning. Even with the professionals, you can tell when something inexplicably horrible has taken place. They try to act like it's it's just another day at the office, but you can see it in their eyes. You can see the gears turn, processing just like everyone else. I don't know exactly what happened in the house or what had happened to the Jen I used to know. I don't know what would have happened to me if I had sent the right address. But it's not the muddy feet or the stillness of blood that haunts me now. It's the texts I received while driving to the police station that I was too busy to check. I only got a glance at them on the screen before they bagged my phone, but it was all I needed. It haunts me more than our video call, and I find myself looking around the precinct, looking out onto the street, each passing car, each person traveling the sidewalk.

[Jen]

I'm sorry, it appears there's been a miscalculation somewhere. I've addressed the issue. It appears the error was on your part. The error has been corrected. See you soon.

[Narrator (Michael David Axtell)]

Thumbs Up. Full Body Chills is an Audio Chuck production. This episode was written by Jesse Pullins and read by Michael David Axtell. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. I think Chuck would approve.

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[Ashley Flowers]

Some cases fade from headlines, some never made it there to begin with. I'm Ashley Flowers and on my podcast the Deck, I tell you the stories of cold cases featured on playing cards distributed in PR prisons designed to spark new leads and bring long overdue justice. Because these stories deserve to be heard and the loved ones of these victims still deserve answers, are you ready to be dealt in? Listen to the Deck now. Wherever you get your podcasts.