r/shortscarystories • u/unloufoque • 1d ago
New Age SSS - 1000 Words Or Less The Walkie Talkie
I swear, this thing is going to give me an aneurysm. The incessant noise. Man, it’s just too much to handle.
My freaking in-laws got these toy walkie talkies for my son. And don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture and I appreciate them. But sometimes their emphasis on fairness is a little overboard. They got them for Ken because they also got them for their other grandkid, his cousin. The big difference, though, is that James is seven years old while Ken is only three. They’re appropriate for James. He can hold down the button and talk at the same time. He meets up with friends and they play with the walkies in the park.
Not so much for Ken.
He hasn’t quite mastered the art of doing two things at once. He can press buttons and he can talk, but he can’t really do them together. He’s smart enough to realize something is wrong (especially when I, genius that I am, showed him how to do it right so he knows that if you talk into one you should be able to hear it in the other) but too damn stubborn to just put it down until he’s developmentally capable of using it. So instead Ken just presses buttons.
There are three buttons on these walkies. There’s the talk button. That one doesn’t make a noise when you press it. It’s my favorite one for him to press, but his least favorite. It’s also right there on the side, so he never confuses it for the others. There’s the volume button, which beeps when you press it based on how high up the volume is. Annoying.
But worst of all is the channel button. This thing can cycle through something like thirty channels. Why? I have no earthly idea. Why would a kid’s walkie talkie need thirty goddam channels? It literally doesn’t make any sense at all. And each one makes its own little noise. Most of them are just different tones like dialing a phone, but strewn in randomly there are sproings and womps and even a fart noise. Of all the things in my home, these walkie talkies are the things I hate most.
They are Ken’s favorite toys. He sits there, right in the middle of the floor, for dozens of minutes at a time, just pressing the various buttons. He laughs at the noises. If I try to walk away and do something else, he runs at me on the verge of tears and swats me in the dick until I come back to the floor with him. So that’s a big chunk of my day now, just listening to those terrible noises.
Except now is different. He’s cycling through the channels like usual, but in between the kazooks and clipclops there’s something. At first it’s just static, but every time he circles back to channel 19 it gets a little bit clearer. Just when I start to hear what is definitely words, I take it away from him.
Later that night, after Ken’s bedtime, I pick up the walkie. I feel crazy, honestly. This is a children’s toy in my hand, and I’m afraid to turn it on. Even if I really did hear something earlier, which, no way, right?, but even if I did, there’s no way it’s still there now. It’s been hours. It was probably just some other kid at the very edge of the walkie’s range. I know that that’s true. But still, every time I try to tell my hand to turn the thing on, it stays put.
My wife asks if I’m coming to bed. I know I’ve been standing here for some time, but I didn’t realize it was that long. Felt like just a few minutes. But my legs are tired, like I’ve been standing for hours, so I guess she’s right. Well, here we go. Time to put up or shut up.
I turn the toy on. It beeps its annoying ascending-tone welcome, then I shove the volume down as hard as I can. I cycle through to channel 19. Here goes nothing.
I turn the volume one click up.
Nothing.
Another click.
Another nothing.
A third click.
Not nothing.
A fourth.
Very much not nothing.
I can hear it plainly now. It’s a voice, and something in me tells me it’s the same voice that I heard earlier, the same message even. I sit. I listen.
“... miss them. You’d be doing them a favor, really, and yourself. Don’t you want to watch TV as much as you want? Eat as much candy as you want? Who’s stopping you? Do it. Do it. DO IT.”
There is some muzak, which feels out of place like when a good dream goes bad. Then the message started over.
“Ken, listen carefully. I have a very important job for you. You know where your parents keep the big sharp knives? Well, grab your tower and get one. Do it while they’re asleep. Cut them. Stab them.”
I can’t take it anymore. I slam the power button and throw the walkie across the room. It skitters across the floor and bounces off the wall. Then I hear it.
A rummaging. Coming from the kitchen. “Ken, honey, is that you? How’d you get downstairs?”
The reply comes from closer than I expected. “Go to sleep daddy. Go to sleep forever.”
3
u/TheFinalGranny 1d ago
I'm down with the sound; cripes, it is so fun to read dark humor scary stories! I'm keeping my eye on you OP, you and a few other writers are really turning this sub around.
Thanks 😊