“Have any of you heard of this one? It’s a bit obscure, but I remember discovering it on Reddit many years back. You can look it up for yourself, but I can give you the short version if you’d like.
In England during the 70s and 80s, there was a special number you could call from a red telephone box around Burnley in Lancashire. A few people said you needed to dial a series of 1s, 2s, 3s, and 0s, while at least one other comment in a different thread suggested you had to tap the receiver a bunch of times to send an analog signal. Whatever it was, some people claim that once you’d dialled correctly, you’d get through to a woman, talking in a stern, monotone voice. By some accounts, she would say a couple different things, but everyone who said they’d called this number agreed she’d said one phrase over and over again.
Help Me. Help Me. Susie’s Dying.
I remember being quite intrigued by the story. I was a fan of creepy things at the time (I think I was a teenager), and the idea of a number where all you’d hear is a woman saying
Help Me. Help Me. Susie’s Dying.
seemed plausible enough to be real. I think I may have chatted to a friend about it, and we concluded that it was probably some test by the phone company. We never tried calling the number, though. There wasn’t a phone box in my village. At least I don’t think there was. I can’t remember my friend’s name.
That story, the
Help Me. Help Me. Suzie’s Dying.
story, is one of the few things I have that reminds me I had a life before this. I went online, I made friends, I lived in a village of some kind, somewhere. Maybe I lived in Burnley? I don’t know. In some ways, it’s easier not to think about that stuff, since it just reminds me that I’ve lost something, although I feel I lack even a remote sense of what I have lost. Sometimes, I almost wish I was afraid, wish I was still able to conceive of a life beyond this place. Was I kidnapped? I know I didn’t choose to be here, but did I really have a choice to begin with? It makes me tired to think about. Everything makes me tired, actually.
Help Me. Help Me. Susie’s Dying.
I was driving, I know that much. It was a dark country road, and I remember the grey leaves forming a tunnel for me as I sped along. I know I was driving, because I was alone, and I was clutching a wheel covered in a slightly sticky black leather. There is a smell in the air, possibly cigarettes.
Where was I going? How old was I? Susie’s Dying.
There is nothing much on my mind. The radio is on, playing the same song over and over again. The song is about love, or about a series of 1s, 2s, 3s, and 0s. Everything is normal until I see the flash of something pale, an arm, or a leg, and I quickly slam on the breaks and with a violent jolt I stop, my heart pounding and my hands gripping the wheel even tighter than before. In front of me, just outside the range of the headlights, I see a small figure. It looks like a girl, possibly five or six. She is wearing a puffy white dress, like the kind you’d wear to a wedding.
How do I know all this? Help Me. How do I know all this?
She was standing upright, stiff like a mannequin. Her arms and legs were bare, and I remember thinking how cold she looked, just standing in the middle of the road at night. Her face was small like a button, all white with what looked like tears rolling down her cheeks and staining her white dress. She was sobbing. I should have known, but she was
Dying.
all alone. How could I leave her alone? It was cold and dark, and I’d nearly run her over. I needed to
Help Her.
I took off my seatbelt and got out the car. I said something, asked her something, I think I asked her for her name? I smiled, because I wanted to
Help Me.
reassure her. She wouldn’t move, though, she was still and stared at me and her eyes were weeping but there was something off about them. I got closer. I told her my name was
Susie
and I asked if she know where her parents where. I didn’t know what to do, and I was starting to feel very afraid. I wanted to call
a number - I think it was made up of zeros, twos and ones - and without needing to insert two pence
all the while she just stood there. I got closer and closer, and I realized that even though she was crying, the little girl’s face had no expression whatsoever. Her mouth was just a straight line like the kind drawn with a marker pen, and her eyes weren’t looking at me but were just staring forward like glass beads, even as the tears poured and poured and poured onto her white dress. She was sobbing, but she wasn’t
What wasn’t she? Help Me. Susie’s Dying.
The next thing I remember was a great pain, greater than anything I’ve ever known or can know. It hit me on the head and travelled down me. I fell to the ground and couldn’t get up. She was still there. It was her and wasn’t her. She wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. I think I screamed out, called for help. I needed help for me and this child I’d found. I could barely open my eyes, I was so tired all of a sudden. I slept and woke and slept and woke and woke and now I’m here, and I’ve been here ever since.
That’s the last thing I remember.
Was it a day ago? An hour? A year? Was it even real, I don’t know. Thinking about it makes me tired. I’m just so tired. It’s cold in here, and despite my best efforts, I cannot sleep. I have to watch the phones. The phones are important, they are all red and shiny. I must watch the phones, and I am happy to do it because if I don’t there’ll be no-one to look after her. She needs help, she is all alone and cold and sobbing. I must watch the phones and pray that someone calls me, so I can get us both the help we need. I do not know the number, have any of you hear of this number? If you know it, please give me a ring. Please give me a ring. She needs our help. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me a ring. Give me”
-–
Found this message written on an old piece of writing paper just sort of lying on the floor of an abandoned phone booth in the middle of London. It was smashed up and had graffiti all over it, but I don’t think that’s related to the note. Probably some arg or whatever, but still pretty interesting. What do you guys think?