Boothworld Industries

## 630-296-7536 by Christopher Bloodworth

Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn't give it to me, because your help is useless.

*Why?*

Because you’re not a member.

I just wish that I wasn't either.

It all started innocently enough. With a phone call.

I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did wrong.

The phone rang at 12:06.

''Not bad'', I thought. Usually plumbers don’t bother to call or show up until 5.

When I picked up the phone I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before a woman on the line told me to “Please hold for the next available operator.”

I hopped up and sat on the cabinet in the kitchen. It was one of the few places in the cabin not occupied with boxes. Elevator music leaked into my ear. I’d started to drowse off when the music stopped and a piano chord that sounded like it was three notes that didn't quite go together played through the receiver twice.

A voice came on the line.

“Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?”

I didn't know what to say so I told the operator my name.

“Sir, we know who you are. I’m your operator. Please give me a name to access.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“It can be anyone, sir. We just need a name.”

“Uh, okay,” I said. I made up a name. “Harold Withers.”

“Sir, as your operator, I must point out that fictitious names, or the names of people that you don’t know, cannot be used.”

“Used for what?” I asked. How had she known that I’d made up that name? The whole thing felt like it was some sort of prank, but hardly anyone knew my new phone number.

“Remodeling.”

“Remodeling? Is this the plumber?” I asked.

“Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?”

I took that as a yes and gave them the name of an old ex-girlfriend. “Jessica Goodwin.”

I could hear the clicking of a keyboard on the other end of the phone. It sounded like the woman was pounding the thing with her fists. After a few moments of this, she returned.

“Jessica Goodwin,” she said. “Remodeling is scheduled for August 21, 2015. Would you like to reschedule?”

I was silent on my side of the phone. I couldn’t believe this. Someone had to be playing a prank on me.

“Who is this? Is this you, Jessica? Are you playing a prank on me?” I asked.

The woman didn’t respond for a long time. I thought that whoever was on the other end of the phone was holding in a laugh.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Yes or no, Sir?” the woman asked back.

“Yes?” I said, not understanding what the woman was asking.

“I have a Tuesday appointment available. Will that work?”

At this point I thought I was going insane and that it actually was the plumbing company.

“What about today?” I asked. “Do you have anything available for today?”

“Normally we can’t arrange for a reschedule on such short notice, but today we had a cancellation. How does three o’clock work for you?”

“Three o’clock is fine,” I said.

“Three o’clock it is then. Would you like a courtesy call?”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful. We at Boothworld Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day.”

That strange chord played twice again and the line went dead. I rolled my eyes and went back to unpacking.

My phone rang at three o’clock on the dot that afternoon.

“Hello?” I said.

“Sir. This is Samantha with Boothworld Industries again. Your courtesy call begins now.”

“What do you-” I began to say, but was cut off by those diminished chords blaring into my ear, then I heard Jessica’s voice.

“Why are you doing this?” Jessica asked. I could hear the tears in her voice.

“Jessica?” I asked.

“Sir,” the operator said. “She cannot hear you. This is a courtesy call. The appointment has already concluded.”

“Please,” Jessica begged. “Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll-”

Jessica’s voice choked off into a wheeze and all I could hear on the other end of the phone was the rustling of clothing and more wheezing. Eventually it stopped and someone picked up on the other end.

“The scheduled work has been completed,” a man’s voice said. “We at Boothworld Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day.”

“Sir?” The operator came back on the line. “Was that to your satisfaction?”

I sat there for a long time, cold sweat dripping down my ribcage. Jessica was my ex, because I walked in on her and my best friend fucking at a party in high school.

I smiled and whispered, “That was perfect.”

“Wonderful,” the operator said. “We at Boothworld Industries aim to serve. Would you like to make another appointment?”

As I stared at the water leaking from the door of the dishwasher, I smiled even bigger.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes I would.”

“Name?”

“Dan. I don’t have a last name. He’s a contractor.”

“Dan Arencibia. July 13, 2032. Would you like to reschedule?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How would Wednesday work for you?”

“Didn’t you say you had a Tuesday appointment available?” I asked.

“I did, but unfortunately that slot has been filled by another member. Would Wednesday work for you?”

“No,” I said. “I have a job interview that day. What about Thursday?”

“Unfortunately Thursday will not work. You are due for remodeling Wednesday night.”

“What?” I asked.

She repeated the exact same thing to me again.

“Can we reschedule my remodeling?” I asked.

“Of course we can, sir,” the woman said. It sounded like she was smiling on the other end of the phone.

“There’s always a way.”

I waited for her to tell me how. She didn’t speak.

“HOW?” I asked.

“Boothworld Industries is always looking to add new members. We are, of course, a membership by invitation only club. Sadly, our membership numbers have fallen in recent years. Economic recessions. Wars. Politics. What we would like you to do, in order to avoid your own remodeling appointment, is help us add several new members.”

''The light at the end of the tunnel'', I thought.

“How many members do you need?” I asked.

“One thousand.”

I choked. “One thousand?”

“Yes, sir. Otherwise we’ll have to keep our scheduled appointment. We must inform you that the member that scheduled this appointment did request a courtesy call.”

Everything stopped at that point for me. All my life I’d just skated by, not doing anything, not making a difference.

My mouth actually dried up. I’d always thought that was just a thing people wrote in books to be dramatic.

'''It’s not.'''

“I’ll get you your one thousand members,” I whispered.

“We at Boothworld Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day.”

The connection ended.

I hung up the phone and stared at it for a long time. I’m scheduled for remodeling on Wednesday, and somewhere, someone will be getting a courtesy call to listen to my last few breaths if I don’t get one thousand members to join Boothworld Industries.

It’s funny. I’d always wanted to join an elite club. Skull and Bones. New World Order. I'm not sure how I got in, but now I’m a member. I've got until Wednesday to enjoy it.

Like I said at the beginning: even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because you’re not a member.

Membership is by invitation only.

I’m inviting you in.

You can help me.

Just call '''630-296-7536'''.

## Boothworld Industries by Christopher Bloodworth

Like a lot of you, I called that number for Boothworld Industries.

Before I called, I read through the responses in the thread. I like knowing what's going to happen before it happens. I guess I'm boring like that.

It was still a sick thrill to dial in the number and hit call even though I knew what was coming. I was on the home phone and made sure to block my info. Just in case.

Something went wrong, though.

You all got a voicemail, I got a live person.

"Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?"

I froze at this point. I didn't know what to say. I expected a canned message like the rest of you got, maybe even the weird text. I never expected a real person to pick up. I panicked and hung up the phone.

When it started ringing five seconds later, I left the house to go pick up my daughter Ariana from school. On the way back, my cell started ringing. Ariana loves the hands-free phone in our car. She likes to pick it up and pretend like it's the intercom of a spaceship and that the caller is a Cylon. I blame my husband's frequent viewing of Battlestar Galactica for this.

"Mommy?" Ariana asked, "Can I push the button?"

"Sure," I said. "Make it fast before the light changes, though."

Ariana unbuckled her seat belt and reached up between the two front seats to hit the button that would pick up the phone.

"Hello?" she said, after she waited for the beep that let you know the phone picked up.

I heard the same voice from earlier. Flat. Almost robotic.

"Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?"

Everything stopped for me then. The light turned green. Cars drove by. The cars behind me honked.

But I sat there, staring at my steering wheel.

/r/nosleep is supposed to be a place for scary stories. A place where you can scare yourself a little, but be fine at the end. A place you live out your fears.

There was nothing safe about that woman's voice on the other end of the phone.

"Mommy?" Ariana asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Hello, Ariana," the operator said, "welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?"

"Ariana!" my daughter said.

"Ariana, stop," I said.

"Mrs. Jacobs," the woman said. "Please call the office when you get home. We have some remodeling to schedule."

I didn't answer. I hung up the phone and drove the rest of the way home.

Ariana looked up at me as we walked up the driveway. "Was that a Cylon?"

I smiled, even though if felt like someone had skewered my stomach to the concrete and it was still writhing around there.

"No, honey," I said. "Cylons aren't real."

My little girl looked up at me. Her brow wrinkled and she frowned.

That broke my heart.

It was the first time I'd lied to her.

No, it wasn't a Cylon on the other end of the line, but there was something lacking in the Boothworld operator's voice.

Something broken.

Something human.

Something dead.

When we got inside, I made Ariana a bowl of cereal and took it to her room. I turned on SpongeBob SquarePants for her to watch, and I knew what I had to do.

I typed the Boothworld Industries number into my cell: **630-296-7536**.

When I brought the phone up to my ear, someone was breathing on the other end. I never even heard it ring.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?"

My mouth went dry. I knew what I was supposed to do.

"Janice Hoffman," I said.

Janice was my boss at work. Although her voice reminded me of Fran Drescher's, her constant exploring hands reminded me more of that sleazy boss from *Disclosure*.

On the other end of the phone, I could hear Samantha pounding on the keyboard. It sounded like she was wearing one of those cordless headsets and slamming her face down on the keys.

"Janice Hoffman," she said. "Remodeling is scheduled for January 14, 2022. Would you like to reschedule?"

"Yes," I said.

"We have an opening on Monday."

"That's fine."

"Would you like a courtesy call?"

I wanted nothing to do with listening to someone die. "No," I said.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Jacobs?"

"Yes."

"Alright. On Monday, the 13th, we have Janice Hoffman scheduled for remodeling."

"Fine."

"Mrs. Jacobs?"

"Yes?"

"How would you like to pay for this?"

What the hell was she talking about? The original story never mentioned anything about payment.

"Pay?" I asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. When you schedule a remodeling, the scheduling is final unless another member shifts the scheduled date. We expect payment in full before service is rendered."

"What's the price?"

"Ariana."

The name hung in the air.

"Ariana?" I whispered. "What do you mean?"

"The price for the scheduled remodeling is your daughter, Ariana. If you do not pay, we will have no choice but to repossess what is due."

My blood ran cold when she said *repossess*. I could hear her smiling on the other end of the phone. The first fragment of emotion she'd shown yet.

"What's the difference between a payment and a repossession?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"You can earn any payment back - parts of it at least - by referring new members. Unfortunately, all repossessions are final."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Ma'am, you responded to our ad on /r/nosleep and called us. You contracted work on Janice Hoffman. Now we are at the payment stage. The cost of the work is your daughter Ariana."

"You can't have her."

"Wonderful. Repossession is scheduled then. We at Boothworld Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. You have a marvelous day."

I jumped when the phone clicked.

I took it away from my head and stared at it.

If I hadn't felt like I was going to cry and throw up at the same time, I would've laughed. Everything was crazy. I was crazy. I stared at my cell's display.

The Boothworld Industries number was still sitting there on the screen.

I ran to Ariana's room. It was empty.

The bowl of cereal sat on the towel I always put under anything Ariana ate in case of spills.

Sitting in the bowl was a business card.

I took a picture because I thought I was going crazy and I thought that the card wouldn't be there if I blinked. When I picked the card up, it was warm, baking with wet heat. My skin crawled, and I threw it down. It landed backside up in the bowl.

I heard a roar outside and made it out just in time to see a matte black Chevelle SS roll around the corner.

I called the police. They sent out an officer and he took down all my info. An Amber Alert was issued; the waiting began.

I felt desperate, so I visited /r/boothworld, but the sub-reddt was private.

I got a call a few hours later.

The number as from a 917 area code.

"Hello?" I asked. I already knew who would be on the other end.

"Ma'am, this is Samantha with Boothworld Industries again. Your courtesy call begins now."

I hung up. My cell started ringing again. 323 area code.

I took the battery out of my cell. My house phone started ringing. Caller ID read an 832 area code.

I didn't answer; I pulled the jack from the wall and sat down with my face in my hands. I couldn't bring myself to think about what was happening. I sat there and cried, feeling completely helpless.

That's when the phone started ringing.

My cell buzzed across the table, away from its battery, and my unplugged home phone rang louder than it ever had before.

I got in my car and left. I went to Wal-Mart and used a payphone to call the detective in charge of Ariana's case. His name was Stark.

After waiting for a long time on hold, Stark picked up.

"Mrs. Jacobs," he said.

"Have you found her?" I asked.

"No, but we traced the number. It was a cell phone from some kid a block over from where you live. He said that he never made the call, but the carrier says otherwise. The kid says that he called a number for - just a second - here it is: Boothworld Industries. On a site called Readit."

"Reddit," I corrected.

"That's what I said. There's no record of Boothworld Industries anywhere. We're holding the kid and I'll let you know if anything happens, okay?"

"Is that all?" I asked. I just want my daughter back.

"Yes, ma'am. It's best if you leave this to us, okay?"

"Alright."

"Good," Stark said. "We at the police department say thanks and you're welcome to call if you need to, but I'm sure that we'll be in touch soon. You have a marvelous day."

I hung up the phone, and it started ringing immediately. I picked it up, stupidly hoping it was Stark with new info. It wasn't.

A male's voice growled into my ear.

"The scheduled work has been completed. We at Boothworld Industries say thanks and welcome to the club. /r/boothworld is now open. You have a marvelous day."

The line dropped and I hung up the phone. I brought my hand up to my ear; **it was warm with his breath.**

**EDIT:** *I made a mistake. Everything is fine. We at the Jacobs household say thanks. You have a marvelous day.*

## Third Floor Elevator by Christopher Bloodworth

I'm not really sure where to start or if this is even the correct place to do this, because it seems more like a bad dream than something that actually happened. It seems like something that couldn't have happened, yet most of me says that it did.

Everything started yesterday.

Yesterday was supposed to be the first day on my new job. I got to the building early thanks to a lack of traffic, it being July 4th and all. The building was as beautiful as the first time I'd seen it; built of red brick with white accents. The roof was a lush forest green. It stuck out in between two older buildings on Prairie and Fannin in downtown Houston. The job was nothing special, just a bullshit temp job in HR for a crappy law firm.

Like I said. Nothing special.

I made sure to dress up, though; pencil skirt, new blouse, black heels.

When I drove up, everything seemed fine. I parked in the section my boss told me I wouldn't get towed from.

I'm sorry. I'm avoiding getting to the point. I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not wasting my time.

I walked into the dark lobby of the building on the ground floor. I was supposed to be there at 7 A.M., but I showed up a whole thirty minutes early. I needed to keep this job.

I got in the elevator, all nerves and excitement. After punching the button for the third floor, I fixed my skirt, making sure nothing was out of place.

Right before the elevator doors closed, a pale, white hand slipped between them and stopped them. The doors opened up, and a thin woman with pale skin walked in the elevator with me.

She punched the button for the third floor as well.

You know how when you push an elevator button and it turns white or that weird yellow color?

When I pushed the third floor's button, it turned yellow. When the gaunt woman with the high cheek bones pushed the already lit 3, it turned crimson.

I'd never seen anything like that happen before in my life, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to cause a problem; I'm not the silly, dumb girl that didn't know how elevators worked.

So, I kept my mouth shut.

You know how most people on an elevator face the front the whole ride up?

The thin woman I shared the car with didn't.

She faced to the side; she faced me. I glanced over at her, because I thought she was staring at me.

She wasn't.

She stared directly above my head. Still. Unmoving.

It was then that I noticed something I should have noticed when she first entered. The woman wore a black suit, and from the sleeves of the suit and the collar of the shirt, black, purple, and red tattoos could just be seen.

I imagined that the woman was covered head to foot in tattoos except for where her skin showed.

I couldn't make out what any of the tattoos were, though.

She stared above my head the entire ride up to the third floor. Looking back, it took far longer to get to that floor than it should have.

When we arrived, instead of a high pitched, cheap sounding ding, we were greeted with several low bells that chimed at the same time, making a weird sort of sound that made my teeth hurt.

I smiled at the woman, nodding and gesturing that she should go ahead. She didn't move, continuing to stare at the spot above my head.

The doors started closing, and still the woman hadn't moved.

I stuck my hand out to stop the doors, and got off on my floor.

It was like walking into a meat freezer. Chill bumps broke out all over my skin, and my teeth started chattering and aching even more. The cold air burned my eyes.

I glanced behind me to see if the strange woman was following me, and only just saw her through the door of the closing elevator. She was facing me, staring with unblinking eyes. Her head was cocked to the side, and when I say side, I mean that her right ear was completely flat against her right shoulder.

When we made eye contact, her lips stretched into a smile.

Right before the door closed, she clicked her teeth twice.

I shook my head then, thinking it was some sort of joke. Maybe this law firm hazed their new employees.

It didn't seem likely, and I turned away from the elevators.

The lights were still off in the office, but I could hear keyboards clacking, telephones ringing, and people talking.

I started walking towards HR, wondering why no one had turned on the lights. The emergency lights were on, but could anyone work in those conditions?

When I got to my new department, I went directly to my desk. I wanted to set up all my stuff before I started training. I frown when I saw my desk. Both when I interviewed and when I returned to accept the position, the cubicle had been empty. But now, balled up on my desk, was a Kelly green burlap sack with several tears in the fabric.

More hazing?

I shook my head and put the sack into one of my new drawers. The sack felt warm in my hands. I shook this off too.

More hazing.

I'm one of those girls who likes her stuff where it belongs. I love fluorescent post-it notes and brightly colored paper clips.

To-do lists? Check.

Highlighters? Double check.

I set to fixing up my desk the way I wanted it.

I was so intent on getting everything ready, that I'm not sure how long the office had been silent before I noticed.

No more telephones.

No more voices.

No more keys being pressed.

I quit moving, feeling like I was under a spotlight. I licked my lips and tasted blood. My lips had gone from perfectly fine, to chapped and bloody in ten minutes. I also noticed that my teeth weren't just aching, they were throbbing.

Then, the lights started to come up, starting at the far end of the office, and working their way towards me in large chunks.

HR's were the last to light up.

When they did, I still hadn't moved. I could taste blood in my mouth.

I shook my head, feeling silly about how scared I was, and stood up.

Everyone else in the office was already standing in their cubicles, staring at me.

At least I think they were staring.

I couldn't see their faces because every single one of them wore a burlap scarecrow mask.

Every.

Single.

Person.

The masks were all different shades of the rainbow, but the eyes and mouth on every mask was pitch black.

I stood there in shock for another second before my legs started moving. It was strange. My legs were running, but I seemed to just be along for the ride. As I ran by all the cubicles, the scarecrow heads swiveled along with me.

I saw that not every person stood. Some of them pressed telephones against the thick material of their masks. Others slammed their faces against their keyboards over and over. Others laid on the ground, arms crossed over their bellies like they were sleeping.

I caught the occasional snatch of conversation as my legs powered me toward the stairs.

"... welcome to the club..."

"... a remodeling has been scheduled..."

"... the dentist will arrive shortly..."

"... Samantha, and I will be your...

"... Mr. Shred, mend no..."

A glowing sign in between the elevators blinked on. It read, "Boothworld Industries". And below that, a smaller sign read, "Established 1888 | Whitechapel, London."

I was on the third floor, but not the same third floor where I'd interviewed the day before. I hit the stairs running, and didn't stop until I was in my car, driving away. I was shaking so badly, that I had to pull to the side of the road for a little to settle down.

When I got home, I took a shower to relax.

Toweling off, I realized that I was covered in black and red marks.

I can't even begin to understand.

Sometime during the night, I lost a tooth.

My lips are still bleeding.

My eyes are blood red.

What's stranger is that I can feel a yearning to return to that red stone, green-roofed building and hit the third floor button twice. To sit back down at my desk and pull that burlap mask over my head. Kelly green has always been my favorite color.

And those marks?

They cover the surface of my skin everywhere I was covered by clothing in the office. If I was still wearing what I wore yesterday, the marks would just barely be poking out from my collar, sleeves, and the hem of my skirt.

Just like that woman on the elevator.

I'm sitting here, shaking my head as I look at one of the really bad ones on my right arm.

It's a bruise, but a very specific type of bruise.

It's a bite mark.

I'm covered in human bite marks and they're growing darker by the minute.

I think that's all the résumé I'll need for tomorrow: my first day at Boothworld Industries.

## Welcome To The Club by Christopher Bloodworth

Everyone relax.

I'm not stupid. I already called the police and they said that they would send a car out to my house right away.

I've been a fan of this site for a while, but I'm not a great writer, and nothing scary has ever really happened to me, so I've never had a reason to post.

That changed this morning.

Let me back up a week, though.

Black Friday.

I love Black Friday.

It's probably my favorite time of the year. I know, I know. I'm a stupid, blind, dumb consumer.

Guess what?

I don't care. I love it.

I love the jostling crowds and the roar and the rush. That all came and went like normal. When I got home that afternoon, I started unloading my bags like I always do. Clothes in one pile, electronics in another, miscellaneous in a third.

At the bottom of one of my bags, I found a business card. I tossed the card in a fourth pile with all the receipts and didn't think a thing about it until my husband John asked me about it this morning. He keeps a track of our finances.

"Alix?" John asked. "What's BIFD?"

"I have no idea," I said, and I didn't. "Brooklyn Internal Fire Department?"

I'd never heard of those letters before in my life.

He laughed at me. "No. It was in your receipts from last Friday. I think it's a coupon."

Coupon? That sounded promising. I took the card and looked at it.

Hah, I thought. "Don't go." Cute. Membership by invitation only?

That sounded like my kind of party, but when I looked at my watch, I saw that it was 8:55. I was about to run out of time. I grabbed my purse and headed out. My husband and I have done some geocaching, so I thought it might be a scavenger hunt for deals or some new marketing ploy from a partner with one of the stores I went to on Black Friday.

Like I said, my kind of party.

I sped like a demon and just as 9:00 A.M. rolled around.

I got pulled over for speeding.

The cop let me off with a warning, and I showed up to the place twenty minutes late. The field was empty, but the area was beautiful. In the distance, I could see an abandoned golf course, so I thought that maybe, it was a membership drive for a new country club.

Private.

Exclusive.

Soooo me.

All these thoughts flew through my head until I saw what looked like a body at the edge of the field.

It was a male wearing a scarecrow mask tied to a board upside down. The same style of card I found in my bag was screwed into the guy's head.

I guess this site has desensitized me from scary stuff, because I felt calm although that same rushing Black Friday feeling pulsed through my veins. Also, "Don't go HOWE!" I don't know anyone with the last name Howe, so that didn't make sense either.

I walked around the body and even nudged it with my toe. I went back to my car and didn't even think to call the police until I got home. Although I was calm, was I maybe in shock?

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. Sorry if rambled, but writing it out helped a lot. Most *real* creepy stories don't end badly.

I'm living proof of that.

It does make me think. What would have happened to me had I been on time and not twenty minutes late?