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Want to talk to the dead? There's an app for that.

Have you tried that augmented reality ghost app? You can’t download it on the app store. It was there for a few days, but Apple took it down after a horrific incident. It was on the news, that a man killed himself because of what the app made him see. That man was my brother, and I’m here to tell you his story.
First, about the app. It’s called Spirit Caller. The app description said that if someone had died in a certain spot, the app would call the person’s spirit back to that spot. You could then see and talk to the person through your smartphone camera and speaker. Sound bogus enough?
It’s funny how my brother discovered the app. He was searching for the Spirit Airlines app so he could book a flight to Atlanta for a medical school interview. Anyway, he clicked on the app for Spirit Caller by mistake, and intrigued by the idea of another augmented reality experience since Pokemon Go, downloaded it onto his iPhone.
Now my brother never believed in the paranormal. Neither did I, and I still don’t know what to believe. But what I witnessed I can’t explain. That’s why I must tell you all, so you can help me understand what the hell happened.
“Okay, this could be kind of cool,” my brother said as he opened the app. I was driving him to the mall near our suburban Massachusetts town. It was so good to spend time with him after he’d been away at university. And I knew it wouldn’t be much longer before he left for med school.
“The hell?” I said, peering at the app loading screen. The words “Spirit Caller” were written in a boxy, all caps font. They didn’t fit with the plain, beige background. “What’s this now?”
“Augmented reality,” my brother said. “Didn’t you see that awesome demo Apple released on Youtube?”
“Why would I watch that?” Now I hate everything Apple. Macbooks, iPhones, iPads – why would you use something so locked down? I’m an Android man, and now that I think about it, that might be what saved me.
“That demo was cool,” my brother said. “You look through the camera, and something is there that isn’t in real life. Like with Pokemon Go, but ten times better. Imagine looking through the camera and seeing someone sitting in the backseat.”
The app had finally loaded, and looked like the camera app, but without a shutter button. My brother panned the camera around the car; there were no “spirits” to be found.
“I don’t see shit,” I said.
“It says you gotta go where someone died. So maybe…a graveyard?”
“Dude, no one actually dies in a graveyard.”
“Yeah, but, maybe it uses geolocation to decide where to show us the ghosts?” my brother said. “Like Pokemon Go.”
“It’s just a stupid app. I seriously doubt it has the budget to be anything like Pokemon Go.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” my brother closed the app and put his iPhone away. “It’s probably just some programmer dicking around.”
We stopped at the mall. Barely anyone was shopping on this humid and sunny July morning. My brother tried on suits at Macy’s, and I stopped at Gamestop to aimlessly browse the shelves, even though I only buy digital now.
On the way home, we drove by a graveyard.
“Stop for a bit, I want to try something,” my brother said.
“Dude, you can’t be serious.”
“Come on, aren’t you at least a little curious?”
I remembered when we were kids. Spending time with my brother and going on stupid adventures was the world to me back then. Even if it was just playing pirate ship on our bunk bed.
I stopped the car at the side of the road, just outside the graveyard. We got out and walked down the tree-shaded path to the open gates. No one was around. My brother took out his phone and opened the app.
He looked like an idiot panning his camera around. He focused on different gravestones. I hadn’t been in a cemetery since our father passed away. There was nothing dreadful about this graveyard. It seemed like the most peaceful and solemn of places.
“Holy fuck,” my brother said. “Holy mother of fuck.”
I turned around to see him stumble backward and drop his phone.
“I saw something. I saw something. It was right there.”
I chuckled. “Okay, what did you see?”
“A woman. Standing over there.” He picked up his phone. The case had saved it. “She was dressed in black and veiled…like a widower.”
I laughed. “Well, where is she?”
My brother panned the phone around. “I swear to God, man. I fucking saw her. Over this spot.” He pointed at a plot in the ground.
There was no tombstone over this plot. It was just a small plaque in the earth, inscribed with the words “Joseph A. Dennel 1812-1897. God took him. He died in prayer.”
“You saw a woman,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure Joseph is a man’s name.”
There was another plaque next to that one. On it were the words “Bertha A. Dennel 1809-1897. Grief took her. She died on this spot.” I decided not to tell my brother.
“I swear it looked so fucking real,” my brother said. “Her mouth was filled with maggots, her skin was rotted off. She stared right at me, through the camera, and smiled the most deranged smile. Then she ran at me.”
I grabbed his phone from him and pressed the sleep button. “Look, it’s probably a viral campaign for some horror movie. Maybe the ghost only appears sometimes, or like you said, in certain spots.”
My brother looked shaken. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go home. Fuck.”
He didn’t sleep that night. During summer vacation, I usually stay up ‘till 5 AM playing World of Tanks, and I heard him pacing back and forth around his room all night. At a quarter to five, I became concerned and knocked on his door.
“Dude, what are you doing?” I said.
He had a cup of coffee in his hands, eyes red. “A man who downloaded that app is dead.”
“I’ve been up all night researching everything about it. People who download that app start behaving strangely. One man even stabbed himself in the eye.”
“Dude, what the hell?” I didn’t know what to say, so I followed him to his laptop. A damned Macbook, of course.
“A suicide note was found with his body.” He scrolled to a picture of the note. It said, “I gave my soul to it. Now Lizzy won’t cry forever” scrawled and repeated a dozen times. Lizzy was the dead man’s dead daughter, apparently.
I shook my head. “Oh God. This all must be part of the viral campaign.” My eyelids felt heavy. “Look, just forget about all this and go to sleep. Let’s talk about it in the morning.” I yawned. “Or afternoon.”
“There’s something messed up going on here,” my brother said. “It’s no viral campaign.”
“What could it possibly be? It’s just bits of code on a phone. If you’re so scared, why not delete the app?”
“I can’t,” my brother said. “It won’t…delete.”
Okay, that sounded ridiculous. I picked up my brother’s iPhone and scrolled to the app. “Umm, how do you delete apps on these things?” I asked.
“Just hold it down until the apps start dancing.”
So I did. The app started shaking, but there was no way to delete it.
“You’re the tech guy in the family,” my brother said, “there has to be another way to delete it, right?”
“Of course there is. Let’s figure it out in the morning, okay?”
My brother grabbed the phone and held the button to shut it off. “Yeah, for sure. Good night.”
I went back to my room and shut the lights. Sleep took me.
The aroma of buttery pancakes woke me. The digital clock on my bedside table read 11:42 AM. Not being one to deny myself hot, syrupy pancakes, I thundered downstairs and into the kitchen. Mom stood over the stove, piling fresh pancakes onto a plate.
“Good…noon,” she said. “I was about to stir you from your coma.”
“The pancakes did that.” I grabbed a couple of them, some maple syrup, and got down to business.
“Before you start,” Mom said, “go wake your brother. He’s usually up early.”
I knocked on his door. No response. I creaked the door open and peaked inside. He wasn’t there.
“He’s not here,” I said and got back to my pancakes.
“Really? I didn’t see him leave. After you finish, give him a call, would you?
I laid down on the couch in the living room, bleary eyed and full of pancake goodness. I called my brother.
“Where the hell are you? Mom made pancakes.”
“You’re not…still using that app, are you?”
“Remember where they found dad?”
“I..always wanted to know.”
“Know what?”
“Did he kill himself?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“I’m going to ask him.”
He hung up. Now I have to explain something. My father died when I was nine. His body was found on a hiking trail a few miles from where we lived at the time. He had fallen off a cliff and died on impact. The week before that, he had lost his job – a high paying finance job that provided for us. Not only that, he was also under investigation for financial crimes. So the life insurance company launched an investigation into his death to determine if it was a suicide. It was determined to have been an accident because my father had fallen backward and landed on his back. We still survive off the payout.
I called my brother back. No response. I called five more times. He wouldn’t pick up.
I grabbed my car keys. “Mom, I’m out for a bit.”
I settled into my musty Mazda and was on my way.
“Wadsworth Falls, Connecticut” I put into Google Maps. I tried calling my brother a few more times on the way, to no avail.
After many hours, I was there. In the wilderness, and on the trail. It looked so familiar. As a family, we would hike this trail all the time when Dad was alive. We would picnic at the top, near the waterfall. Mom made delicious tuna sandwiches. She never makes them anymore.
It was a hot fucking afternoon. Like an idiot, I hadn’t brought a bottle of water. Exhausted after an hour of walking, I sat in the shade beneath a tree. I took out my phone. It still had a 4G signal. I went to the app store and searched for Spirit Caller. Apparently, it wasn’t in the Google Play store. Figures that an undeletable app that supposedly summons ghosts would only be available on iPhone. I googled it to check if there was an apk for Android. There wasn’t.
The July humidity felt heavy on my eyelids. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and drifted to sleep.
A shrill scream woke me. It was dark; I’d been asleep for a couple hours. Had I been dreaming, or was that scream real?
Clouds blocked the moonlight on this black night. I switched on my phone’s flashlight and walked on.
A while later, my phone rang. It was my brother.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I saw Dad.”
“Are you still on the trail? Tell me exactly where.”
I turned the speakerphone on so I could talk and use the flashlight. I hurried up the trail.
“I talked to him,” my brother said, “he looked the same as the day he killed himself.”
“Listen, I’m coming. Just wait for me, okay?”
“Dad said something is punishing him for what he did.”
I ran up the trail. It got steeper as the tree growth thickened.
“None of it is real,” I said. “You know that, right?”
“It won’t let his soul go. Unless I give it mine.”
I ran as fast as I could. I could barely see what was ahead of me.
“No. Dad would never…never ask you to do that.”
I heard a laugh. A twisted upside down laugh, through the smartphone speaker.
“I took a screenshot,” my brother said, “I emailed it to you, so you know I’m telling the truth.”
The top of the trail wasn’t far. Where we’d had so many picnics and tuna sandwiches. Where Dad had fallen to his death.
“I’m almost there. Wait for me!”
“Goodbye Sam. Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
“No!” I threw down my phone and sprinted. My brother stood ahead, at the cliff’s edge. I dashed to grab him.
But somehow, he was over the edge. To me, that moment felt like forever, as he floated down, away from me, and splattered back first on a rock face a hundred feet below.
Half an hour later, a park ranger found his body. And me, huddled and shaking at our picnic spot. When the police came, I tried to explain what happened. The police and media spun it as a mentally ill man who believed that an app let him talk to the dead. Who killed himself out of unprocessed grief for his dead father. Apple pulled the app hours after the story aired, but apparently, it can still be installed on a jailbroken iPhone.
That night, I asked the police if they’d found his phone. They hadn’t. And I’d tossed mine on the trail. They never recovered it either.
It would be a few hours before I got home. I don’t even want to describe how Mom took it. I’m sure you can imagine what a mother’s grief is like.
I laid down on my bed, dead inside. I hadn’t cried. The tears were stuck, wedged in by a combination of disbelief and dread. I dragged myself to my computer and opened Gmail.
There it was. The email from my brother. “No subject.” Nothing in the body either. Just an attachment. I clicked on it.
It was a dark and hazy scene of the cliff edge. A man stood near the edge, his face shadowed and blurred. Was that Dad? Something was behind him, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
I opened the picture in Photoshop and zoomed in. There was a face. Pale, with eyeless sockets. I increased the contrast and sharpness. The face had no nose, no ears, just gaping holes where they should be. But there was something odd about these holes. They had teeth.
I zoomed out to see the man’s terrified, wide eyes. Yes, he was Dad for sure. I closed the picture.
It’s now a week later. My brother’s funeral was a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been using an old flip phone to get by. Today, after I submit this post, I’m going to drive to a store I’ve never been. I have to admit, Apple Stores are beautiful. It’s time I bought a new phone. It’s time I found out what really happened.
submitted by zamakhtar to nosleep

10-26 01:53 - 'Leveraged: BitMEX Android App' (self.Bitcoin) by /u/PhilippeMaes91 removed from /r/Bitcoin within 686-696min

Hi guys,
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Check it out here: [[link]2


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submitted by removalbot to removalbot