Midnight Caller | Teen Ink

Midnight Caller

August 30, 2015
By _EffortlesslyShnazzy_ PLATINUM, Ooltewah, Tennessee
_EffortlesslyShnazzy_ PLATINUM, Ooltewah, Tennessee
24 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"If I waited until I felt like writing, I'd never write at all."


The TV blared noisily, the characters coming to life on the tiny screen in front of me. I sighed, my head bobbing as I tried to keep my eyes open. I was trying to do homework, and I just now realized that watching TV while doing it was not the best idea. Making a compromise I turned the TV down, focusing my attention on the papers in my lap. I was on my fifth problem when my cellphone chimed. I scrambled to pick it up, jostling the papers on my lap. Holding the phone to my ear, I smiled when my friend Jamie's energetic voice buzzed through the speakers. She chattered about 20 miles per hour, going on about how her crush was planning to ask another girl to banquet and how she wanted to buy some shoes she saw in a store last week. I just murmured yeah whenever it was appropriate, not really paying attention to what she was saying. My mind wandered while Jamie was talking and I faintly heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. I quickly apologized to Jamie, and set my phone down on the cushion, padding quietly into the kitchen, picking the phone. I lifted it to my ear.
"Hello?" I said.
There was no answer.
"Hello?" I spoke again, a little louder.
The phone remained silent.
I was about to speak again, when the phone switched to the dial tone, interrupting my question. I stared down at the phone in my hand and shrugged, figuring that someone had called the wrong number. I walked back into the living room and I resumed my conversation with Jamie, pushing the call to the back of my mind. Soon Jamie said she had to go and I hung up, ready to get back to my homework. I hadn't even picked up the pencil before the phone rang again. I exhaled, exasperated at the interruption and jogging back into the kitchen, picking up the phone.
"Hello?" I said into the phone.
No response.
"Hello?" I called again.
The line was silent, but I could hear the scratchy static over the line.
"If someone is there please say something." I said, feeling slightly annoyed.  I was about to place the phone back on its base when a soft whisper reached my ears. I tentatively raised it back to my ear, tuning my ears to the whisper traveling through the speaker.
"Anna," the voice whispered, the sound like bugs crawling on my skin.
I snapped, "Who is this?"
The voice chuckled heinously, not responding. I shivered, my hands shaking slightly, slamming the phone down on its base. I walked back into the living room and plopped myself down on the coach. I was about to call my parents when my cellphone chimed again.
"Hello?" I whispered.
For a few seconds there was no answer and dread froze my muscles. Then someone spoke.
"Hey honey!" My moms lilting voice resonated through the phone. I let out a long breath that I didn't know I had been holding, and replied.
"Hey mom! I'm so glad you called."
"What's wrong? Are you sick?" She inquired, concern bleeding into her voice.
"No, but I think someone . . . I don't know. Someone keeps calling the house and it's starting to freak me out. They said--" Horrible static interrupted the call and through the noise I heard a familiar sinister chuckle. And then I heard a soft whisper, likened to that of a purr saying, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. There is no need to alert mommy dearest." The voice laughed.
I made a decision to call the police and I was about to hang up my cell and pick up the phone in the kitchen and dial, when the voice spoke again, sending tremors down my spine.
"You don't want to do that. It would hurt my feelings if you did that. All I want to do is talk." The voice pouted, amusement tinting their voice. It was then that I realized that they was watching me.
Terror squeezed my heart in its vise-like grip, driving me hysterical. I scrambled around the room, closing all the doors and pulling the blinds on all the windows. I then curled up in a corner, wrapping my arms around my knees, rocking violently, tears flooding my cheeks. I could barely breathe, but I noticed through red-rimmed eyes that the patio door to my right was ajar. My eyes locked blankly on the door for a few seconds before I stood woodenly, likened to a zombie, and made my way slowly to the door, my brain struggling to comprehend the sight in front of me. I was so engrossed in my goal that I didn't hear the soft tapping of footsteps approach me from behind until it was too late. A blunt object hit my temple, knocking me to the ground. I hit the ground hard, and my breath woodshed out of my lungs. My head pounded and my vision was spotty but I managed to pry my eyes open, focusing hard on the dark form standing in front of me. The figure dropped the cheap, disposable cellphone in their hand, crushing it underfoot. That when they stepped into the light that shone from the moon through the patio door. Hair as dark as midnight and cut close to his head framed an angular face. The man was almost handsome in appearance, his looks tainted only by the venomous smile pasted on his face. The light reflected off something shiny gripped tightly in his hand. He held a long hunting knife, flipping it through his long fingers with the ease of a practiced hunter, as gazed down at me, an almost regretful expression on his face.
He crouched down next to my prone body and trailed a thin finger along my cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my skin.
"So soft," he murmured. "So delicate."
I flinched at his touch, trying to scramble away from him as fast as I could. I didn't make it far before he frowned and locked his fingers around the sides of my throat, cutting off my air supply. I gasped for breath and clawed at his hands, trying to get free. He just squeezed harder and when I thought I was going to pass out he let go, and rocked back on his heels, fingering the knife he held in his hands. I didn't notice the hand that held the knife move closer until I felt a sharp sensation cut across my upper thigh. Looking down I saw a deep slice through the fleshy part of my thigh, trickling down the sides of my milky-white skin. I lifted my hands to try to staunch the blood, but found that the pain in my head coupled with the pain from my throat and thigh proved me incapable of any movement. He cut into my other thigh, laughing with glee at the blood that pooled up at the knife's touch. I tried to scream, tried to call out, but my throat wouldn't cooperate. All I could do was watch in horror as he ripped my body to shreds with his knife, blood spraying his clothes, all the time a distorted smile etched permanently on his face. Cuts lined up and down my arms and legs, my skin burned like a million needles were being stuck into my skin at once and I felt myself slip away, my vision receding. He drew the knife across my throat lightly, the blood staining my skin and whispered, "Oh wait till mommy dearest sees this," before he thrust deep, cutting through my delicate skin like paper.
-------
An hour later Monica, Anna's mom arrived home. She jumped out of her car, and quickly ran to the front door throwing it open wide. Her daughters last words reverberated through her mind, causing her to panic. She scanned the house, calling out "Anna" every few seconds, and growing more frantic every minute that Anna didn't answer.  She spun into the living room, and stopped, dead in her tracks at the scene in front of her, a choked cry escaping her lips. Anna lay still on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood, her arms folded neatly on top of her stomach, a piece of paper tucked into her hand. Her arms and legs were crisscrossed with slices, each slice joined with another to form an x. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide, but her face was lax, as if the killer had arranged her expression for his own twisted amusement. Her throat was cut open, the gash so deep it looked like he had severed her head from her shoulders. Monica, her body trembling with terror and overwhelming sadness, collapsed at her daughters side, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands. She could barely move, the pain was too great and the sight too gruesome. Gingerly picking up the bloodstained paper in her hand, she forced herself to look, afraid of the message the killer left behind. Scrawled messily in red that looked like blood were the words: I CAME CALLING.



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