THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE

by Magda Pala

«She answered a phone call from her own number,» I hear a voice saying.

A voice surrounded by other voices.

Voices that laugh.

All those bastards are laughing.

Laughing at my own expense!

Yeah, I did answer a phone call from my own number.

Not only that, though.

I talked to myself on the phone.

wHaT dO yOu MeAn ‘talked to yourself’?

That’s the reaction I got when I tried to converse about this topic with my colleagues.

You know, like a normal human being who just had a positively mind-blowing experience and wants to mind-dump it and be mind-ful about it.

But maybe it’s just mindful, with no dash.

Anyway, I swear, I answered the phone, and it was me.

Or, at least, it sounded like me.

But it wasn’t a recording.

It was a live conversation.

Yes, it is weird.

Yes, I did check if it was some kind of glitch or something, but no.

No deep-fake can pull such a stunt.

It was too real.

And it said things only I would know.

The room is now quiet.

The only sound is the distant hum of traffic outside.

Everyone is looking at me.

Everyone is looking distraught.

But why?

Oh, I just sliced the throat of sHe AnSwErEd A pHoNe CaLl FrOm HeR oWn NuMbEr!1!

And now they’re screaming.

Geez, so sensitive.

And so annoying.

I have stuff to do.

This phone call situation is serious.

And they just won’t stop screaming!

It’s Saturday!

Nobody will hear them!

Nobody is in the building!

They knew when Mister Boss Man overtimed us to finish the project!

But the reasons for overtime are not important right now.

What’s important is that, daaaaaamn, I’ve been caught.

The blood is cooling at an alarming rate.

It’s such a pretty colour.

Not red red, more of a darker hue.

It’s all over, though.

It will be a bitch to clean.

Damn.

I was this close to apologise.

Thank God I realised just in time that I don’t need to apologise for shite.

I’m the victim here!

They were mocking me!

Belittling me!

Making fun of me!

Bantering me!

Making me mad!

It’s their fault that I’m killing them.

One by one.

They’re in such a panic that they don’t even put up a fight.

Never thought it was that easy.

All it took was a shard of a broken plate.

And I’m going all Krazy-8 on them.

I mean, what else would I do?

They were laughing at me!

Speaking of laughing, their smiles are so much wider now.

I think it’s called a Glasgow’s Smile, which reminds me of a Glasgow’s Kiss.

Reminds me only because they’re both from the same city.

But they’re probably from different neighbourhoods.

An East End and West End type of thing.

But I’m rambling.

And I’m rambling coz I’m nervous.

I’m not nervous coz I just killed six of my colleagues, don’t be ridiculous!

I’m nervous thinking about that phone call.

cOuLd It HaVe BeEn SoMe KiNd Of PrAnK?

No, it couldn’t!

It was too personal.

Waaaaaaaay too personal.

It talked about my mom.

And the last conversation we had before she passed away.

I told that to my colleagues with tears in my eyes.

And those absolute bawbags didn’t even have the decency to ask me,

«Alice, are you okay?»

Nope, none of that!

Lil’ ol’ me doesn’t deserve sympathy.

Mobbing is what I deserved.

Apparently.

It’s mobbing now that I’m a grown-up.

It was bullying when I was a kid.

But it’s the same shite, trust me.

Well, at least I’m used to it.

That’s old news.

What’s new is being haunted by my own voice.

I don’t know what to make of it!

I should not jump to conclusions.

Maybe it’s some kind of rip-off.

Maybe I should report it to the police.

Maybe.

The thing is, my mind is racing with questions.

Who or what was on the other end of the line?

And why was it using my voice?

Okay, two questions is not exactly racing, but you get it, right?

While I’m looking at my new and improved former colleagues, the phone buzzes.

Again.

I’m staring at it as if it were a venomous snake.

And not only coz it’s covered in blood, mind you.

The same number, my own number, flashes on the screen.

It’s happening again.

But this time, my voice is more urgent.

Almost demanding.

«Alice, you need to listen to me. Your life is in danger»

My heart pounds in my chest, my hands are shaking.

What does it mean?

«It means that you’re being watched and have to leave»

My voice on the line, from urgent and demanding, becomes eerily calm.

Wait a second, did she answer my question?

The question I only thought?!

«Yes, now leave»

Okay, that’s it.

I’m calling the cops.

«No, you’re not,» she-I say. «You just killed your colleagues, be for real»

And in that moment, a knock echoes through the office.

The sound sharp and jarring.

I slowly move to the entrance, my heart almost out of my chest.

I open the door wide.

The corridor outside is empty.

Darkness there and nothing more.

But the knock had been real, and the following silence is deafening.

Well, it was nothing, then.

I mean, there’s nobody behind the door.

Maybe it’s just my imagination.

But I’m not believing myself one bit.

My eyes are glued to the corridor, searching for any sign of movement.

My mind is racing with scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

Am I the victim of a cruel prank?

It would not have been the first time, that’s for sure.

A scam?

Well, even that would not have been the first time.

Or is it something far more sinister?

That would be a first.

And I’m not sure I want to make this new experience.

I close the door in a rush.

That empty corridor gives me the heebie-jeebies.

One second later, the knock comes again.

Louder.

«Alice,» the voice from the phone calls out from the hallway, using the exact same inflexion I just heard.

My breath is itching in my throat.

That voice, my voice, is no longer in my hand.

That voice, my voice, is outside the door.

«We need to talk»

THE END