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Ring, Ring, Don't Answer Your Phone

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Istockphoto 4565444-man-holding-bloody-knife-over-woman-s-body-lying-on-floor

*Ring, ring.* The phone rings. I look at the clock. -2:48AM- Who the hell is calling me now? I let it go to voicemail.

-3:02AM- *Ring, ring. Ring, ring.* Seriously. I'm trying to sleep. "Go away!" I say to the phone and go back to sleep.

-3:16AM- *Ring, ring.* What is this, everybody ring Claire day? I realise it could be some sort of emergency. I stumble out of bed, knocking over the clock. "Hello?" Nothing. "Heellooo?" Nothing. "HELLO?!" Grrr, I hang up. Now I can't sleep. There's a novel sitting on the bedside table. I pick it up. "The secrets of Notting Hill" it reads. I don't remember buying this.

-5:22AM- I must have drifted off. The book is laying open on my chest. It's at page 29. I flick through the previous pages. Certain words catch my eye. "...so sleepy it's killing me." "Ringggg." "No, no, please!" "Don't answer the phone!" Wait, what? Don't answer the phone? I read the rest of the paragraph. "Don't answer your phone. It's not safe. Nowhere is safe. Nothing's safe anymore. Don't answer the phone. Please don't answer it. Don't go near it. But above all; never disconnect it. He'll come for you. A matter of seconds, it takes, he'll demolish you and eat you all up. These are the secrets, not of Notting Hill, but of Scathington Place." That's where I live. I think. I don't like this, not one bit.

-6:07AM- *Ring, ring.* I'm tempted to answer. No, I won't. I can't! *Ring, ring.* I'm being stupid, the book isn't even real. I turn over in my bed. *Ring, ring.* There's a knocking at the door. I look at the window, the sun is rising. *Rin-* The phone is cut off. Silence. I lie in the crimson sheets. There's a shuffling coming from under the bed.

-1:46AM- Police say I died of heart failure, but, being completely healthy, it could only be caused by me seeing something so horrific, so terrible that my heart stopped dead. Neighbours were interviewed, but the story is unclear. They all say they heard nothing at all. But I know the truth. I float above my body. There's the silver landline phone hanging from the cord, an inch off the ground. A pool of blood still pouring from my injuries. If only they could hear me. He told them not to say a word, I watched him do it. If only I had listened to the book. If only I hadn't answered the phone. If only, if only, if only. I am now in my room and I see the man if only I-

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