by Jessica Lynn Lovelace

Created on: March 18, 2010

The Call

I gasp awake.  What awoke me?  Then, it comes again:  that hellish ring.  Instinctively, I check the alarm clock.  Two A.M.  Again.  The thirteenth again.

            “Days Inn, how may I help you?”  I speak into the phone trying to sound credible.  The thirteenth nothing.

            “Days Inn, would you like a room?”  I try again.  That’s when I hear the breathing.  Rough, prolonged, deep.  It reminds me of the dead walking, stalking their living victims.

            My white hand tightens around the phone.  I strain to hear the now quieting breaths.  Strain, strain, strain.  I need to hear what comes next, but I don’t want to.

            Suddenly, I hear it.  A scream.  Piercing, powerful, painful, mine. No, not mine.  Someone else’s.  Another of the dead’s victims. 

            I slam the receiver back in its cradle and disregard everything.  I pull sleep over me like my favorite blanket and sink into its charms.

A body.  A woman.  Dark hair.  On a bed.  Small bed.  Prison.  No.  Hospital.  No windows.  Peeling paint.  Yellow.  A picture.  Magazine rip-out.  Castle.  Two dozen windows.  No swimming pool.  Small lake.  Swans.  No frogs.  Dark hair rocks.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  I want to see her face.  Back and forth.  Sleeping…fretfully...back and forth.  Who is she?

Ring.  Again?

            “Yes?” I say, groggy.

            “Where the hell are you?  You’re late, hours late.  I will personally dock your paycheck.  Do you hear me?  You better not be at home.  You better be in this building.  You better….”

            I run to the bathroom, viciously sick.  What did I eat last night?  I try to regain some composure before returning to

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>