Bad Things

    Ring.

    Bridget jumped at the noise.  How did he know I just got home?  She hadn’t slept well for weeks, it was hard to think, and she was getting paranoid.  Everywhere she turned she saw his face, thought she saw his face; it was so hard to concentrate.  She was so afraid on her way home from work she had called the police, again.

    Ring.

    She was afraid to answer, but it might be the police.  She timidly lifted the receiver to her ear; all she could hear was breathing.

    “Why are you doing this?” she yelled.  “I’m a good person.  You shouldn’t be doing this!”

    “Bad things happen to good people,” answered a raspy voice.

    She slammed down the receiver, wishing the police would be there soon.

    Ring.

    She yanked up the phone.  “Stop it!  Leave me alone!”

    “Miss Talbert?  Miss Talbert it’s Detective Drake.”

    “What…who?”

    “Detective Drake; I took your report three weeks ago, remember?”

    Oh, yes.  I’m sorry.”

    “He called again, didn’t he?”  Drake didn’t wait for an answer.  “Don’t worry.  I’m walking up to your apartment building now.  I was calling ahead.”

    “Yes, I’m sorry, I’ll buzz you in.”

***

    “I’ve just been so on edge,” Bridget said after she let him in.  “I wish I could sleep.  I see his face everywhere, even in my sleep.”

    “So, you’re sure now that it’s him?“ the detective asked as he closed the door behind him.  “Sure it’s your ex-boyfriend, a one,” he consulted his notepad, “Thomas Sparks?”  He started walking around the room.

    “Yes, Tommy.  No, I mean, I don’t know.  I see him, but then I don’t – that’s not possible, is it?  I’m just so tired.”

    Drake picked up a statue of cupid from an end table and hefted it in his hand.  It was heavier than it looked.  “You see our problem, Miss Talbert,” he said, setting the statue down, “without proof, without witnesses…”

    “I know, I know.  At first it was flowers and notes, here, at work, everywhere,.  That‘s why I originally called the police.  But now it’s worse with all the phone calls.  He knows I called you, I'm sure he knows, and now he’s punishing me!”

    “Are you sure it’s him on the phone, maybe?  A tone, inflection, maybe words that he uses?”

    Bridget shook her head.  “I think it’s him, but it doesn’t sound like him.  It doesn’t sound like anyone.”

    Ring.

    She started.

    “It’s ok.  I need you to answer it, but hold the phone so I can hear, too.”

    Ring.

    “Go ahead.”

    She slowly picked up the receiver and placed it between them.  “Hello?”

    “Bridget?”

    She turned away from Drake and put the phone to her ear.  “Claire…no I’m fine, just really tired.  The police are here now…No, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

    She hung up the phone and turned back around to the detective, just in time to see cupid shatter against his head.

    “Tommy!” she screamed as Drake fell to the floor.  “Tommy, no!”  She tried to back away from him, but he grabbed her wrist.

    “Why are you trying to get away from me?  I love you!  I sent you flowers.  I apologized.  Why?”

    “You scare me.  All the notes, all the phone calls.  All the damn phone calls!”

    “That’s not me.  You know that’s not me.  You changed your number.”

    “I changed my locks, too, but you’re here!” she yelled, trying to break free of his grasp.

    “I don’t want to hurt you.  I love you!  I want to protect you.  You need me to protect you.  I don’t want to scare you.”

    “If you don’t want to scare me you’ll leave.”  She was crying now.  “You’re hurting me.”

    He loosened his grip and she yanked free.  He tried to grab her again and they both went sprawling to the carpet.  She repeatedly kicked at him and with the aid of the couch, regained her footing and dashed for the kitchen.  He wasn’t far behind.  She snatched anything she could throw from the counters, leaving a wake of flying debris behind her.  It hardly slowed him down, and at the far end of the kitchen, he spun her around as their bodies slammed together and against the wall.

    She didn’t know how the knife got into her hand, but it was there, and in their combined momentum, it was now buried to the handle in Tommy’s upper stomach.  His eyes were open wide in astonishment, his body pinning her to the wall.  She could feel liquid warmth spreading from her hand, along her arm, and saturating her front.  She could smell urine, though she didn’t know whose.  She tried to wiggle free sideways, slipped on the slick tiles, and they both fell to the floor.  She scrambled backwards away from him until her back was against a cabinet.  The way Tommy had fallen his eyes were staring at her, not in pain, but in the same wide astonishment.  Blood spread from his body like a slow swarm.  She wretched on herself and pulled her knees to her chest.

    “Why?  Why?” she cried.

    Bridget didn’t know how long she sat there before Detective Drake staggered into the kitchen, his hand holding his head.

    Drake looked over at Sparks, knew he was dead; the knife, still protruding from his stomach, with all that blood, had probably hit the abdominal aorta.  He helped Bridget to her feet and out of the kitchen to the couch.  He sat in the armchair across from her, still holding his head.

    “Why?  Why me?  I’m a good person, why me?” she cried.

    “I’ll have to call this in,” the detective said, taking out his cell phone.  “It’s bad, he’s dead, but that can’t be changed now.  Like my mother used to say, ‘sometimes bad things happen to good people.’ “

    “What did you say?” she asked while she watched him bring up a number on speed-dial.

    He only smiled at her as he put the phone to his ear.

    Ring.



(word count = 997)
Written for: "Invalid Item" , 14 Mar 2012.
Prompt: Write me a horror story under 1000 words about a telephone call. Take this prompt where you want to. I look forward to some really SCARY tales!!
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