by Sam West
“I am a friend,” the man said.
“No friend would prank-call me. And that’s the worst American accent I’ve ever heard.”
She spoke the truth. For the life of her she didn’t recognise the speaker, but the American accent was as dodgy as fuck. “Tell me who you are,” she said when he didn’t reply.
“Peekaboo, I see you,” he said with a throaty chuckle that made her flesh crawl.
“Right that’s it, this is your last chance. If you don’t tell me who you are right now, I’m calling the police right this second on my mobile.”
The stranger burst into song. It was surprisingly tuneful, his voice a rich baritone: “We’ll, meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know…”
“Fuck you.”
She hung up. When she dropped the phone on the leather sofa, she discovered that she was trembling.
The doorbell sounded, making her flinch and cry out. What if whoever was at the door was her prank caller? She turned around on the spot, half-expecting a figure to jump out at her from a hiding place in the large living-room.
“Fuck,” she muttered, running a shaking hand through her hair.
This wouldn’t do at all. She had to get a grip. There was no one in the house, apart from her, and Angie sleeping upstairs, of course. Her frightened gaze latched onto the bay-window of the living-room – and her heart slammed hard against her sternum.
The curtains were wide open.
“Fuck,” she said again, striding over towards the window.
If someone was stalking her and was outside in the front-garden, they would be able to see her all too clearly. If they peered in through the window, she would be lit up in here like Blackpool seafront at Christmas time.
The doorbell sounded again, and she yelped. Clutching the thick velvet of the blood-red curtains, she peered through a gap in the window at the lit-up porch.
For a second, panic washed over her. A guy she didn’t recognise stood on the porch; a guy in a long, black cloak with shoulder length, black hair scraped back in a ponytail, and a deathly white complexion…
And then she breathed a sigh of relief, for it was only Neil, dressed as what she figured was supposed to be Count Dracula. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she went to the door to open it.
“Jesus, Neil, what the hell are you wearing?” she said by way of greeting.
Outside, the music was that much louder, drifting to her on the cold, October breeze. Someone screamed, and Jen assumed it was a cry of pleasure.
He grinned at her, revealing plastic fangs. “I’m Dracula, do you like it?”
“You’re a bit old for trick or treating, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been next door,” he said.
“Next door?”
“Yeah, you know, that party I was going to tonight, and you said you couldn’t come with me because you were babysitting? It’s next door.”
“Oh.”
She felt strangely put out. She had assumed that the party was taking place in the student union, not in some second or third year students’ house-share. She didn’t even know any students lived on this street. It reminded her of how unpopular she was, and not for the first time she cursed her shyness and unwillingness to join in with the drinking and be ‘normal’.
“The party sucked without you. Sucked. Get it?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “You should have dressed as a clown, because you’re so funny.”
But the thing was, he was funny. He was funny, handsome, popular… all the things she wasn’t.
What does he even see in me? He could have anyone.
“I vant to suck your blood,” he said in the shoddiest, Transylvanian accent ever, smiling at her and baring his plastic fangs.
For a second, the worst feeling washed over.
Does he do American accents, too?
Immediately, she felt bad for even thinking such a thing.
“Hey, why the long face?” he asked. “It’s Halloween, you should be in high spirits. Aren’t you going to invite me in? Vampires can’t cross the threshold unless they’re asked, you know.”
“Fine, then you’d better come in, Vlad.”
Neil sniggered as he followed her inside.
“Where’s the kid?” he asked once they were in the living-room.
“Upstairs, sleeping. I can hear her on the baby-monitor.”
She gestured to the baby-monitor on the coffee-table with the faintest flick of her head, but he didn’t follow her gaze. Instead, he just stood there staring at her intently, so much so that she felt her cheeks flame.
“You’re looking lovely, tonight, Jen.”
“Please,” she said, dismissively waving her hand to deflect his comment.
Compliments never did sit easy with her, and she was always trying to downplay her good-looks, especially when it came to her body. Given how clothes usually fit her, it wasn’t too hard. She was a size sixteen up top with a size six waist and a neatly curved little arse that fit into a size ten. Her legs were too long and slim for most jeans, and as a result, much of the current, high-street fashion made her look as about as shapely as a sack of potatoes.
Tonight, she had opted to wear a beige pullover that was of the stretchy variety, the fabric of which thinner than what she would usually go for. In fact, ever since she and Neil had tentatively started dating a week ago, she’d been making a lot more effort with her appearance, her stupid, overly large chest that she considered a total embarrassment be damned.
“Fancy a drink?” Neil asked, pulling a hip flask out of the pocket of his ridiculous – and probably highly flammable – black, imitation silk trousers.
“I can’t, I’m working.”
“Oh, come on, the Pearsons aren’t gonna know. They’re at a dinner party, you said. They’re gonna come back pissed as rats and won’t even smell it on your breath. Come on, sit.”
He sat down on the sofa and patted the space next to him. She sat, making sure to keep a good arm’s length away from him, suddenly nervous.
“I had a dodgy phone call tonight,” she suddenly blurted as she sat down next to him.
Neil frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like, a prank call.”
“You did? What did they say?”
She looked at him. His concern seemed genuine.
Maybe he’s just a good actor.
The dark part of her mind whispered that even if he hadn’t been the one to make the call, he still could be in on the prank.
No. Neil wouldn’t do that.
She shrugged. “Not much really. The guy put on a dodgy American accent and said some creepy stuff, that’s all.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. He just said, peekaboo, I see you, and started singing some old song, the one that goes, we’ll meet again.” She paused for a second. “And he knew my name.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Reckon I should call the police?”
He looked at her thoughtfully, his brow creased in concern. “I don’t know. You get his number?”
“No. He called me on the landline and it was withheld.”
“I don’t think we should call the police. Not yet, anyway. I’m going to be with you until the Pearsons get back, and if anything else happens, we’ll call then. I mean, the police aren’t going to come out for one dodgy phone-call, and if he withheld his number, he’s untraceable.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m sure it was just some prick from Uni playing a dumb joke.”
“I’ll be your bodyguard. I won’t let you out of my sight. Don’t worry, okay? I vill protect you,” he said in the bad Dracula accent.
“Not so keen on the accent right now.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“Here,” he said, passing her the hipflask. “I think you need a drink.”
Why the hell not, she thought, accepting the offered hipflask. Maybe it would calm her frazzled
nerves.
Or maybe it’ll make you lose your wits completely so you become an easy target for your stalker.
Fuck it.
She took a sip, then promptly spluttered and coughed.
Neil laughed, gently patting her on the back. “Strong stuff, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said, her throat burning. “Do you want to watch a movie, or something? I brought my laptop with me because I was going to work on my essay, but we can stream something if you like, the Pearsons have got a USB cable that fits my computer.”
Shit, she was babbling. Why did she always do that when she was nervous? She was such a loser.
“Sure,” he said, pulling off his wig. “I think that’s a great idea. Let’s not let some loser get to us and ruin our night, because that’s what they want. If we see or hear anything suspicious, we’ll act immediately, but in the meantime… fuck him.”
His dark-blonde hair, freed from the confines off the wig, flopped over his forehead and her stomach did a little somersault. He was just so handsome, even with the white face-paint and black rimmed eyes. He brought his hand to his mouth and spat out his teeth into his palm.
“You want a cup for those teeth, Granddad?”
“Nah, you’re alright, I’ll just leave them on the coffee-table.”
“Nice.”
He grinned at her, and she felt her face flush hot. He was like a Hollywood movie-star, and if anything, the cracked face-paint and badly applied red-lipstick heightened his beauty, rather than detracted from it. He was like The Joker, or something. Minus the green hair, of course.
She looked down at her fidgeting hands in her lap, willing them to be still, mortified that she had been caught staring.
If he had noticed, he pretended that he hadn’t.
“Want me to hook up the computer?” he asked. “Are you going to raid the cupboards for snacks?”
She supposed that would be okay. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get peckish, had been Mrs Pearson’s parting words. All the same, Jen was pretty sure that she hadn’t meant; and please feed your boyfriend too before you have sex on the sofa…
“Sure,” she said, trying to sound casual, when inside she was a shaky mess. She got to her feet to go to the kitchen.
“I get to choose the film, though,” he called to her departing back.
“So long as it’s not a horror,” she said over her shoulder.
“Are you kidding me? We have to watch a horror because it’s Halloween. We’re not letting that creep get to us, remember?”
Jen wasn’t convinced, but she wasn’t going to moan too much about it. It was only a film, after all. And it would give her a good excuse to cuddle up to him if she got scared.
I don’t need an excuse. He’s really into me.
The thought made her flush hot. Maybe tonight, they could go all the way.
No, not here. That would be so disrespectful.
He’s too nice, came the paranoid thought as soon as she was in the kitchen. Too sweet. Totally too good to be true. Most guys would’ve had their hand down her pants as soon as they’d set foot in the living-room.
Maybe she was the butt of a joke – pull a pig, or something, for why else would a gorgeous, popular guy like Neil give up a perfectly good party to come and help babysit when he must know that he wasn’t going to get any?
Maybe he was the one that made the call.
She shoved the stupid, recurring thought to one side, deep down not believing it for a second.
But a bad feeling stirred in her guts all the same. She did her best to ignore it as she pulled open a cupboard in search of snacks. Locating a family-sized bag of crisps, and feeling vaguely guilty for doing so, she emptied them out into a bowl. As she made her way back into the living-room, that bad feeling clung to her, that misplaced, but inescapable feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Neil’s right. I’m not going to let some loser get to me.
“What are you watching?” she asked as she joined him in the living-room.
He was crouched down in front of the TV with his back to her, fiddling with the USB cable that connected the TV to the laptop. On the screen was a guy in a green suit with matching green hair that stuck up every which way. His hands covered his face, as if tugging at it, almost like he was adjusting a mask. There was a banner running across the bottom of the screen, and on it were the words: ‘Call 7734 and chat to the dead!’ blinking in red.
The man’s hands fell away and he grinned at the camera. “Boo,” he said, and Jen’s skin crawled at the sight of him.
His make-up wasn’t entirely dissimilar to Neil’s – both had white complexions, black-rimmed eyes, and wore red lipstick. But the guy on the TV was different, somehow. His mouth was too wide, his eyes too close-set. Neil’s make-up looked fake, but this guy wore it a bit too well.
It doesn’t look like he’s wearing make-up at all.
She shrugged off the weird feeling and turned her attention to Neil on his knees.
“Spooky, isn’t he?” he laughed, twisting his head round to look at her. The remote control is jammed, or something. I can’t get rid of him.”
She frowned at this information. “Is he coming from the TV or the computer?”
“The TV. Well, it is Halloween, isn’t it? All sorts of spooky shit on tonight.”
The man on the TV laughed. “Tonight is a special night, kiddies. Tonight, the walls between my word, and yours, are thin. There’s a storm a-brewing, and it’s going to be fun, fun, fun. Dial the number on the bottom of the screen, and we can talk all about it. I’m sure we’ll be talking before this fine night is through.”
His little speech gave way to laughter, and he began to dance to The Time-warp song that suddenly blared from the TV. He thrust his hips deliberately out of time to the beat, waving his arms manically in the air.
“Please turn him off,” Jen complained, sickened by the sight of him.
“I’m doing my best,” he laughed.
Was she imagining it, or did Neil seem a little uneasy, too?
“There,” he said, pulling out the plug from the wall-socket so that the TV went black. “That cured him. When in doubt, switch it all off and start again…”
Both their phones suddenly chorused out with their individual ringtones signalling that a text message had come through – his one bar of the Halloween movie theme tune, and hers a rippling harp.
Her phone was on the coffee-table, and his was in his black trousers, and at the same time they picked up their phones and stared at the screens.
“What is this?” Jen asked in dismay.
“I don’t know,” Neil replied. “I’ve never seen an app like it.”
Jen stared at her screen in stark disbelief. On it, was that same guy that had been on the TV seconds before. He was dancing, as he had been when Neil had pulled the plug on him.
“Don’t you have to accept these apps, or whatever the hell they are, before they can do whatever it is that they do?”
“Usually, yeah.”
Jen frowned. She had never really gone in for all that app and download stuff that was so popular nowadays; she was an old-fashioned kind of girl that only used her laptop for writing essays on and doing research, and she never bothered with all the high-tech features on her phone.
Sod this, she thought, holding her finger on the ‘off’ button.
The screen remained resolutely on. Neil, however, was busy pressing all different sorts of buttons in an attempt to get rid of the dancing man on his phone.
“What is this shit?” Neil complained, “Christ, I can’t even turn the bastard thing down, yet alone switch it off. It must be a virus. Does Mr Pearson have a toolbox?”
“How the hell should I know?” Instantly, she regretted snapping, but Christ, the green-suited weirdo on their phones was freaking her out. She closed her eyes for a second, thinking hard. “I think I remember seeing a toolbox under the sink.”
“Great. Gimme your phone.
”
Gladly, she handed it over. “What are you going to do?”
“Take out the batteries,” he called over his shoulder. “I need a bit of leverage, a small screwdriver, ideally.”
As he spoke, the perfectly-in-sync music coming from their phones abruptly stopped dead and the screens went black.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Neil said, staring from one phone to the other which he held in each hand.
He came back over to her, and placed the phones on the coffee-table, side by side.
“Why did they take so long to turn off?” she asked.
“I honestly have no idea. Must be ghosts in the machine.”
Neil laughed, but Jen didn’t join in. She wondered if this ‘app’, or whatever the hell it was, was anything to do with the phone call just now.
How can it be? she silently chided herself. That’s just stupid.
The doorbell sounded, and Neil’s laughter cut dead. They looked at each other. Neil managed a smile, but it wasn’t entirely convincing.
“Probably just trick or treaters,” he said, striding over towards the bay-window to take a peek at the porch. “Yep,” he said, twisting his head to look at her. “I think they saw me.”
Jen frowned. “It’s a bit late for trick or treaters, isn’t it?”
Neil shrugged. “I guess.”
“At least the Pearsons left me sweets.” What if it’s a trick? What if they’re something to with the prank call? “How many and how old?” she tried to ask casually, knowing she was failing miserably.
“I don’t know, maybe seven years old? I’m crap with kid’s ages. There’s four of them.” He came over to her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, it’s just a bunch of kids, it’s nothing to do with your caller.”
“Yeah, sorry, guess I’m just a bit jumpy.”
She couldn’t help but flinch when the doorbell rang out again. Fleetingly, she thought about Angie sleeping upstairs; with any luck, she wouldn’t wake up with all this doorbell ringing. Her bedroom was at the back of the house so hopefully she wouldn’t.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get rid of the little buggers.”