Wilson recalled the scene, as the flayed dying body of the robber was being drug into the opening in the world while the man screamed in his final agony. Then Wilson remembered hearing the old man’s voice saying that phrase that Wilson recalled from Sunday school, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” Why would such an evil creature use such a well known biblical phrase? However, wasn’t the phrase just that, a series of words put together to express a thought? The phrase did not have to be reserved only for biblical usage; anyone could use the expression as he chose. However, hearing that well-known phrase used in the context of the awful phone, and in the voice of that disgusting old man, made Wilson feel sick.
And why 'servant'? Wilson did not like the idea of thinking of himself as anyone’s servant, especially a servant to some sort of demonic force from Hell, or some creature from another dimension.
It was then that he recounted the old man asking Wilson to kill him so he could go be with his master. Was the old man’s purpose simply to pass the phone on to Wilson? Was the phone the property of this mysterious master? Was that why the old man had only one cell phone available? Was the old man the previous keeper of the phone? Or more disturbingly, had he been a servant to the phone?
When Wilson had inquired about the pre-loaded minutes and features the phone may have had, the old man said simply, “It has whatever you will need.” Whatever he would need? What was that supposed to mean? Was Wilson now somehow bound to the same master as the old storekeeper may have been? If so, did using the phone bind him to its unknown purpose?
He contemplated that had he not used the phone, perhaps he would have been spared any such connection. He may not have used the phone with initial hostile intent but he had used it to try to summon help in an unfortunate situation. In addition, did he actually use the phone or did the phone use him? Did the phone reach down inside of Wilson somehow and control him, causing his anger to rise to an almost uncontrollable degree. Did it actually force his finger to press the button?
Wilson pondered how significantly his life had changed over the past few hours. He had been personally responsible for the deaths of two individuals, the old storekeeper and the mugger; if not directly or intentionally, then at least indirectly and unintentionally. Then once again, he thought of the old man accusing him of causing four suicides. It appeared to Wilson that the bodies were piling up. Charlie Wilson, who had thought of himself as a gentle man, who never hunted, fished or hurt a living creature, was now a killer. Or was he?
And what about that robber? Wilson had not wished him any harm to him. He was simply trying to dial 911 when the very fabric of reality opened up and sucked the man inside of that flaming black slit, while all those horrid little worm-things feasted on the charred remains of the thug’s flesh.
Looking intently across the room at the phone on the desk, Wilson summarized that the only thing he actually did know for certain, was that he somehow had acquired a pre-paid cell phone, and an ugly pre-paid cell phone at that. Everything else may or may not have actually happened. For all he knew he may have simply found the cell phone on his way into the alley, looked into the darkness of the street, thought better of going down there and simply turned around to return to the hotel. Everything else may have been his imagination; some sort of blackout, seizure or hallucination. He certainly did have a very active imagination. Maybe he was developing a brain tumor. He would have to remember to make an appointment with his doctor when he returned home and have his brain scanned.
The analytical part of Charles Wilson needed to find a way to rationalize the events of the evening into something concrete that he could quantify and understand. All the while, his gut, his primal flight or flight instinct was screaming for him to understand the severity of the situation. His analytical side won the day rationalizing that the things he thought he saw this evening he simply could not have seen.
Maybe he could not understand everything but he did understand that he was a lucid, sane man who worked in a world of facts, figures, balance sheets and bottom lines; and the bottom line here was that demons and rips in reality simply were not possible. Yes, he decided that a trip to his doctor was definitely in order when he returned home. Wilson poured himself another glass of whiskey feeling confident now that none of this could possibly have been real. He breathed a long sigh of relief.
Then the cell phone began to ring.
Chapter 9
Wilson sat stock still, not sure what to do next. The accursed cell phone was ringing and vibrating on the dresser across the room. He wondered if he should answer it, or perhaps he should ignore it. If he had actually found the phone somewhere then the call might be coming from a friend or relative of the owner, or perhaps the owner himself calling from another phone. If, however, the ‘other’ events of the evening, the horrible and unspeakable events surrounding this phone had actually occurred, then the last thing Wilson wanted to do was answer that phone.
The phone continued to ring…
He wondered if he touched the flesh-like skin of the phone would the fabric of reality open up once again like a flaming wound and pull him inside this time, screaming, as his own flesh was burned from his body.
The phone continued to ring…
Wilson took another long drink of whiskey then slowly, cautiously, slid off the bed and walked hesitantly toward the phone, still uncertain if he would actually answer it or not. He approached the dresser and stood staring down at the phone’s blood red cover, those hideous grinning chrome skull keys and the red glow coming from the screen where the message ‘Unknown Caller’ appeared. Wilson reached his hand out slowly, as if getting ready to answer the phone then thought better of it and pulled his hand back as if recoiling from a potential bite from a venomous snake.
The phone continued to ring…
Wilson made up his mind that he would not answer the phone. In fact, he would never answer that phone. It could ring from now until doomsday but he would not answer it. He turned to head back to the bed when suddenly a searing pain struck inside of his skull the likes of which he had never experienced in his life. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine adding increased agony to the already unbearable suffering. Wilson had experienced a few severe migraines in his day, but even the worst could not compare with the pain he felt now.
He fell to his knees as the strength left his legs, grabbing helplessly at the sides of his head as if somehow, through this empty gesture, he would be able to cause the pain to go away. Or, perhaps he was unconsciously trying to keep his brains from oozing from his skull through his ears and dribbling onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle.
In his pain-riddled mind, he heard a voice, which sounded like the voice of that old man from the store. The voice was a faint raspy caw, which at first was indecipherable, and then Wilson realized that the voice was ordering him to go back and pick up the phone. The voice said “answer the phone … answer it … answer it ….Wilson…or you will… suffer this… excruciating pain .. until …your brain… turns to puss.” The voice sounded as if it was straining to get through to him, as if this particular form of telepathic communication was too difficult for the voice to maintain for very long. But Wilson understood that the pain he was feeling was so strong and so intense that his brain would turn to mush and he would die in agony shortly if he did not do something to stop the misery.
He felt as though his head would explode from the pain as he staggered to his feet stumbling back toward the phone, vibrating and ringing angrily on the dresser. The last thing he wanted to do was reach out for that accursed phone but the agony in his skull was so unbearable that he was sure that by now, blood must be pouring from his ears, though when he pulled his hands away they were free of any crimson fluid.
He reluctantly reached out his hand and as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the cover of the phone the ringing stopped and the pain in his head vanished just as instantaneously as it had arrived. It was completely gone with no trace of having ever bee
n there, no dull throbbing that he normally felt after a migraine; nothing. He picked up the phone looking for an answer button but could not find one. Instead, he heard the distant voice of the old storekeeper again, this time coming through the phone saying, “Very good Mr. Wilson. Your touch was all you needed to answer the phone. Now pay heed to what I tell you for my time is short.”
With that, Wilson lifted the phone and slowly placed it hesitantly to his ear. For a moment he imagined that as the phone got close to his ear, hundreds of fleshy filaments would burst through from the speaker, encasing his skull and face, penetrating his ear and boring deep into his brain. Once there the strands would lay eggs so that their vile offspring could slowly feast on his grey matter, as he lay in a vegetative state on the floor of his hotel in a pool of his own blood, urine and drool.
However, this was not the case. When Wilson did place the phone to his ear, he experienced something almost as appalling. He felt revulsion at the feel of the flesh like phone against his cheek. It was as if a thousand maggots were crawling along the surface of his face. The phone has an internal pulse that made Wilson feel as if it were alive, and perhaps it was. He pulled the phone away from his face slightly and held back the sudden urge to vomit. Instead, he placed it closer to his ear, being careful not to touch his skin, and listened to hear what message he was meant to receive.
“Good evening once again Mr. Wilson,” said the voice from inside the phone, which was definitely that of the old storekeeper. Wilson said nothing and simply waited for the voice to continue. He did not wish to entertain any conversation with this demonic being. His nostrils still seemed to hold the rancid reek of that old man’s foul and horrid scent.
The voice said. “And thank you so very much for completing the task for which you were chosen; for freeing me from my earthly shackles, allowing me to fulfill my own personal destiny.”
Wilson cared nothing for this man’s personal destiny or for anything else the horrid creature had to say. The old man had already caused him more anguish in the past hours than he cared to think about. When Wilson could hold out no longer he shouted into the phone “What the Hell is this all about? Who are you? What is this phone? Why are you doing this to me?”
The voice interrupted “All in good time Mr. Wilson; all in good time. For now, all you need to know is that you have been chosen.”
Again Wilson was frustrated by the cryptic way in which the old man spoke. “Chosen? Chosen for what? Who are you?” Wilson asked again. “Are you really the old man from the store? That foul and disgusting creature I killed. Didn’t you die? I am sure I saw you die. What’s is going on?”
Again the voice replied “As I said Mr. Wilson, all in good time. For now, all you need to know is that you have been designated to be the keeper of the phone. This is a great honor and a great responsibility.”
“Keeper of the phone? But I don’t want the responsibility. And I don’t consider this any honor.” Wilson protested. “I don’t want any more to do with any of this!”
Chapter 10
“What we want is not always what we get, Mr. Wilson,” the aged voice continued. “Our actions, however, often do dictate what we end up getting. How many times in your business dealings did you manage to get exactly what you wanted while your clients, customers and business partners got, shall we say, the short end of the stick.”
“Why…almost all of the time.” Wilson said arrogantly. “I pride myself on never making a bad deal. I always come out on top in any business proposition. That is what makes me so good at what I do and so successful.”
The old man continued. “Exactly. You never make a bad deal. You always win. You always come out on top, no matter what happens to the other party and no matter whom you might hurt in the process. Remember O’Connell, Gladstone, Dawson and Johnson?” Once again, the old man brought up the four suicides. “You essentially killed them even though you didn’t do the actual deed. Your actions are the reason they are dead.”
“They were weak.” Wilson insisted, “They killed themselves. I did nothing. You don’t understand. You are just a foolish old man. It is a dog-eat-dog world out there; survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. The business world may not be pretty at times but survival at all costs is what it is all about.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Wilson, I understand completely.” The old man interrupted, “Oh yes, I understand better than you may realize. I am not criticizing you for your actions. It is that attitude that brought us together in the first place. It is that which has led you to us and to the honor, which we have bestowed upon you. You are the keeper of the phone.”
“The damned phone again! What about this phone? Tell me more.” Wilson inquired. “What is its purpose?”
The voice on the phone hesitated for an instant then replied, “It is a most sacred and precious relic. It is ageless. It will be whatever it is needed to be to accomplish the goal that must be completed. Its form and purpose is always defined by the user.”
“What does that mean?” Wilson demanded.
“Soon all will become clear.” The old man responded.
Then the phone went dead. Wilson stood staring at the now silent phone. He repeated aloud “The purpose of the phone is defined by the user.” He wondered what that was supposed to mean. It made no sense to him at all. If the user defined the purpose of the phone and he was to be the user then why, when he wanted the phone to dial 911 had the phone reacted so savagely? He did not ask the world to open up a gaping wound and for evil crawling creatures to pull his assailant into oblivion, yet that is what had happened. All he had wanted to do was to call for help.
Or was that really true? On the surface, perhaps, but deep down inside, down in that primitive reptilian portion of his brain hadn’t he wanted to see this man suffer? In his gut, he had hated this man for threatening him, humiliating him, essentially violating his manhood by making him feel helpless and trying to steal his personal belongings. Deep down inside he had a boiling cauldron of hatred that perhaps this phone could see and use.
Maybe he had even subconsciously thought the words “Go to Hell.” Had he thought that? Wilson did not believe so, but he was uncertain. Could this hatred have been so strong that although he could not see, somehow the phone could? If he simply thought the words, “Go to Hell” would and a gateway to Hell would open up and swallow anyone he chose? He did not think so. He thought it might be a bit more complicated than that.
Wilson wondered for a moment if he could command the phone to open up a gateway to Heaven or perhaps a portal to Omaha or Hawaii or wherever. Somehow, he did not believe that was the case either. He thought that this phone opened up one portal and only one, and that portal was to a place of incredible suffering and torture. There was only one destination using this phone… Hell itself.
Initially, he believed that the horrid phone was incapable of doing any good for society whatsoever. It was only capable of evil. Now that he had some time to reflect; to think a bit more, he began to change his mind ever so slightly.
When he used the phone to inadvertently eliminate the mugger, hadn’t the phone indirectly done some societal good? Hadn’t it rid the earth of a robber, a villain, someone who preyed on the good people of society? Granted, the way in which the phone had dispatched the thug was pure evil, but hadn’t he served the greater good of society ultimately, by the elimination of this treacherous being from the earth? Yes he believed maybe it had done just that.
He thought of his college economics class and about the principle of the ‘unseen hand’ that miraculously turned acts of individual selfishness into acts that would eventually benefit society in the end.
He began to imagine that with proper handling and control, this phone could be used to rid the world of some of its most vile criminals. But at what cost he wondered? If he knowingly used the phone to murder the criminals of the world wouldn’t he then become one of the very criminals he chose to eliminate? Then would the phone in turn eliminate him? Th
is was another paradox for him to consider.
With this latest revelation he comprehended that the only solutions the phone could offer, were final solutions; death. He recalled the old man’s words in the store earlier in the evening “The price for the phone is one death.”
Wilson contemplated if that statement meant that the price to take possession of the phone was one death or the price to use the phone was one death, and was it one death each time someone used the phone? Could the phone take more than one person? He did not know. Did it only take the guilty or did it take innocents along with it? He did not believe the phone or the force behind it cared one way or the other. Could he use it to wipe out an entire army or an entire country? He did not think so unless perhaps the hatred the he felt was great enough. He believed that this phone needed to have a personal connection. The user needed to personally feel ultimate hatred deep down inside to make the phone do his bidding. On the other hand, was it that the phone was sensing the user’s hatred and making the user do its bidding? Wilson’s mind spun with questions.
The old man on the phone had said that it was a sacred relic and that it was ageless. He had hinted that although the relic now took the form of a cell phone now it could very well have taken an entirely different form a thousand years ago. “It is ageless. It is whatever it needs to be.” Wilson said aloud summarizing what the old man had said.
He also suspected that if he pressed one of the skull buttons right now, with no purpose in mind, nothing would happen at all. Wilson reached out and took another swig from his glass of whiskey.
Wilson held the phone in his hand and reached his thumb around cautiously to press a button. He hesitated for just a second then pressed the ‘six’ key. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth waiting to see if something happened but it did not. He laughed to himself. Maybe he actually was losing his mind; maybe he was drunker than he thought. He hoped against all hope that all of this was just a bad dream from which he might awaken at any moment.
Burn Phone Page 6