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It was only 2 years ago, when the reason why I can’t live without a caller ID burned inside my head. I just can’t, you would all think it’s a mental problem, like ocd or something? No…I just can’t.

I drove all the way from New York to Chicago just to visit my dying Aunt Melanie. Well, she’s dead now but she was dying at that time. She was the only mother-figure I had since my own mother died while giving birth to me. My dad passed away when I was 4, so I had no choice to live with my Auntie. She paid for my tuition until college; bathed, fed, and loved me like her own. There was no way I wouldn’t pay her a visit. We had the most heartfelt talk, it was like a moment to catch up all the years I wasn’t with her; I didn’t actually left her house in a good mood that rainy night, the night I found out that she was not my real mother, the night I set my way to New York to live there. I never thought that the next time I could touch her hands again is at a hospital bed.

I stayed with her up until 11 in the evening. Her heavy breathing was accompanied by constant beeping and the eerie ambiance of the air conditioner. I was ready to cry, I knew it was time. That’s until her husband showed up and promised to look after her in the hospital, told me that I should get going.

Going?

I know that I can't get along pretty well with Ben but…does he even know how hard it is to drive in the middle of the night with no sleep? From Chicago all the way back to my apartment in New York? We argued for 30 minutes or so. I kept ranting, trying to make his bald head understand that he can’t just ask me” to go”. So he led me up to a nearby motel. Even though I would love to stay, the hospital doesn’t allow 2 watchers for some reason. I had no choice; I drove up to the motel and planned just to stay for the night, just for me to get enough sleep.

It wasn’t a luxurious place to stay in, but it’s not a total dump either. The walls have a few molds here and there, but the bed was nice and clean. I didn’t bother using the rusted showers, so I head to sleep as soon as I dropped my backpack on the floor.

It was 2 in the morning when I heard something ringing. I never noticed the telephone beside the bed I was sleeping. I rubbed my tired eyes and answered.

“H-hello” “Hello sweet cheeks” A low, raspy, and eerie voice greeted my ears. It wasn’t the most pleasing thing you would hope for in 2:00 in the morning. I received chills all over my body. My eyes shifted from left to right in the dark room. I tried to be an educated girl that I am and replied to him calmly. “Look” I started “If you have nothing else better to do in 2:00 in the morning, I suggest you should go to sleep” My eyes widen in his next reply, just before I slam the phone. “How can I sleep, when your beautiful blonde hair is just so mesmerizing?”

Holy shit, yeah, that’s what I said to myself. It could’ve been a lucky guess, but it scared the crap out of me nonetheless. I slammed the phone and left the motel at 2:30 am. My eyes were peeled as I was walking briskly to the parking lot, fortunately, no psychopath grabbed me there.

I drove from Chicago to NY for about 12 hours, arriving at my apartment at 3 in the afternoon or so. I limped my way to the shower, dragged my tired body to bed and planned to sleep the whole day, it was tiresome, and clearly an unforgettable experience.

Then my telephone rang. I was too tired to answer it. Do you know that feeling when gravity, suddenly, becomes twice as powerful on you when you’re in bed, yeah…it sucks. I tried to ignore it but the caller was so persistent. It was like an alarm clock that was ringing from outside my room. It rang nonstop for about 30 minutes and I figured I would be able to relax more if I would just answer it.

“Hello again sweet cheeks”

I froze.

My tired body was pumped up with adrenaline, my heart sped up faster. I felt my sweat running on my cheeks. My eyes searched the whole premise, the apartment isn’t that big to play hide and seek anyways. I hesitated to entertain him, so I slammed the phone.

But it rang again.

This time, I was going to tell him that I’ll call on the police, but before I could even speak, he shouted with his raspy, maniacal voice.

“IF YOU SLAM THE FUCKING PHONE ON ME, I SWEAR! YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE YOUR THROAT SLIT OPEN TONIGHT”

I cried. I didn’t want him to hear me sobbing, but the fact that I could hear him chuckling means that he already did. I plead to him for mercy to just leave me alone, that’s unlikely for me to do but it would be the same thing you would do if you’re in the situation. But he took advantage of my fear…

He insisted to play a little game…

“Well, sweet cheeks, how bout we play a little game. Simple, if you answer my call again, that means you’re interested in me, hottie.”

I was enraged, I told him what a fucking perv he was and that he has nothing better to do in life but to give out prank calls.

He laughed, and called me “Sweet Cheeks” one more time. Then he recited my car’s plate number. That I couldn’t handle. My heart dropped and I felt so watched.

I slammed my phone down and grabbed my cell phone. I called the police. I told that there was somebody harassing me through my phone line. They asked me what my telephone number is and I gave it to them; the sweet lady from the station told me that they’ll be calling me shortly. After a few minutes, my phone rang.

“Hello sweet cheeks” That hellish voice called again. “So you are interested…” “P-Please just leave me alone!” I cried out. The fear in my body just took over me and made me cringe. Then he hanged up. I was getting paranoid. I locked every window in my house, locked the front door and grabbed my phone and a knife with me inside my room. I checked every space, under my bed, under the couch, every part of the apartment.

It was 9:00 pm, and I couldn’t get any sleep. I was crying and wailing inside my room, and all I can hear besides the uneasy ambiance of my air conditioner, was the fucking telephone. It kept ringing, and ringing. I was about to go insane. I don’t know if it would be the police, my uncle, my sister or anyone that I have asked for help, or it could be that creeper. I couldn’t afford to hear his voice again, it will drive me insane. So I ran outside my bedroom and left my phone hanging so nobody could call. I ran back inside and locked the door, checked under my bed, checked inside my closet, checked the locked window.

I dozed off until it was 2 in the morning.

And what greeted me was the dreaded sound.

Ring Ring Ring

I literally prayed for my life, closed my sweaty hands together and plead that I wouldn’t die that night. After that, I became pissed because of the fact that the police are taking their damn time to get to my apartment. And the fact that someone already got in my apartment to place the phone back to its original position made my heart skip beats. So I picked up the courage to stand up and get the phone. My legs were wobbly, and my eyes just searched everywhere in my apartment as I walk towards the phone.

“Hello sweet cheeks”

The raspy voice echoed to my ears. I cried because I was too scared, I felt the warm stream of piss going down my legs. Who wouldn’t? I was hearing his voice….without lifting the phone yet….

I panicked. I ran to the front door, looking behind me was a guy in a black hoodie, and his smile was ridden across his face. He walked slowly, as if he was taking pleasure on how I struggle to get the locks off my door. When I finally got it all off, I opened the door and bumped in to the police that was just about to break in to my apartment. He held the gun up and started shooting on the man. Unfortunately, the man ran and broke down the window at my kitchen; he jumped down and ran away. Not a single trace was seen.

I couldn’t erase his face out of my head, even if it was just a glimpse. He had this wide bug eyes and a big smile. He was thin as a skeleton and it makes me shiver whenever I remember his bony fingers holding a knife at his left hand. His head was…twitching, and the only thing that was worse than that, is the way he was rubbing his damn hands on to his crotch.

It was just this week, that I discovered that…inside my car’s trunk, were some tissues, wet with his “finished products”, and a picture of me stained with it. It was disgusting, that I had to ask the police to get it out, use it for some DNA or something to track him down.

Ever since that day, I can’t go to any houses without a caller ID in my purse. I would politely ask the owner to place my caller ID on their phone. I have one on my apartment too. It would be easier to see who was trying to call you. If the caller ID doesn’t recognize the number, I would leave it to ring.

I know he’s waiting, I know.

I just need somebody to know what’s been happening. Because ‘til this day, his number would still appear at the caller ID. For some reason though, I can't shake the feeling, that he's back at my car's trunk again. Fiction


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