Open Line
Dead Line: Episode 4
[ORACLE v4.5 // SYSTEM_RESUME] [USER: Maya Khatri // ID: 8940] [TIMESTAMP: 02:37:04 AM]
LOG_ALERT: LINE 4 REMAINS ACTIVE. STATUS: USER ATTEMPTED DISCONNECT // FAILED. ERROR: EXTERNAL OVERRIDE DETECTED.
“The line is open, Maya. You can hang up the headset, but you can’t stop the broadcast.”
[MONITORING SPATIAL DATA... ERROR: UNKNOWN SOURCE DETECTED AT 180°]
SYSTEM REBOOT. LOADING USER PROFILE... CORRUPTION DETECTED. SECTOR 4 CRITICAL. WELCOME, MAYA.
The monitor displayed a blur of grey pixels. A pressure built behind Maya’s left eye, pushing against the bone of the socket, demanding space where there was none. It felt less like a headache and more like a structural failure of the skull.
Fingers traced the line of her throat. The blood was tacky, drying in the cool air of the office. The scissor cut stung with every heavy beat of her heart, a sharp reminder of the previous call. Red stains coated her fingertips. A quick wipe against her jeans left a dark smear on the denim, adding to the layers of grime accumulating on her skin.
The wall clock read 02:37 AM.
Time refused to move. The second hand vibrated in place, caught in a spasm, a glitch in the universe.
A wet wipe came loose from the packet on the desk. The alcohol burned the open wound, drawing a hiss through clenched teeth. The wipe scrubbed the laminate, cleaning the surface, erasing the evidence. White tissue turned pink. It turned red.
Rrrrring.
The phone cut through the silence.
A flinch jerked Maya’s body. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The wipe fell from her hand, landing with a wet slap on the carpet.
The console pulsed. The red light synced with the thumping in her ears.
INCOMING CALL NUMBER WITHHELD
It was a standard withheld number. It looked human. It looked like a mistake.
Air rattled in her chest. A trembling finger pressed the button.
“Crisis Line. This is Maya.”
“Is your refrigerator running?”
The voice was young, male, and smothered by laughter.
Irritation flooded Maya’s chest. It was hot, grounding. This was not a ghost or a time loop. This was a bored teenager. This was the real world leaking in.
“This is an emergency line,” she said, her voice sharp. “You are blocking the line for people who need help.”
“You better go catch it then!”
The boy laughed. His friends laughed in the background, the cruel and mindless sound of a pack of hyenas in a schoolyard.
“Hang up,” Maya said. “Do not call back. We trace nuisance calls. We send the police.”
“Ooh, the police,” the boy mocked. “I am so scared. Are you scared, Maya?”
The hand hovering over the console froze.
Maya did not answer. She did not justify herself. She moved her finger to the red button.
“You sound scared,” the boy said. The laughter died down. “You sound like you are hiding.”
“I am terminating the call,” she said.
“Wait. Wait. I have a story. I have a spooky story.”
“Goodbye.”
“I am terminating the call.”
“Wait. Wait. I have a story. I have a spooky story.”
“Goodbye.”
“No! Listen. There was this woman. She worked at a call centre. She was all alone.”
Maya stopped. Her finger sat millimetres from the red button.
“She thought she was alone,” the boy continued. His voice dropped an octave, adopting a theatrical, mocking spooky tone. “She sat at her little desk. She drank her little energy drink. But then she got a call.”
Maya stared at the empty can of Red Bull.
“The call came from a killer,” the boy whispered. “And the killer said...”
Maya pressed the END CALL button.
Click.
She exhaled. The sound was loud in the empty room. Temples needed rubbing. The brain needed a reboot. Silence was required.
“He said ‘I can see you’.”
The blood in Maya’s veins turned to ice.
The voice came from the headset.
The screen confirmed the status.
CALL ENDED. DURATION: 00:01:12.
The line was dead. The light on the console was grey. The connection was severed.
“He said ‘I can see your neck’,” the boy said.
The audio was clear. Crisp. It bypassed the phone network entirely, emanating directly from the earpiece.
Maya grabbed the headset. She ripped it off her head and threw it onto the desk. It clattered against the keyboard.
She pushed her chair back. The wheels screeched on the carpet as she pressed her spine against the backrest.
“You can take it off,” the voice said. It came from the earpiece sitting on the laminate; tinny, small, leaking into the air like gas. “I am still here. I am watching you.”
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“The woman had a cut on her neck,” the boy narrated. The laughter was gone. The voice was flat, clinical. “She tried to clean it up. She missed a spot. There is a drop of blood on her collar.”
Maya touched her collar. Her fingers came away wet.
Her breath hitched. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, trickling down her temples, stinging her eyes.
“Who are you?” she screamed, eyes darting to the ceiling, searching for the lens. “How can you see me?”
“I am not on the camera,” the voice said. “The camera is broken. Look at the screen.”
The monitor flashed red.
ALERT: SPATIAL INTRUSION. SOURCE: PROXIMITY. DISTANCE: 0 METERS.
“I am close,” the voice said. “I am standing right behind you.”
Maya stopped breathing. The muscles in her neck locked. Her body screamed at her to turn around, survival instinct demanding she check the threat.
“Do not turn around,” the voice whispered. “If you turn around, the story ends.”
Maya stared at the black reflection of her monitor. The screen acted as a dark mirror. Her own face stared back—grey, eyes wide, pupils reduced to pinpricks.
She looked at the space behind her reflection.
It was dark. The office stretched away into the gloom. The rows of empty desks stood like silent tombstones.
“He is standing by the chair,” the voice narrated. “He is tall. He is very thin. His arms are too long. They drag on the floor.”
Movement shifted in the reflection.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness behind her shoulder. It was darker than the room, a hole in the world that blotted out the light from the fire exit sign.
“He is leaning down,” the voice said. “He wants to smell the blood.”
A physical presence asserted itself. Displacement of air. Something large occupied the space directly behind the chair.
A breath touched her neck.
It was cold. It smelled of stale water and meat left in the sun.
The hair on her arms stood up. Her skin crawled—a primal, biological rejection of the thing behind her.
“Please,” Maya whimpered. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears leaked out against cold skin. “Please go away.”
“He likes the fear,” the voice said. “It tastes like copper. It tastes like the blood on your neck.”
A sound came from behind.
Creak.
It was the sound of a joint popping and of dry leather stretching.
“He is moving closer,” the voice said. “He is right at your ear.”
Breathing filled the air. Not from the headset. It came from inches away, wet and rattling in a chest cavity that sounded too large for a human.
Hhhhhhh. Hhhhhhh.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her own pulse thumped in her ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“He is touching you,” the voice said. “He is curious.”
Something touched her hair.
It was light and gentle. It felt like a spider web. A long, dry finger tracing the line of her skull.
A violent tremor ran through her body. A hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the scream.
“Stop it!” the plea mumbled into her palm.
“Open your eyes Maya,” the boy commanded. “Look at him.”
“No.”
“Look at the screen. He is smiling.”
Eyes remained shut. A silent prayer begged the universe to wake her up.
“Look at him,” the voice roared, distorting into static. The speakers on the headset crackled. “Look at him or he will turn the chair around.”
Maya opened her eyes. The monitor held the truth.
The reflection had changed.
Maya was there, her face a mask of terror.
The dark shape towered over her. It was a silhouette of jagged limbs, a stick insect made of charred wood.
A face hovered in the darkness over her shoulder.
It was pale, the colour of a dead fish’s belly. It had no nose, no eyelids. The eyes were white orbs staring at the back of her neck.
The mouth was a vertical slit running from chin to forehead. Black wire had been used to sew it shut, pulling the skin tight.
The headset on the desk crackled.
“He wants to tell you a story,” the voice said.
The vertical mouth on the screen ripped open. Stitches tore. Black fluid leaked from the wound.
The mouth did not move. The sound did not come from the throat.
It laughed.
The laughter of the teenage boy spilled out of the monster’s throat. It filled the room, bouncing off the ceiling tiles.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
It was a recording, a loop.
Hands flew to cover ears. The laughter grew louder inside her head, vibrating in her teeth, drowning out the hum of the air conditioning, drowning out her own heartbeat.
“The story ends,” the voice whispered, “when you hang up.”
“I did hang up!” Maya screamed. She slammed her hand on the console, hitting the button again and again. “The line is dead! Leave me alone!”
“No,” the voice said. “You are the line. And you are open.”
The monster in the reflection raised a hand. Its fingers were long. They were needles. Had too many joints.
It reached for the headset on the desk.
Maya watched in the reflection. She could not move. Her body was paralyzed by the proximity of the thing. She smelled the rot coming from its putrid mouth.
The monster picked up the headset.
It held the plastic earpiece with infinite care.
It moved the headset towards Maya’s head.
Maya tried to pull away. Her neck was rigid. The paralysis held her fast.
She felt the foam pads touch her ears. They were cold. Damp.
She felt the plastic band clamp over her skull. It dug into her scalp.
The monster adjusted the microphone. It moved the boom arm until it was touching Maya’s lips.
The laughter stopped.
The breathing stopped.
The room fell silent.
Maya stared at the screen. The monster in the reflection placed its hands on her shoulders. Its fingers dug into her flesh. It was a possessive grip. It was claiming her.
Static filled her ears.
It was the white noise of the void, the sound of the ocean at the bottom of the world.
“And the operator,” the boy’s voice whispered, intimate and inside her brain, “never hung up again.”
Click.
The line went dead.
WAITING FOR NEXT CALL...
I felt this while reading, had to shake off a shiver. Great story!