I screamed.
Loud and shrill I screamed and screamed.
Lyza came bursting in the door, stumbling and falling but shouting "What, what!?"
I told her. I told her about my search online, about the man outside the window.
I told her how I had destroyed the phone only to have it return to me.
"We have to get out of here. We have to go. We'll go to my mom's."
I agreed and she said she'd go back to her place to get her car. We would drive out immediately. It was a few hours, we'd be heading up into the country. It was far away from here, far away from anything. I knew it would be perfect.
I moved through the house, packing a few things into my bag. Some clothes and my laptop. I checked my phone and saw hundreds of notifications and messages. I couldn't deal with them now. I threw it into my pack and went to the kitchen. I was starving and couldn't even remember the last time I ate. Was it yesterday? The day before?
I grabbed a hunk of cheese and an old half-eaten salad and stood in the kitchen. I didn't look out the window. Didn't want to see anything unsettling. I tried eating but could barely bring myself to do it. I threw the food into the trash.
When I finished I put the plates in the sink and then habitually I started washing them. I hate mess and didn't want bugs and mice to be having a field day when I came back. I filled the sink up and poured in loads of detergent, the bubbles rising up.
I began to wash the wine glasses and the shot glasses. I put the plate on the rack and reached down for the cutlery. I felt around but I'd put in so much detergent it was hard to even hold the knives and forks. Eventually I got a handful and started wiping.
Then I noticed the water. It was changing, the foaming bubbles pink.
The sink was turning red. I felt a stinging in my hand and pulled it.
My palm was cut open, blood streamed from it. The cut reached from my pinkie finger almost up to my wrist. I shrieked and grabbed a dish cloth. The cut was shallow but the blood spilled from it and the rag turned red.
How did this happen? I carefully reached into the sink and let the plug out. When the water gurgled away I howled. The sink was full of my sharp knives. All of them.
I ran to the bathroom and doused my arm with antiseptic wash, growling at the pain. I dabbed at the wound, wondering if I'd need stitches. I pulled the cloth back and the blood had slowed. It didn't look too bad after all, but if it had been one inch higher up I'd have been in trouble.
I found some gauze and large bandaids in my bathroom and sealed my hand up as best I could. I'd need to get Lyza to help me make it better.
I went to the door and stepped out into the hallway and then paused. I looked back.
There it was.
The iPhone.
It was on the table.
I told myself to go.
And yet, I stood there, staring at it. It was clearly something unique, something powerful. I didn't understand it but knew there was something special about it. Something twisted but important.
And then it buzzed. And my heart dropped.
I ran to the phone and lifted it up. The gauze on my hand slipped away as I swiped it on. Blood poured from my palm onto the screen and I struggled to unlock it. Through a film of red I opened the gallery and pulled up the photos.
There was the selfie. But this time, only I was in the photo.
YOU ARE READING
Selfie Inflicted
HorrorThere's an iPhone lying in the street. What would YOU do? ~~~~ On a cold rainy night Jemma, Ryan and Lyza find an phone left out on the street. There are no messages, no contacts, no history. Just hundreds of boring photos. Unable to identify the o...