❝ [P R O L O G U E] ❞
̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ Late Night Call ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶
Somebody's Watching Me • Rockwell
Volume: ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
August 19, 1996
IT WAS NOT UNCOMMON FOR YOU to find yourself awake in the middle of the night. Glancing at the clock beside your trusty sewing machine, you read the glowing red numbers that displayed '10:49' and despite feeling tired, you remained awake to complete this request from a schoolmate.
It made you sigh but you weren't sure if it was because you were tired or not from making this simple request but you did feel accomplished that you finished it.
Snipping the thread off the skirt's finishing line, you carefully lifted it from the presser foot. You smile with contentment but with a tinge of tiredness, nevertheless, you liked seeing the improvements in your sewing skills, thanks to your precious sewing machine.
Gazing over the light purple checkered patterns of the commissioned skirt you had just finished, that smile never grazed away from your face. It's like it gave you a sense of endearment despite noticing the faded cuts and little bits of dried blood apparent on both of your hands.
As you turned the clothing over, exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids, wishing that you didn't make another mistake of measuring the wrong measurement again. Hoping to open your eyes and find a flawlessly completed skirt, your concentration was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone in your small, makeshift garage which you call your workroom.
The echoing ring pierced through the door, causing you to groan in frustration. You really wanted to check the skirt out but decided to do it after addressing the call, reluctantly rising from your chair and feeling a little wobbly from the hours you spent sitting on the chair, working on the simple skirt.
As you make your way to the ringing phone, you pick it up, and heave a sigh when you were greeted by silence - 'Not this again.' You think to yourself, rolling your tired eyes. "Why even bother ringing the phone when you won't even answer." You grumble, very tired as you feel your back ache.
You put a hand on your back and waited for another three seconds for the caller to speak but silence only emits and it was time for you to hang up just as you were about to hang up, a deep voice finally emerged from the phone, "Hello?"
The voice was deep and chilling, something that can send shivers down your spine but at the same time, you can picture this same voice as an old man who scolds children to get out of his lawn.
Your brows peaked in surprise and you brought the phone back to your ear. "Hello, mister."
"Who is this?"
Letting out a sigh, you glanced at the phone line, searching for any indication of familiarity in the anonymous number, 'Another lost elderly again, huh.'
"Who were you trying to call?" You asked, your voice laced with a hint of concern as you rub the side of your back in hopes it would make you feel better. 'God, I really think I need to lay down.'
"What number is this?" The caller responded, and it just made your gut twist as the caller didn't answer your question. It was an odd response but perhaps they didn't mean anything by it.
"Uhm..." You nervously nip your bottom lip, "You called me -" Another silence lingered until you speak up, "You probably misdialed, mister."
The phone stayed silent again but only for a short moment before speaking up again, "I don't know..."
"Oh, it's alright." You reassured, your voice betraying a touch of grogginess, "Just dial again, mister but make sure to look at the numbers clearly this time, alright?" You asked, the grogginess in your voice was definitely evident but despite this, you maintained the softness of your voice, assuming the caller to be a lost elderly person struggling with the phone.
Another pause of silence occurs, you sigh again and stopped massaging the side of your back, now feeling you want a snack - from the empty feeling of your stomach, you look around for a pocket of popcorn and put it right into the microwave. By now, you should've hung up but felt compelled to ensure the well-being of this 'elderly' is alright.
"Actually, it's the middle of the night, mister." You continued, " - Maybe you should call the correct number tomorrow. You should sleep. Get some rest. We don't want a migraine to wake you up in the morning, hm? - I'll go ahead and hang up now, okay? Good nig-"
"Wait." The deep voice interrupts, "Don't hang up. I want to talk..."
Your brows furrowed slightly, frowning a bit as you feel a tinge of your heart scrunch, feeling bad for the fella. 'How lonely...' You think and look around, seeing the still-open door to the garage. An idea sparked in your mind that you could keep this 'old fella' company while tidying up your workroom mess.
"Alright then, mister. I'll stay on the line and keep you company for the night but you better get your sleep soon, alright?" You softly offered, going to the workroom (garage) with the detachable phone prompt on your shoulder with your head securing it as you pick up discarded pieces of fabric that you don't need to keep from the floor.
"I want to apologize." The voice says and your heart sank even more for the presumed lonely soul of this 'old man' for even having the need to say sorry.
"Aww, no need to apologize, mister. We have those days." You replied warmly and a smile formed as you tried to lighten the mood, "One time, I misdialed 911 and ended up dialing seven-eleven instead."
The man chuckles and the sound warmed your heart, knowing that you had brought a little lightness to his spirits, "Why did you call 911?"
"Intruders, losers." You responded with a hint of pride, "But that was long ago, and ya better believe I gave them a good beating."
"Say, sweetie, what's your name? You're funny."
A lighthearted giggle comes from your lips as you shake your head, reaching your hand out to retrieve some strands of useless thread sprawled over the whole desk and the whole sewing machine, "Oh -" You suddenly hiss, feeling something prick your finger.
The pain made you step back, accidentally stepping on the foot pedal of the sewing machine, creating some loud noise from the sewing machine. The unexpected noise made you gasp in panic, causing the phone to slip from your shoulder and fall to the ground
"Fuck." You whisper, looking at your index finger which had once again been pricked by one of the stray dressmaker pins that was scattered on the table. You look back on the ground and hurriedly picked up the phone, feeling quite panicked whether or not you have accidentally hung up.
"Sweetie, are you okay? What happened?"
Breathing a sigh of relief, you silently thank yourself that your call had not been disconnected. You cleared your throat, "It was my sewing machine. Sorry, I'm very clumsy." You whispered the last part, only to receive a stifled laugh from the other line,
"So you sew? I never sewed before."
You hum in response, "Mhmm. Yeah, but it must be one of the worst hobbies I've chosen, I keep pricking my fingers and cutting my hand all the time." You grumble, biting your inner cheek in annoyance as you look at the skirt you laid down aside.
Seeing that the skirt wasn't touched by your annoying clumsiness, you turned your attention to the kitchen door and walked toward it, balancing the phone on your shoulder once more. Upon entering, you scanned the cupboards for any certain kit for your annoying cut that was still trickling with blood.
For a small prickle from a sharp pin, it certainly seemed to create a short-lived fountain of blood.
As you reach out for the kit, you jump at the sounds of popping from the microwave, you sigh and calm down as you look at the orange light dimming from the microwave, seeing the pocket of popcorn that you previously put spin around slowly, 'Right, I forgot...'
"What's that noise?"
You nip your bottom lip, reaching out for a band-aid, and rip off the seal as you answer the caller, "Just making some popcorn."
"Oh? I only eat popcorn in the movies."
Exhaling, you secured the band-aid around your finger, and threw the seals off, "Yeah, well I wanted snacks so I just got whatever I saw first. Ya know, mister, enjoying popcorn for the sake of it ain't so bad."
"Really? You don't watch movies?"
"Not a fan." You hum, "But I do prefer watching them with someone else. I like the company."
"Do you like scary movies?"
"Hmm..." You look around the kitchen, genuinely thinking if you did like watching them with your friend, Randy - a horror fanatic, "Yeah, they're pretty cool. I at least prefer them over romance films, at least."
"What makes you like them?"
"The writing and the visual effects," You explained, a genuine interest in your voice "The attention to detail is something that I like, details, lores behind that stuff, it's all great. But I wouldn't call myself a fanatic though."
"What's your favorite scary movie?"
"The entire world."
"... That's no horror movie." He sounded confused.
You stifle a giggle, feeling bad for making that joke, "Again, I don't watch a lot of horror movies, I rarely even watch them so I answered the most horrific thing I could think of - the world is scary."
"So you don't watch scary movies?"
"Barely."
"But you like them?"
"Yep. I still appreciate them. I prefer them over romance." You pop your mouth, watching the timer of the microwave now as another light giggle comes from your lips," - Mister, I told ya before, I don't watch a lot of movies but I know what I like."
"Why don't you watch them? Are you too scared?" He teased and you swear you can see the smirk in his voice, making you playfully roll your eyes.
"No, mister - actually, I don't know, I haven't watched enough to decide whether or not I'm scared of them, maybe I am, I don't know. Usually, when my friend makes me watch movies, I end up falling asleep. I'm usually too tired."
"What is the one movie you remember then?"
You paused, "Uhm..." You nip your bottom lip, recalling anything at the top of your head that you remember Randy persisting you into watching horror movies. Suddenly, an image of a mask flashes in your mind, you pop your mouth open to answer, "Ah! Friday the 13th if I recall correctly. I remember watching the full movie with my horror-fanatic friend. He threatened to make me cover his shift if I fell asleep again."
"What do you think of it? Was that not scary for you?"
"Oh hell, it was! Pamela was a savage at that whole hearing-her-child-before-he-was-born-thing - man, that was horror. It makes you realize that there are probably mothers out there experiencing similar things... power to all the mommas out there."
Another moment of silence followed as if the man on the other end was processing your words slowly. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for an 'old' man like him who took time to register your words, "...Then why not say that Friday the 13th is one of your favorite scary movies?"
"I guess nothing compares to the horrors of the world."
"And why did you say that?"
"Ya know..." You whisper, "Nothing revolves around us, and as time passes, we can't change what has been done and we can't see what will be done. Even with careful planning, the world remains a terrifying place, too clever for us to outsmart. It'll always get ahead of you. And I think that's horrific, doncha think? In horror movies, there's a big chance that it's predictable but the world isn't, no matter what we think we've seen."
"You're a little wise mouse, hm?"
"Nah." You chuckle, "I just like shitting on the world since it shit on me from the start."
"So why do prefer horror over romance, then?"
"Romance... I'm just not so fond of it, I get angry at it every time I encounter a movie of it, it's always gotta be someone who has another third party behind their backs or someone who couldn't accept the other because of their passion or their studies or someone that they had one nightstand with. It just doesn't feel like love, you get it? Or maybe it's just me." You murmur then shrug your shoulders as if the other person can see you,
"I just don't like it... The romance genre doesn't really show what love really is most of the time." You explained softly, your voice lowering, causing heaviness in your chest. But then a second later, your mind knocked you out of the past and reminded you of the present.
You panicked then and listened to the landline, hoping that the caller didn't find you annoying or sad since he's been quiet. He might've not even caught your silly rambling, "I'm sorry." You chuckle nervously, "I blabber a lot on the phone... I hope you don't find me annoying, mister."
"No, of course not." The man chuckles, "It's new to hear that perspective."
"So you got a boyfriend?"
You cackle, shaking your head, "Oh, no, no no - no one's interested in someone who's always so busy and hates parties. In my friend's terms, I'm boring, maybe even more boring than boring itself."
"I don't think you're boring."
"Oh..." You feel your cheeks heat and feel a little light from your shoulders. You appreciated that compliment, it's not often you hear that from people, they just always think you're quiet, "Thank you, mister..."
"You sew right? Not a lot of people I know sew. What do you sew?"
"Oh. I just sew clothes or mend someone's tears or any malfunctions in their clothes, I even sometimes sew bears but only when I get paid."
"Were you sewing before I called?"
"Mhmm."
"What were you sewing?"
"Some girl's skirt, it's a light purple plaid one." You answer and then hear your microwave go off, alarming you that the popcorn is done. Taking it as a sign that it was time to end the call, you decided you had talked the poor guy's ear off enough.
"Well, my popcorn's done. And I think you should keep your promise by sleeping now, mister. It's almost 12 am, and I gotta deliver this skirt before the customer docks my pay."
A chuckle comes from the caller, "You deliver at this time? Don't you think it's dangerous for a girl like you?"
"Of course, I do." You interject, " But I don't think the address is far from here anyways and I've got my motorcycle with me, so if ever someone does come at me, I'll be stirring them in my baby motor. That's how I beat the intruders."
Another chuckle comes from the caller's lips, "You got a motorcycle? That's pretty cool for someone who thinks they're boring."
"And I think it's even cooler if someone like you gets a good night's sleep."
"Alright, alright then -" The chuckle just keeps on coming from this 'old' man, "Can we talk again soon?"
"Of course. As long as you let me talk your ear off."
"I don't think I'd mind."
"Well then, that settles it. G'night, mister. You take care now"
"G'night, sweetie."
You put the phone down and look at the microwave, humming to yourself as you pull out a teal-colored bowl from the cupboards to settle your popcorn down. As you did, you look back at the microwave's timer and pressed the clock button where it showed you the time: 11:14.
A sigh escaped your lips. You look down at your butter cheese popcorn, "Well then, baby, I will have to see you later. Momma's gotta have to bring a delivery before Casey takes another cent from my pay."
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HOPPING OFF YOUR SEAT, letting your hair breeze through the cold air that nips on your skin once you take off your biker's helmet. You relish the sensation of the wind tousling through your hair when you look around the dark surroundings of your customer's location - The Becker's House.
And just looking at it from the distance, you feel your gut twist, feeling your heartbeat race with every step as you approach Becker's house with the light purple skirt in your hands. And in each step, the silence permeates the air, and although you usually enjoy the silence foreboding you, the air just felt different now.
Perhaps it's the lateness of the hour that made you feel uneasy in the unsettling atmosphere. Glancing at your wrist, you check the time on the watch, the hands pointing to '11:49'. To you, that time isn't too late for you, you've delivered at a much later time but why did it feel so eerie for you?
Stepping cautiously onto the front porch, your eyes scanned the surroundings, the moon casting long, eerie shadows over the area of this lonesome house. It almost looked like you were in the middle of nowhere.
You reach out and press the doorbell, its echoing chime seemingly swallowed by the darkness as the unsettling stillness followed, adding to the growing unease within. But you were only met with silence. With a skeptical feeling, you press the doorbell again, but no answer once again.
Confusion takes over you as your eyes scanned the open lights of the house, "She usually answers the first doorbell..." You mutter, a flicker of worry in your eyes. And if ever Casey is getting it 'on' with her recent boyfriend, Steve, they'd always leave you a note to leave your commission while having only one of the lights in her house open.
With trepidation, you pushed the front door, finding it slightly ajar. And though you always knew that Casey doesn't usually lock her doors - a dumb move really, it still feels like there's something different with the air.
Your breath caught in your throat as you nudged the door further, revealing a disheveled living room and this seemed to freeze time. Your eyes widened at the scene before you and you inhaled a sharp breath, going back out the front porch knowing that there is no way that someone would remain inside the house when this sort of ruckus is present.
'Casey had to be outside, she had to be.' You think to yourself in a panic but force yourself to calm down. Your breath felt shaky as you pick your cellular phone up from your pocket and dial the police. While you wait for it to pick up, you stayed on the front porch, looking around for any sign of your customer without shouting her name or the intruder would hear you.
And within the darkness, you see a dark figure not so far from the distance but enough for you to step closer and get a better look. Once you take three steps forward, you gasped loudly with your hand slapping your mouth shut as you take the image in front of you.
Casey Becker - one of your loyal customers, she's also one of the popular cheerleaders in your high school, and although you didn't support her infidelity from hopping boy to another boy, seeing her insides pour out from her dangled body is something you never thought she deserves.
"Oh, Casey..." You barely hear yourself, taking in the reality before you - Casey Becker, who was alive just this morning, asking you for a light purple skirt, is now dangled from the tree with the phone line tugging her neck, swinging her slowly from left to right.
Her body was glorified by all the horny boys in your school. They've always wanted to rearrange her organs and now her body is hallowed with her intestines to the ground with her mouth agape.
"Hello?" The phone suddenly voices out, snapping your mind awake from the image before you. The feminine voice sounded concerned when she heard your breath shake as you open your lips to answer, "I-I'm Y/N Hills. I-I'm calling because..." You take a big gulp,
You try to stop the beating of your heart in order to give a proper answer to the lady trying to help you. If your voice shakes, she might not hear you correctly, but if your voice was loud enough, the intruder can hear. You feel it, you feel a certain pair of eyes watching your every move, perhaps it's the eyes of the stars or the moon, but you know, somebody's watching out there as you carefully whisper,
╔
"I FOUND CASEY BECKER DEAD..."
╝