The voice on the message was foreign and ominous. Natalie hadn't a clue who it was. It could have been nothing more than a prank call, but the speaker addressed her personally. She stared at the answering machine as tiny tape reels rotated from the inside. She lived alone, which was bad enough, but now this. She pressed the playback button again: one message, ten seconds long, low static for the first five seconds, then a distant voice, low and gravelly with a direct tone that gave Natalie pause.
"I'll never forget what you did to me, Natalie. Better get your affairs in order. See you soon."
The message ended abruptly after the word "soon," and Natalie played it again, trying to decipher that voice. Was it some kind of sick joke? Who had she wronged and in which way? She didn't have Caller ID. She didn't own a gun or have an alarm system installed in her small two-bedroom house. She hadn't thought of any real need to protect herself until then. The message, she believed, constituted a viable threat.
After contacting the police, two officers showed up about twenty minutes later, knocking on her door so loud, that it made her jump. They entered her home, one with his head shaved clean and the other with a crewcut, and listened to the message, providing their most earnest assessment.
"Probably just someone messing with you, ma'am. If it persists, please give us a call."
That's it? she thought.
They asked her a series of questions about co-workers, ex-boyfriends, or anything else that would shed some light on the caller. Most of her co-workers at the Department of Children and Families were female. Her last relationship had ended amiably. She had never married and wasn't aware of any stalker in her life. She had never wronged anyone as far as she could remember. The officers told her to keep the recording as evidence.
Evidence for what? she thought. For when I get murdered?
She then made a series of excessive requests: Could they trace the call? Could their department do a voice analysis of the message? Could they post watch outside her house in shifts?
One of the officers looked at her sympathetically, only to explain the situation. Natalie would have to wait. She accepted as much and thanked them for coming by. Sergeant Jackson, the officer with the crewcut, handed her his card. As they left, her deadbolt had never been so quickly turned, her blinds so hastily drawn, and the lights in every room turned on with such abrupt unease.
Natalie then thought of Matthew. She had been seeing him off and on for the past two months. Phone cord dangling, she called him, pacing the kitchen as his answering machine greeted her with automated coldness.
"This is Matt. You know what to do."
"Hi, Matthew," she said, trying not to sound too desperate. "It's Natalie... um, are you there?" She paused, hoping he would pick up. With no answer, she continued. "Call me back please once you get this message. Okay? Thanks." She hung up the phone and walked into the living room where Ringo, her Yorkshire Terrier, was resting on the coach with his tiny tail wagging at her approach.
TV remote in hand, she turned on the television perched on its four-foot stand. A rerun of Cheers was on. Natalie rested her head back, petting Ringo, and stared up at the ceiling. Someone had gotten her number in the phone book. Big deal. That's what cowardly, depraved men did. Why let it ruin her evening?
At this thought, she noticed a news flash on TV, detailing the body of a young woman discovered in a lake twenty miles from where Natalie lived. The woman had been missing for two weeks. That alone was chilling enough, but when Natalie saw a picture with a name listed below, she felt faint and short of breath.
Authorities identified the woman as Teresa Reynolds. Natalie had known her. They were friends in high school but had later drifted apart. She covered her mouth in shock and turned the volume up as the news reporter stated that the investigation was still ongoing.
"More details at eleven," the reporter announced.
Natalie's mind raced with questions unanswered by the brief broadcast, when suddenly the phone rang from the kitchen, startling her.
Matthew!
She set Ringo aside and vaulted toward the kitchen. Her hand snatched the receiver by the third ring in eager anticipation. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end, coupled with familiar static that sent shivers down her spine. Something was wrong, and all her expectations plummeted with a growing sickness in her stomach.
"I hope you listened to what I said, Natalie. Not playing games with you."
Natalie's mouth went agape, unable to produce a sound. She struggled to speak. "Who is this? What do you want?"
"I told you that earlier."
"Who are you?" she asked, angered.
"Looks like they found your friend Teresa's body today. Only question you should be asking is when they're going to find yours."
Terror froze her in place as she attempted to sound unafraid. "I've contacted the police, now leave me alone!"
The call disconnected, and Natalie wished she had said more. She hung up the phone slowly, still clutching the receiver with indecision. "A prank," she said softly, her voice trembling. "A vicious, mean-spirited prank."
She then pulled out Sergeant Jackson's card. The caller had mentioned Teresa, and that was enough to involve the police. As she dialed, raindrops pelted her windows. She felt anger at the sadistic caller for ruining her night, anger at the police for their inability to stop him, and anger at Matthew for not calling her back.
"This is Sergeant Jackson," he said, answering.
"Yes, hi, Sergeant. This is Natalie Holland. You were out my house earlier."'
"Yes, Ms. Holland. How can I help you?"
"He called back," she said. "Just a minute ago. He mentioned Teresa Reynolds's body. The woman found in the lake today. Sergeant, listen to me. I knew Teresa in high school. How would he know this? This is not a prank. I need you to find this guy before he comes after me. I need-"
"Everything's going to be okay, Ms. Holland," Jackson said. "We'll send a patrol car over soon. Just stay calm, and we'll get to the bottom of this."
"Please hurry," she said, hanging up the phone.
The rain grew heavy and, for the first time that evening, her lights flickered from above. She called to Ringo, but he was nowhere to be found.
Probably hiding under the bed, she thought.
She dialed Matthew again with growing impatience. His answering machine message played again, further irritating her.
"Matthew? Where are you? I need you to pick up now...," she said. But there was no answer. She hung up the phone and ventured from the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Teresa was a short-lived friend of hers in the tenth grade. As her mind opened to fluent memories of Teresa, something rushed into her mind, random and obscure, with the velocity of a freight train.
Tenth grade gym class: Little Nathan Wagner was hoisted onto the basketball hoop and dangling from two arms. As he hung from the hoop, some of the other boys thought it funny to pull his gym shorts down. After doing so, what remained was the pale, naked torso of panicked child struggling to pull his shorts back up. For five long seconds, over fifty students stared at what Natalie and Teresa helped pen as "Little Nathan's Wagner."
The legend had spread from there, and Little Nathan was seldom heard from again. Natalie had always wondered what happened to him. Was that it?
Impossible, she thought, though there'd be one way to find out. Natalie rushed to the kitchen and dialed her close friend, Rachel, who she had also went to school with. They hadn't talked in months, but if anyone could help, Rachel would be the one. She answered sounding tired as Natalie talked over herself, trying to explain the situation in frantic jabber.
"Calm down, Natalie," Rachel said. "What's wrong. What happened?"
"Teresa Reynolds. Remember her?"
"Teresa? Oh my God, yes. I heard about her tonight."
"Well," Natalie continued, "I think she was murdered and that whoever murdered her is coming after me."
"What?" Rachel said in disbelief. "Why?"
"Nathan Wagner. Do you remember him?"
Rachel paused and then answered. "Um, sure. Yeah. From high school." She paused, concerned. What's gotten into you?"
"He's after me after, I know it. We didn't pull his pants down, but Teresa and I told everyone about it. Anyone who would listen!"
"Natalie..." she said in an exhausted, solemn tone. "He's not coming after you. I hate to tell you this, but... Nathan committed suicide years ago."
An entirely new panic jolted Natalie from within. "He what?
"He was twenty-seven. I only heard about it because one of the girls at the salon knows his sister. It happened like a year ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Natalie said, shaking.
"Listen, babe," Rachel said with reassuring confidence. "You had nothing to do with it. Where is this coming from?"
"Because..." Natalie began, but then the connection was lost. She hung up as the phone immediately rang back. "Rachel?" she said, answering. Instead of Rachel's voice, she was met with the familiar distant crackle of her mystery caller.
"I'm surprised you still remember me," the man's voice said.
Natalie's voice trembled in response. "I told you to leave me alone."
She slammed the phone down with ferocity and then grabbed a nearby butcher knife as the phone rang, its incessant tone drilling into her head. Her windows shook from the wind gusts. Her lights flickered in unison from every room. The police would be there soon. There was still hope.
She ran to the couch and clutched the butcher knife, praying for the police to arrive. Static flowed from the TV as the phone continued to ring. Natalie's answering machine greeting followed only to be met by an all-too-familiar voice.
"I had a crush on you for the longest time. I don't understand why you did what you did. Did I really deserve that? All for liking you? And the worst part is that you didn't even care." He paused as Natalie cried to herself. "But I'll make you care..."
A flash of lightning erupted in a startling burst, taking out the power. As the storm raged on, Natalie sat alone and helpless. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I was only a kid then. I didn't mean anything by it." Another flash sent Natalie running for the hall, only to receive a blow across her head so hard that it sent her to the carpet with fading consciousness.
The next morning, warm sunshine glowed from behind the curtains in the empty living room. Pounding came upon Natalie's door with no one there to answer, not even Ringo's high-pitched yips. The knocking then ceased, followed by ringing from the wall-mounted telephone in the kitchen.
After a several rings, her answering machine message played in her absence with its welcoming tone. "Hi, you've reached Natalie. I can't come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I'll be happy to get back to you when I return. Thanks!"
A man's voice entered after the beep. "Natalie, this is Matthew. Are you there?" He paused, waiting. "Sorry, I had a work function last night and didn't get back until late, plus that storm. Call me back right away when you get a chance. I'm concerned about you. Bye."
The message finished recording followed by blinking red digits upon the phone indicating one message received.
The End