"It's For You"
                  "It's For You" stories
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poemsaboutlife
poemsaboutlife poet/writer/thinker/dreamer
Autoplay OFF   •   4 years ago
The thing that we give so much of our attention to. Is it really your friend?

"It's For You"

After a long day at his desk, the statistical analyser had finally come home. Slumped himself on the sofa, iPhone on the cushion next to him and feet up on the coffee table. He didn’t even have the energy to lean forward and reach for the tv remote on the coffee table and turn the tv on. He was drained.

His head tilted back and his eyes closed in the hope of relaxing just a little before he made his dinner. As he was drifting off he was disturbed by the sound of his favourite song coming from the sofa. He reached down and picked up the phone looking momentarily at the screen. It showed WITHELD. ‘Who the f*** is this?’, he thought

“Hello”, he said with a croaky, tired voice, eyes barely open. Silence. He tried again but to no avail. All he was met with was silence. Just as he was about to hang up a voice came through from the other side. “Hello Simon”, the voice greeted in a sharp but immature tone.

His eyes jumped wide open to the sound of this voice. Thoughts began to rush into his head, ‘No! It couldn’t be! How is this possible? This can’t be real?’. “Simon”, the voice called out again in the same tone.

“NO!”, Simon screamed back at the voice and hung up the call before dropping the phone back on the sofa. Even more thoughts came in to his mind, ‘There is no way that is possible! What the f*** is going on?’

His favourite song shouted out again. This time he cautiously picked up his phone whilst simultaneously looking at the screen, again saying WITHELD. Still in shock he stared at the screen until finally he slowly slid his finger across the screen and immediately pressed the speaker button.

“Simon, it’s me, don’t hang up”, the voice called out. Simon sat there motionless staring at the phone in his palm. What he was hearing was the voice of David, his dead 8 year old brother. “It can’t be! You died 20 years ago”, Simon shouted at the phone.

“Si….”, he cut the call and threw the phone on the coffee table. Immediately the phone rang again only this time he did not answer. This time he would let it ring.

Simon sat there on his sofa in sheer disbelief with his hands covering his face when his favourite song stopped playing. He thought the caller hung up but then after a few seconds of silence, to his amazement, the phone started speaking in that same sharp but immature manner.

“Simon it is me! Do you remember we had secret names for each other, names that no one knew, not even mother? Your name for me was Doodlebug”. “Yes, but how could you know that?”, Simon asked hesitantly.

“Because it’s me, David”, the voice replied, his voice transforming into something deeper with a vicious edge to it. It was no longer immature, it had purpose.

“Do you remember that game you made up? Lets see who can squeeze the hardest, and you wanted to go first. You put your hands around my neck and began to squeeze. You got tighter and tighter. You watched as you stopped me breathing. You looked right in my eyes. Do you remember? I do! Why did you kill me? Mother knew. And now I do too!”

Anger started stirring inside of Simon until he finally blurted out, “What do you know? Mother died over a year ago!”.

“I know everything. You hated me from the moment I was born. You thought I took mother away from you and that father left because of me! You wanted mother all for yourself. Her love, her attention, was only for you. You could not stand it that mother loved me!”.

Simon’s eyes widened as the realisation sank in that his hidden past, the past that only his mother knew but could not bear to accept, was being laid out naked in front of him. “Now Simon, it is time for you to pay the price!”, David continued, his voice becoming more and more menacing with each word.

All of a sudden streaks of electricity started to shoot out from the phone and dart around the room searching for anything electrical.

Simon got up, his face covered in fear as he watched the streaks. Lights started to flicker, he turned his head and the tv had switched on, then the CD in his stereo began to play at full volume making him jump.

He ran to the kitchen and started hunting frantically for something, anything to smash the phone with. He started pulling open draws and rummaging around in a state of panic. As he turned to walk past the kitchen table he spotted something in the corner of his eye. It was the phone lying there on the kitchen table.

“How the f***?”, were the only words that Simon could manage when bolts of electricity came shooting out of the phone again. This time however, they caught the electric carving knife that was sitting on the counter. A distinct hum sounded as the motor of the knife came to life. Simon froze as he watched the knife lift out of its mounting and twist to face him.

They were like two duellers waiting for the go signal. Only one of the dueller’s was terrified.

Through all this confusion Simon could hear a cold, sinister laugh coming out of the phone. He was frozen standing there staring at the knife and the knife staring back at him. Its pointed tip twitching violently with the vibration from the motor. His eyes were locked on that tip. Fear was running through his whole body.

He could feel his heart pulsating so hard in his chest and the sweat gliding down his cheeks.

With no warning at all the knife shot forward aimed straight at Simon’s heart, blade buzzing and vibrating. Simon instinctively stepped to one side as the knife stopped exactly where his heart was just a moment again. He instinctively lifted his arm to shield himself and caught the blade quivering at full power.

With one swift reflex movement he jolted his arm back but the blade had already cut through his skin like it was butter and an enormous cry released itself from Simon’s mouth.

Blood squirted out from the wound and within a matter of seconds him entire forearm was deep red. Even though the pain was unbearable he knew he had to get out. All the while there was that vicious laughter coming from the phone.

The knife lunged forward again, this time aimed at his stomach. Simon jumped to one side again but not enough as the blade just caught his slide and gave him a shallow cut along his ribs.

The terror in Simon’s eyes got worse and worse as he rapidly moved his head around to find the door before the knife came at him again. He saw the doorway and made a break for it. Like an Olympic athlete he bolted for the doorway with the knife in hot pursuit.

He sprinted down the hallway, blood staining everything he touched but he didn’t care about that, his only aim was to get out of there as quick as possible. He could see the front door. He was nearly there.

He grabbed the handle hard and as he turned it the buzzing noise got loud very quick and he ducked his head down just as the blade stabbed the door just where his head was. He did not wait for any encore from the knife, he turned the handle and yanked the door open as hard and fast as he could and ran out in to the street. He didn’t stop.

The priority was to get out of there. Now that he was out he turned and looked back at his house to see if the knife was still coming. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised it was not. Still staring at the front door he walked backwards away from the house and into the road.

He turned and suddenly he was blinded by bright lights and in an instant....everything went black.

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