The Silent Phone Call

It was a warm spring sunshiney day as I got off the school bus. I was an honor roll student throughout all of my years at school. I had to be, Dad demanded it. All of my years from kindergarten to almost the end of 8th grade, I went to school with the majority of the same kids. I wasn't ever crazy about school, but it was okay. I enjoyed the socializing! But ever since Dad died, I just couldn't get into it. I got in with the wrong crowd, and I had so many life problems on my mind, that homework was hardly an afterthought.

I walked about seven blocks home when I got off the bus. The neighborhood wasn't the best, with a lot of known drug dealers in the area, as well as violent incidents, including shootings, that brought police around quite often. It usually didn't get too bad until late at night. Luckily, our end of the road was mainly old people and disabled people. But the first three blocks from where I got off the bus were not a place I cared to be. I kept my eyes and ears open at all times. I didn't play.

As I passed a house full of people hanging out in the yard and the porch, one of them shouted out to me, "Hey come 'ere sugar, Daddy's got something for you," grabbing his crotch and rubbing it up and down.

"Go to hell, motherfucker!" I yelled, with no concern for my safety. I had lost my mind, and the truth was I didn't care if I lived or died. Looking back now, I truly believe I was shell-shocked. I had turned bat-ass crazy. I know that's what helped me to survive many times. People liked me because I didn't take any shit. Truth be known? I truly have no idea how I survived my teen years. God is the only way that it even makes a morsel of sense.

I was pretty stoned on my way home, messed up on valiums. It was the first time I had done them. Someone gave them to me at school. I took them without a thought because I wanted to dull the mental and emotional bullshit, that my life had become. But all the way home, every single step of those seven long blocks, I knew, though the house was supposed to be empty, that there was someone upstairs in the house. Only I didn't think this someone was alive. The house I lived in was very haunted. Some may not believe in that, but I'm not asking anyone to. I know what I had to live through. Not only me but my family. We saw ghosts, heard them, and had to live through things being moved, voices, apparitions, and things so crazy and bizarre, that I'll probably never make them public.

I had this overwhelming sensation ever since I boarded the bus to head home. I knew, without a doubt, that an evil entity was upstairs waiting for me to get home so it could mess with me. It was going to wait until I walked into the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The wall-mounted phone was going to ring, and when I answered, there would only be silence. The phone call would be just to make sure I was the one who answered. Then, all hell would break loose.

Oh shit, Tracey, you're just being paranoid. Nothing's going to happen. You need to calm down and not flip yourself out.
Walking down the street, I brushed my thin, long brown hair out of my face and adjusted my heavy book bag. I always kept an eye on what was going on around me because you could never trust anyone. Besides, we just found out Ted Bundy was caught a block away from our house. He was on his way to Mobile and decided to come back to Pensacola for a kill. We had five girls coming in and out of our house. All of us had long, light brown hair parted in the middle. Except, for Ellen, she had beautiful, pure blonde hair.

I knew I was going to have to face the house alone. I was beginning to shake. I could feel my eyes open wide, and my mouth was dry. I was sensing this entity with every ounce of my being! I've seen how crazy entities can cause you to act and feel. They'll try to make you think you're going crazy. My mother was going to a priest because she thought she was possessed. Hell, we did too!

I had arrived at my destination. I have braved the fear, trying to convince myself I was just paranoid, from being stoned. But I still couldn't help but feel I was in a bad horror movie, as I walked up the sidewalk and then slowly climbed the front steps. I decided I would raise my head slowly, so there would not be any shocking surprises, as I entered the living room. I did it! I exhaled a breath and dropped my book bag in my room. I so didn't want to walk into the kitchen. But I was starving, even though I was trying to buy into the paranoia excuse, I still felt the threat. But a woman must eat her PB&J! So, into the kitchen, I went. I was on a mission. Make my sandwich and glass of tea, as quickly as possible, and get the heck out! The kitchen was where the steep, dark stairs going up to the bedroom and attic were. Ghosts or no ghosts, those stairs were creepy! While I was putting the peanut butter on the bread, I kept thinking, I know the phone is going to ring, and no one is going to be on it. They're going to call from upstairs to see who entered the house.

I had half of my sandwich made. Just a couple of more minutes and I'd be out,
then from behind me, the shrill ringing of the phone broke the silence. I turned, looking at the menacing phone. Another ring filled the air. I walked cautiously up to the phone, which was in direct sight straight up the steps. Just answer the phone Tracey, you're being paranoid, answer the damn phone. I slowly walked over to the phone hanging on the wall, with a shaky hand I reached out and picked up the receiver. I answered on the fourth ring."Hello?" Silence. A bit louder, "HELLO?" SILENCE, "HELLO?"

SILENCE, SILENCE, SILENCE!

I drop the phone, leaving it dangling, and run out on my half-made PB&J! I shot through the living room, out to the porch, and there I sat until Mom got home.

I hated being there alone. Things happened when you were with people, but more so when you were alone. The house liked it when you were afraid. Like all evil, it feeds off fear.