Kill him before he kills you. I’ll help any way I can. Just do it!
* * * * *
Jennifer opened her eyes to see Jerry standing over her in a room she didn’t recognize. Her head was throbbing and her body burning up. Glancing down, she saw her arms were red, as if they’d been sunburned.
“Now, just lay back and rest,” she heard Jerry saying. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“What happened?” Jennifer couldn’t remember a thing since leaving her home to go grocery shopping. “Was I in an accident?”
“Darling, it wasn’t just an accident. You survived a lightning strike. I guess you decided to go to the store without letting me know you were going. Well, God got even with you for disobeying me. Pushing that metal cart to the car in a rainstorm gave him a chance to send down a lightning bolt and strike you down. I guess you gave the cart boys quite a show with your dress up above your waist, just lying there. They’ll sure recognize you the next time you shop there.”
The evil in his words sunk deep inside of her. There was no more love, only hate for the narcissistic bastard. Somehow, some way, she would get him out of her life!
* * * * *
Jennifer returned home a couple of days later. Evan had a black eye. He told her “I fell down” and walked away. John wouldn’t say anything about it, either. It wasn’t hard to see Jerry had threatened them.
Regardless of doctor’s orders, she had to get out of bed. Jerry had ordered the boys to stay home from school to help her, but she sent them out to play. She needed to be alone to think about how she could get the bastard out of her life. Early that afternoon, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, she was surprised to see one of the boys from the grocery store.
“Yes, Miss, you dropped this the other day when the lightning hit you. The manager wanted me to bring it over. He’s the only one that’s been in it, and he only did that to get your name and address. We were waiting on the police to take it, but they must’ve forgot. Anyway, here’s your pocketbook. If you want to check and make sure everything’s still there, I’ll wait.”
Taking it from the boy, she opened it up, dug into her billfold, and gave him a five-dollar tip before sending him on his way. Heading to the kitchen, she dumped out all its contents to make none had gone missing. On the counter sat her old phone. My old friend—I was so afraid I’d lost you. Picking it up, she tapped the button and smiled. The phone lit up, good as new. That couldn’t be said for the one Jerry had purchased. With a shattered screen and melted casing, it was beyond repair.
Jennifer jumped as her old phone rang out her text notification alarm. Jennifer picked it up, read the screen, and dropped it back to the counter. Giving herself a moment, she gave it another look.
“How do you wish to kill him?”
As before, no sending number was listed. Oh, God, as if I didn’t have enough problems. Have I been hacked?
The phone again beeped. “No, you haven’t been hacked.”
“Who are you?” Freaking out, she screamed loudly. What the hell, phones can’t talk to people. Could this be a trick Jerry’s playing to drive me out of my mind?
“I am your phone. The lightning rerouted my insides. I’ve always been here. I just couldn’t tell you before.”
Jennifer unable to believe it was her phone messaging her, began questioning it about things that had happened to her long before meeting Jerry. Answer after answer, the phone never failed to give the correct response.
“Again, let me ask, how do you wish to kill him? I will provide details for you and erase them if you are suspected by the police. Tell me how you wish to do it and I will help you.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “What would you suggest?”
A list of twenty methods to commit murder appeared, rated from best to worst. Poison and electrocution led the list, followed by everything from stabbing to pushing off a mountain.
“Hello, where are you, I’m home.” Jerry’s voice echoed throughout the house. Jennifer rushed to swipe the phone clean, but it had already done so and returned to the opening screen.
* * * * *
“You know, this is impossible. No matter what you say, you don’t have a memory chip large enough to think on your own. I must be going crazy.” Jennifer gazed at the phone she’d loved for years trying to figure thing out. Nothing made sense.
You may be surprised what people can do with a brain less intelligent than mine. Look at all the politicians you elected in the last twenty years if you need proof. Besides, I’ve tapped into larger computers elsewhere and have unlimited storage ability. If my developers knew about my talents they’d all be rich … well, richer.
It didn’t make sense, but then again, it did in a very warped way. The more intelligent computers were made, it was obvious they’d soon be able to process human traits. By logic, the time Jennifer had spent on her phone had been some of the best times of recent years. And, she’d turned down the new phone from Jerry wanting to keep her own. What if her phone had recognized her actions as love and loyalty? Would it be possible for it to return those traits to her as it understood them? Six months ago, she’d have denied it ever happening. Yet, here it was, doing exactly that!
Having nothing to lose, Jennifer spent the next few days considering a method to end the family’s relationship with Jerry. It would have to have a permanent result. Otherwise, he would be back for vengeance. Of that, Jennifer had no doubt. Yet, the option would have to eliminate any chance of her going to jail. As bad as life was with Jerry, it would be worse without her children.
Poison was an option, but traceable. Electrocution was too risky and not a guaranteed end. Cutting brake lines to his car wasn’t a sure method either, especially since they didn’t live in the mountains. Pushing him down the basement steps might not do the job and could get her imprisoned. Every item on the list had good points and bad, but there were major risks with all.
The physical attacks on her and the boys continued. Jerry grew more brutal every time he felt his authority had been challenged. Yet, he had grown smarter along the way, learning how to create pain without leaving bruises that could be used against him. There was no doubt in Jennifer’s mind that he would kill them one day if she couldn’t find a way to kill him first.
Depressed, she took refuge in her old haunt, a hot tub of water. She desperately searched her phone for one last shot at finding a way to dispose of Jerry. Regardless of what she asked, it responded with the same four words.
I will help you.
“Damn you, you’re no help at all,” throwing the phone against the wall. “I need answers, damn it, answers!”
“What the hell is going on,” yelled Jerry, sending the door flying back as he rushed in the room. “What are you doing, trying to tear up the house? Trying to make more work for me? Answer me, I demand it, Bitch!”
“I threw my damn phone. Now get out and leave me alone!”
“Don’t you tell me what to do. I’m tired of your crap. It’s time you learned how to keep your mouth shut!”
Jerry grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head under the water. Jennifer struggled, but couldn’t fight against his weight smashing her face against the tub’s bottom. Pain shot through her scalp as she was yanked up to face him.
“Fuck this, you’re never going to learn. Hope you said goodnight to the boys. They’re going to hate to learn their mom drowned in the bathtub when I wake them tomorrow.”
Slamming her back underwater, her head thudding against the bottom. Going limp, she acted as if she had been knocked unconscious by the impact. I can’t fight him and win. Maybe playing dead will give me a chance to get out of this mess! Within seconds, Jennifer felt her hair being grabbed and she was pulled up and dropped over the side of the tub.
“Don’t you die on me, Bitch, don’t you dare die—not yet. You’re gonna find out what pain is all about first.”
Jerry rose to his feet and whipped the belt out from around his waist. His anger ha
d never been this severe. He wanted to cause pain, to bring suffering and agony. She had dared him to do this too many times. Now, she was going to find out who was the boss. She’d learn, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
Rearing back to swing, his back foot stepped upon Jennifer’s phone. Sliding out from under him on the wet floor, Jerry was sent flying toward the toilet, smashing his skull into the porcelain lid.
Bleeding, but not unconscious, he attempted to get up—putting his arm upon the sink to steady himself. Once again, his foot again stepped on the phone and sent him back to the lid’s corner. This time, he fell to the floor and didn’t move.
Jennifer, on her knees in the cooling water, kept watch for any movement. There was nothing besides the blood running down his twisted neck and merging with the water covering the floor.
In front of her, lying in a puddle, her phone’s text notification alarm sounded. Picking it up, she gasped at the words on the screen before it they faded away. All went dark. She hit the power button, but nothing happened. The phone had survived lightning, but water had killed it.
She went over the event with the police as the corpse was carted to the morgue. The boys sitting with her, confirmed Jerry’s beatings and temper. It was daybreak before they were left alone, with the promise no further investigation was deemed necessary.
After getting some sleep, Jennifer took the boys to the greasy diner for hamburgers. It had been a long time since they’d had them together. The boys were as quiet as she, wrapped up in memories that needed to be forgotten.
After putting them to bed, she ran her bathwater, this time knowing she would not be disturbed. As she turned to get in, a text notification alarm sounded from behind her. Atop the toilet was her old phone, powered up and beeping. She picked it up and smiled, relieved her old friend had survived. It read the same as it had the night before, when all was over. Words that she couldn’t tell the police but held dear to her heart.
“I told you I’d help you. Sometimes, you got to believe.”
* * * * *
“Gives new meaning to the old ad slogan, “Reach out and touch someone, doesn’t it?”
“I wish you hadn’t gone there, girl,” grimacing at Gabriela, but holding back a chuckle. “More like that and I’ll put on a recording of old dog food commercials.”
“As much time as you waste chatting, you probably have a lot of dogs waiting for you to ask them over for dinner.”
“Now, you know I’m careful when I go online.”
“Yeah, you put on rubber gloves to type so you don’t catch anything. Which reminds me of this next story.”
Traveling The Web
It’s too late for me, but maybe you’ll have a chance to survive. The foe is an old enemy, one that has been around for centuries, but looked upon as old wives’ tales and stories to scare children. The foe is Black Magic.
Magic? In this age of technology, dare I speak of such an ancient superstition? The web is full of books about it, but they’re all fiction? Please, listen to me before it’s too late.
The Internet is an amazing creation. Not only does it supply an endless amount of information, but it allows us the ability to communicate with others on the opposite side of the world within seconds.
Of course, with the wonders come the pitfalls. Liars, scam artists, even murderers take advantage of those naïve enough to believe there is good in everyone. Savings are lost, identities are stolen, and deadly meetings are set up daily. Animals are stolen, kids are kidnapped, and lives are ended.
Welcome to the age of communication!
Many are too wise to these games to be taken in. Yet, there are always new scams being developed to catch their prey unaware. I found this out the hard way.
I hear you scoffing, “People stopped believing in magic decades ago. Magic and religion, they’re in the same category. Bullshit stories that have no basis in fact. If this is what you want to speak of, it’s time for me to leave.”
But, yet, you stay. Why? Because all the horror movies have had an effect on you. Speak loud and bold, but when you walk down a dark stairway, do you fear some unknown creature is lying in wait to pounce upon you and rip your flesh to shreds? Do you not feel relieved when you can turn on the light and see there’s nothing there?
Scoff if you will and go enjoy your videos of pets with human mouths saying stupid things. Smile and laugh—maybe your fears will leave you. But, regardless of your current state, remember they await your return to the chills that make you feel alive … and scared to death.
Only a day ago, I was like you, parked in front of my computer, scrolling through all the social media bullshit. Excuse me, the supreme wisdom of all the political crap posters and hate messengers. You know the type, “If you don’t believe as I do, you’re a Nazi!” Of course, there were the recipes, the animal videos, and the “I’m sick today” notices, all guaranteed to brighten one’s day. Like many, I was an addict.
Still, I was bored until the familiar “ding” sounded and I saw I’d received a message. My life changed immediately. This is my story.
* * * * *
What is the name of your mother? Would it happen to be Sara? I’m tracing down my family tree and would like to know. My name is Julie Jeffries.
Not one that makes a habit of divulging personal information to strangers, I travel to her profile page. Minimal information immediately raises a red flag. I sit, pondering if I should ignore the message and go back to the video of the motorcyclist chasing down a hit and run driver. My screen goes black for a few seconds and then the words, “Accept and Respond” flash boldly.
Thinking it a virus of some sort, I shut down the computer and run a quick Boot Scan. Nothing shows up. Now, my curiosity is aroused. I go back to the site and use the always effective Jewish method of answering a question with a question to type, “What would it mean to you if she was?”
The answer appears immediately.
My father's name is Harold McCain. He had a sister named Sara. She married a Thomas Jennings and moved to Ohio in the late 50's. They had a son, also named Thomas. We're all originally from Maryland. There's a possibility we could be related.
I'm stunned. Reaching for a cigarette, I decide this is the real thing. All she has typed checks out. I type back, “Yes, to all. My mother was Sara and my father was Thomas. My grandparent's names were Helen and Alton McCain.”
So, we are cousins. You don't know how long I've been trying to find you.
We talk for several hours. We had chatted about family events, as well as how our own lives had progressed. I had seen Julie once, as a baby, right after she'd been born. It was the last time I'd seen any of my family from the East Coast.
The next night, I’m late getting online. Julie wasn’t there but had left some old family pictures. Excitement filled me as I clicked on the first.
In front of me is a photo of a photo, with “Great Grandmother” printed in red underneath. This is a woman that displays power and strength. From her stature, she is one who demands things be done her way and no other. She stands with some man, much older, wearing a robe more ornate than his, both with facial expressions far from friendly.
Examining it in detail, I figure the photo was taken in church, possibly at a choir practice. Yet, this isn’t a couple one would want to sit next to in a pew. I laugh it off, saying to myself, “Now, there's two people in need of taking a dump.”
Bam! A shooting pain explodes in my head and splatters fragments against the ceiling. My body falls back in the chair and I slide limp to the floor. I'm spinning, being transported to a land of darkness and blinking strobe lights. In all my years of wishing for an acid flashback, it's finally happening. Damn, and I have Jazz music playing instead of Pink Floyd!
As my vision clears, the two from the photo stand over me. They're repeating each other's words in some unfamiliar language—like a chant or spell. There's a smell of incense in the air—Musk, I believe. An old organ is blaring out the kind
of music one might hear in a classic horror film, and I’m stuck in the movie.
I try to rise off my back. It’s impossible. I raise my arms and find tiny hands and fingers flailing, instead of my own. Voicing a protest, I hear the cries of a baby. What the hell is going on?
Okay, I’m freaking out. A purple pillow blocks most of my view. I see a man’s arm pulling a ceremonial dagger off the pillow. My great grandmother is in a trance, shrieking out words that sound like Latin as she spins in circles with her arms raised high. The dagger is held high but pointed right at me. I open my mouth—more baby wailing.
There’s a commotion to my left. I try to roll over and see my mother and grandmother fighting with more robed characters. As they struggle, my mother is yelling out, “No, you can’t, you can’t! Not Thomas, not him!”
A gunshot sounds. The man with the knife falls back and grabs his chest, blood running over his fingers. I see my grandfather holding a rifle against the oncoming horde of robed figures. My great grandmother has picked up the dagger and is holding it high, as the man did before. She plunges the dagger down at my chest as another shot rings out. All goes black.
I open my eyes. I’m on the floor in front of my computer. My dog is licking my forehead. I feel a bump and see blood on my fingers. The ceiling is clean, so my head didn't explode—it just feels like it did.
I sit, contemplating my experience. I can’t figure out if was a vision or an actual transference to another time. Confusion rules. Neither can be explained, unless I suddenly developed a brain tumor, or someone spiked my cigarettes. No question I'll be preoccupied the rest of the night trying to figure it out.
Pulling up my T-shirt, my overage of pallid flesh and flab is exposed. “Too much sitting at the computer and chocolate wafer bars,” I say out loud, happy to hear my own voice instead of a baby's. I tug the shirt above my chest. No pain and no scar, just scatterings of chest hair I hope will fill out one day when I hit puberty—at age seventy-seven.
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