Filed under: In the blogosphere no one can hear you scream
During this time off I grew uncomfortably aware of how empty my life had been and still is. I hadn’t realized how work had sucked my will to live until I’d started this little hiatus, and now that I had all this time to think I realized how alone I felt. Miranda was the only person I still held close to me, but to be honest she almost felt like a stranger. I sighed heavily. Maybe I’d get a cat, or two, or twenty. Maybe I’d die alone surrounded by 20 cats and finally the smell would alert my neighbors of my passing. They would only know me by the name “Smelly Cat lady” because with 20 cats I would probably smell. As I stumbled headlong into my morbid fantasy of slipping in the shower and falling dead surrounded by my 20 mewing cats, the phone rang.
It was a 212 area code… Manhattan, nice! Maybe an interview. I didn’t want to seem too desperate so I waited for it to ring twice before I answered.
“Hello,” I sang into the receiver trying to sound pleasant yet professional. No response.
“Hello, is anyone there?” The phone was dead silence, I could hear something in the background that sounded a bit like scratching but I couldn’t quite tell what the sound was.
“Sorry, i can’t hear anything. Try again later.” I said hanging up. I didn’t want to be rude in case it was a potential employer, it’d be like one of those Dead Air commercials for that cell phone company. The one where the guy is telling the girl how much he likes her only he can’t hear her excited response so he back peddles and finally says he likes her as a friend…or a sister.
The phone rang again, same phone number so I answered making sure I had a smile on my face. I read somewhere that people could hear you if you smiled.
“Hello, this is Lilly” I said into the receiver. Again, nothing but dead air. Then a click. Weird. Well, if this was a bad signal I could just call the number back and leave a voicemail if it turned out to be a potential employer. I’d hate to miss out on a job for something as stupid as a bad cell signal. So using my ever so handy caller ID I called the 212 number.
It rang about 4 times and then the strangest thing happened. I got an automated message that said “the number you have called has been disconnected.” That was it. No name, no number, just that message. How could I get a call from a number and three minutes later it be disconnected? That was this side of creepy. I suddenly had horrible visions of the movie The Ring in my head, the part where the phone rings just before the wet dead chick comes after the two school girls. I squealed and ran around in circles in my apartment opening all the drapes and shades and turning on all the lights.
“Ok Lilly, snap out of it. You’re being a baby.” I said to myself. I decided to call Miranda, it was nearly 3:30 and classes should be over.
The phone sang at me instead of ringing:
What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
“Yo snot face!” Miranda’s voice chimed in, cutting off Fergie’s ode to her ass. Miranda had been calling me Snot Face since we were 7 and watched the movie Drop Dead Fred. She thought I looked like the little girl in the movie and from then on I was Snot Face.
“Miranda, Humps? Seriously? You have got to be kidding me. They actually let you mold young minds?” I said teasingly.
“Dude, it’s not like I give my parents my personal cell number to call…well, except Jordan’s father. What a hottie, but I was hoping he’d take the song as a suggestion” Miranda giggled.
“I just hope he’s better than the last guy!” I chastised
“At least he’s not married..anymore” She pouted. She knew what I thought about her usual choice in men.
“Hey, you want to go out with me tonight? I need to go meet a friend and I thought it’d be fun for you to come along.” I said casually.
“I don’t know Lil, it’s kind of late notice. I wish you’d have called sooner.”
“Miranda, he only just asked me last night and by the time I got the message it was too late to call you. Come on, I’d do it for you!” I cooed at her.
“He?” she said picking up on the one thing I was hoping she wouldn’t pick up on. “That’s all you had to say! I’ve been trying to get you laid for the last year. I know that doctor thinks your job is the root of your problem but I think its the cobwebs in your knickers” she snickered at me.
“I can’t believe you are responsible for our future generation,” I said in mock dismay, “But I love you anyway. I totally owe you!”
“Yes you do. You can pay for my drink…or my many drinks. And you can make sure my drunk ass gets home safely.”
“Don’t you have school tomorrow? You can’t go to school hung over!” I shrieked at her. She just laughed at me.
“I love messing with you! Ok, when and what time?”
“Meet me at the 14th street Station in the Village at 6:45, and don’t be late. I’ll see you then. Bye!” as I made little kissy sound into the phone and hung up before she could gnash at me for bringing up her chronic tardiness.
Now the only question was what was I going to wear. I had no idea what this person was like so I wanted to be careful with what I chose. I’d never seen a picture of him nor did I know anything about him other than he liked my blog and he had some good connections to the NYPD. I also guessed he liked the author Edgar Allen Poe but that was only a guess based on his name and I could be way off. As I browsed through my closet, I decided to go cute yet respectable. That way if he was a single hottie I could still look good, but if he was a creepy weirdo I wouldn’t have to worry about him staring at my bosoms.
I chose a black fitted long sleeve shirt and my favorite jeans, boot cut. My jeans were just a little tighter than they had been the last time I’d worn them, I sighed guessing I wasn’t a size 9 anymore and made a note to self to start running some more.
All the blogging might have decreased my stress but it had led to a somewhat sedentary lifestyle. Although my jeans were a little snug, they looked good, no roll was hanging over and my ass actually looked a little better come to think of it. Maybe sedentary wasn’t so bad. I’ve never been one to stress about my size, although I do like to look good. I learned a long time ago that with my hips and boobs there was no way I’d ever be considered a skinny girl. But I did like to keep fit and I was ok with curvy. I liked curvy actually, I liked looking like a woman instead of the stick figures of the fashion world.
Ok, outfit, Check. Now what did he say to bring? Oh, yes, a forensic kit. I fondly called this a Murder Bag. It sounded more intriguing and was more fun to say. I’d learned about “murder bag” in all my blogging research. Apparently it became a standardized thing after a majorly gross murder in 20’s that involved quite a bit of hacking and then a little bit of boiling of some poor girl. When some Scotland Yard fellow observed the Murder Squad gathering the hacked apart body pieces with their bare hands (ick! ick! ick!) he decided to make a standardized kit. I could barely touch raw meat with my bare hands, touching some poor lady’s bloody stump would have sent me into a screaming tizzy.
I know the first murder bag contained stuff like tweezers, a ruler (probably for measuring the space between lumpy mounds of flesh), rubber gloves and some other miscellaneous items. If I showed up with something like that to this “club” I would be laughed out of the room.
Oh well, I’ll just tell him I left it on the subway. I decided not to go into the city early to job hunt so instead I killed time messing with my hair and applying makeup. The makeup was easy, the hair was another thing. It needed cutting and my bangs were getting a bit long so finally I just used some Aveda self control to stick everything in the right place. I stuck my bangs behind my ears and smoothed the ends so it hung neatly at my shoulders. Not too bad if I did say so myself. It felt nice to get dressed up, even if it was jeans.
My blogging work attire consisted of sweats and tank tops or t-shirts. I slid on my black boots, they were cute with a thick heel but not too big that it made walking distances impractical. I loaded up myiPod with the latest addition of This American Life, the BEST NPR show ever, and sticking my wallet in my jeans pocket I headed out the door to catch the ferry.
The ferry ride was uneventful, so I was glad I had Ira Glass snugly talking into my ears. I found the iPod handy when it came to going out and about in the city. I was able to smile and nod pleasantly to a friendly passerby without feeling like I had to say anything. I remembered reading someones blog about how a friend basically told her she was too gratuitous with her hellos to strangers.
I had been like that before moving here. Living in a city known for hostility didn’t encourage that behavior. Back in Aurora everyone smiled and said hi, it was part of living in the Midwest, but the only thing Aurora was known for was Wayne’s World and I had wanted more. So I came to New York.
I spent most of the ride engrossed in the stories of This American Life but at the same time I was passively thinking about my next blog article. I thought about my blog more than I did anything else these days, and certainly more than I thought about finding a new job. By the end of the ride I decided that my next murder blog would be about a resurrected murder from days long gone. I was leaning toward Lizzie Borden but I was also thinking about the murders that Texas Chainsaw and Silence of the Lambs had been based on.
I hopped off the ferry and took the South Ferry line all the way to Greenwich Village to meet Miranda. I hated going South Ferry, it had that tiny little platform and all cars couldn’t unload so everyone had to squeeze through to the first five cars to get off. Not one time had I been able to get on this subway without molestation of some sort. Today was like the rest, someone’s hand grabbed my ass and I yelped but by the time I turned the culprit was gone. Oh well, what would I have done anyway? It’s not like Ira would come bounding through my ear buds to defend my honor. Oh Ira, where are you when I need you?
I stopped feeling sorry for myself and by the time I’d landed in the Village I was eager and excited for this little adventure. I spotted Miranda easily. Her hair was black with red tips today and she was wearing a leather jacket. School teachers didn’t look like this when I went to school but then “PS666″ in Brooklyn was so desperate for teachers that they looked the other way when it came to things such as her nose ring and tattoos. Besides, as crazy as she looked, she was an excellent teacher and was known district-wide for her unconventional and successful techniques that reached even the most hardened of students.
“Looking good Snotfaced!” she grinned giving me a once over. I blushed a little, but then she kept talking, which was her habit. “Are your boobs bigger? They look bigger. Here, let me check” she came at me with her hands out and I shrieked jumping away. Miranda burst out laughing so hard I thought she was going to fall over.
“Gosh, I love trying to embarrass you. Its so easy. But seriously, you get a new bra?”
“Remind me why I’m your friend.” I said with a glare.
“Because in the 2nd grade I punched Donna Simmons in the nose for calling you fat.” She said fondly.
“Ah, yes. Of course.” I remembered the moment like it was yesterday. That mean popular pretty Donna making fun of my overalls and calling me butterball. I didn’t even know what she meant, I thought she was calling me a turkey. But Miranda knew and without even thinking she hauled off and socked her in the nose. Miranda was fearless and I was shy and she balanced me out. She helped me to feel comfortable around people and her crazy and embarrassing antics almost acted like a form of desensitization for me. She had tried to mortify me so often that suddenly answering a question in class seemed not such a big deal. I don’t think she knew what she was doing back then but systematic desensitization was a tried and true psychological technique.
We locked arms and walked together the few blocks to the Court and Crown. The whole way she talked about the kids in her class, Mr.Hottie and the snarky librarian who always made passive aggressive comments about her ever changing hair.
“Randi, thanks again for this.” I said giving a quick hug.
“No problem hun, anything for you. Donna Simmons better not meet me in a dark alley” she laughed.
“Oh, Randi…can you not call me Snot Face tonight?” Miranda just looked at me and laughed. I didnt’ know if that was yes or no but I guess I really didn’t care much anyway.
We arrived at the bar to discover it looked like the name suggested. A sort of Old English facade with an iron sign hanging out front. Inside was an old red telephone booth and other memorabilia of days gone by. Miranda looked at me curiously, I shrugged my shoulders and we found a seat in a corner that faced the door.
“So, what’s this guy look like” Miranda asked as she checked out the Martini menu.
“Well… uh…” I stalled not sure how to answer this.
Miranda shot me a hard glance, “You did NOT ask me on a blind date with you, did you? Who is this guy?”
“Well, he’s one of my blog readers. You know my blog. Well he asked me to meet him here at 7pm and to bring my forensics kit. And…well, I don’t know what he looks like.” I answered sheepishly. I felt stupid for not thinking of this earlier.
“Well then how the hell will you guys find each other?”
Now I was really uncomfortable, “well, my picture is on my blog so he knows what I look like and he knows my name…so he should be able to find me”
Miranda looked at me like I was off my rocker. “Lilly, are you freaking crazy?? You put your face out there for anyone and everyone to see? What if this guy is a wacko! I mean, come on, you blog is kinda messed up. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said. She was only saying the things I said about 100 times to myself. Just then a tall thin blond walked up. She looked to be younger than I by a few years and had that much sought after stick figure that the industry today so loved. Her roots were growing in black and she was wearing dark eye makeup that gave her that goth/emo look that you saw all over the place. But she was wearing a soft pink sweater and tan dress pants. She looked like a walking contradiction.
“Lilly?” she asked.
“Yes?” I answered, surprised that she knew my name. Who was this girl? She looked nervous standing there and seemed to feel uncomfortable in her own skin. Or perhaps it was the soccer mom outfit that made her seem out of sorts. Either way, this girl looked seriously stressed.
“Did you bring your bag?” she asked me, looking oddly at Miranda.
“Sorry?” I said, clearly confused as to what she was talking about.
Miranda bust out laughing as she apparently understood something I didn’t. “Dude, Lil, She’s not a dude!” she said, trying to explain between her chuckles.
“She a gir-OW!” Miranda’s giggle was cut off by a sharp kick from my very cute black boot. She glowered at me and bit her lip to keep from laughing. I guess it was Poe the girl singer and not the Poe the crazy author. Damn. Or not Damn. I wasn’t sure yet but I didn’t like being wrong.
The girl looked at Miranda for a moment and then said snappishly,
“Yes, I am a girl. But I’m not Poe.”
That shut Miranda up, which was impressive because not much could accomplish that, god love her. The girl sat down in the chair closest to her then continued talking to me, ignoring Miranda’s presence all together.
“He sent me and he needs your help. But we don’t have much time.”
Oh great, that sentence exuded impending doom and foreboding. But I had nothing better to do on a Thursday night so what did I have to lose?
Filed under: In the blogosphere no one can hear you scream | Tags: In the blogosphere no one can hear you screem
click here for chapter 2 of Blogosphere
Lilly reread the email. A bar on 13th street. That sounded like the Village, but the name seemed a bit stuffy for that. Between the ferry and the subway it would take about an hour to get there.
She could go in to the city early and look for a job or stay home and do chores and go in later. Or not go at all. What if this Poe guy was a serial killer that stalked his victims through blogs? What did she really know about him or his society? Her blog had been about violent crimes after all, maybe she’d attracted the attention of a real weirdo. There were certainly enough to go around.
Still musing, Lilly took her meds and ate breakfast standing at the kitchen sink. She decided to go for a short run. It had been awhile since she laced up but the solitude sounded good to her today. Running always helped her think. In college she had ran competitively and had been in great shape. Now she felt clunky and slow but it still felt good to do it.
After getting her sneakers on and doing some stretches, Lilly started down the stairs in her building and went out to the street. She paused for a minute trying to decide which way. The park was good but sometimes there were too many homeless. Going left took her past the library and a school. That sounded better.
Lilly started off slow until she got into a rhythm, her shoes pounding the pavement. She was almost through her two miles, back to her apartment when she realized she had made a decision. Of course she had to go tonight. She was too curious not to go. But she needed to play it safe. The only answer was Miranda.
Miranda and Lilly had been best friends since second grade. They even pinky swore when they were twelve that boys would never come between them. Which means they only did three or four times. Miranda was always ready to go into the city and Lilly knew she could count on her.
Miranda worked as a teacher at a school she fondly referred to as PS 666. It would be a few hours before Lilly could call her.
Filed under: In the blogosphere no one can hear you scream | Tags: In the blogosphere no one can hear you scream
Something began to happened to me recently, it was slow at first but gradually it began to take over my life. It caused stiffness in the back, cramping in my arms, tired watery eyes and sometimes it even kept me awake at night. What did this to me? I did this to me, I am a new blogger. I started blogging mostly out of boredom and the need to do something with my time while I was out on a doctor mandated medical leave.
My job as entry level stock broker had turned me into a coffee guzzling, Red Bull Drinking, heart palpitating stress ball. Finally when I went to the doctor complaining about the awful blinding headaches I kept having he took my blood pressure and was ready to prescribe me some prazosin for it. That freaked me out. My dad, who was like super old, was on that medication. I was only 26! I asked my doctor what else I could do and he gave me a look. You know the look, the one that says I already know the answer to that question. And yes I did know the answer and I had been happily ignoring it for some time. I’d been to him a few times before with this problem or that and each time I ended up crying about how stressed I was at work.
“Lilly,” he said gently, “If you want to survive your life you need to start taking these meds, but if you want to live your life you’ll need to find a new job.” sigh… he had to say it that way didn’t he? He was right, I knew it deep down but I didn’t want to admit I had been wrong. Wrong about my life, about my career about all the years I’d spent in school. I wasn’t quite ready to listen to him.
“Can you just order me to take a break or something? Just so I can think about what you said?” I asked hopefully. My company had awesome benefits and if I went on doctor ordered medical leave I’d get 50% of my pay for 4 weeks. That should be enough time for me to figure out what I needed to do.
Dr. Martin, who I knew didn’t wear Doc Martins because I had asked when I first started seeing him three years ago, gave me another look. He was about 10 years older than I and was graying at the temples. That gave him a very distinguished look. He had dark hazel eyes that made you feel like you were gazing at stones below the surface of a pool. They were beautiful. I think on some level every girl has a crush on her doctor if he’s even slightly attractive and since he’s not married I felt like it was ok for me to drool just a little bit.
“Pleeeeease” I begged girlishly. He smiled and shook his head at me in feigned exasperation.
“Ok Lilly, but only because I believe that your health depends on you quitting that job and I think having a few weeks off will prove that to you.” He said this while scribbling something on his RX pad.
“Thank you,” I’d said gushing at him and snatching my Get Out of Jail Free card…or note from his hand, “You always know how to make me feel better.”
I marched joyfully out of his office and had taken a cab right to the HR department at Rosencrantz, Morgans & Stern, filled out all the required paperwork while trying my best to seem dejected and sullen then went home for a very long much needed nap.
That had been two weeks ago.
Welcome to The Haunt! We created this site to be able to share our fiction with others without really having the spotlight on us. We also thought it’d be a great way to collaborate on some fiction writing.
Feel free to read, comment (if given the option by the author) and join up if you’d like to share your work. Just email ghostwriters @ gmail dot com. (do we type it that way to keep spammers away? just wondering)
So read below, enjoy-and even suggest a plot twist if you like. For the progressive stories we’ll likely look to readers for suggestions and even potentially do a poll and make it like a “choose your own adventure”.
And make sure if you’re reading the progressives story (currently Blogosphere) that you click on the tag on the left so you can get all the chapters.
