Friends

Steve’s heart pounded; sweat beaded on his forehead; his eyes darted round the dimly lit room as if it would yield some clue as to what had woken him. It didn’t.

A stair creaked.

Steve rose quietly from his bed, groping about for something to use as a weapon. His hand found something solid and round, whatever it was it would do, he thought. The door opened as he reached for the handle, instinctively he struck out.

“Hey what’s the big deal,” Trevor’s familiar voice demanded indignantly, as he flipped on the light switch.

Steve dropped his weapon, a feather duster. “What were you thinking, creeping about like that, I could have killed you.”

“Not with a feather duster you couldn’t,” Trevor said, grinning, “besides after that call you made how could I not get here? What kind of friend do you take me for?”

“What call?” Steve asked, sitting on his bed, he gestured to a chair in the corner.

“The one you left on my voicemail an hour or so ago, screaming for help.” Trevor said, sitting in the proffered chair.

“A. I do not scream, B. I never called you and C. if you thought I was in mortal danger where is the cavalry?”

“A. You screamed like a banshee, B. I have the voicemail to prove it and C. My stupid phone wouldn’t let me dial anything other than the voicemail. I didn’t want you getting killed because I stopped off to make a phone call. I had already missed the call by a few minutes; I just hit the accelerator and hoped you would be alive when I got here.”

“Thanks for that, I knew you were my best friend for a reason. The only problem is I didn’t call you, I went straight to bed after I arrived up here.” Steve said.

“Listen to this then,” Trevor said, finding where his phone had hidden the message.

“Today at two thirty eight a.m.” the machine voice intoned. “Trevor, help me, he’s trying to kill me, Trevor I need help, no don’t I won’t….” there was the sounds of a struggle and then silence.

Steve’s jaw dropped, his face went ashen. It certainly sounded like his voice, he wouldn’t go as far as to call it screaming, but it was undeniably him.

“You said you went straight to bed when you got here, are you sure? Could someone have drugged you?”

“I…I don’t know. I remember opening the cabin door, then nothing until you woke me creeping up the stairs. Did it look disturbed downstairs?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t check, I was too scared to look. To be honest I was hoping it was just a hoax to get me up here, when I saw no lights on I was hoping to surprise you and give you as much of a shock as you had given me, granted I wasn’t expecting a feather duster in the face, but given that you’re fine it was worth it.”

“Hopefully it is someone’s idea of a prank, not mine, I assure you. I’ll make up the guest room, we can figure it out at a slightly more civilized hour,” Steve said.

A knock at the door interrupted Steve’s plan. Without a word both men stood and crept down the stairs.

The front door swung open, letting dawn’s rays in, one or two caught the keys still dangling in the lock, sending shafts of light everywhere.

Two police officers entered cautiously.

“Hey give a guy a chance to open the door why don’t you, can I help you, I can’t explain the call but that’s…” Steve stopped; neither officer was even looking at him.

“Call it in, Max,” one of them said, shaking his head.

“This is Charlie November 74, we need forensic units to cabin 7 on the Inversnaid estate,” Max said into his radio, walking into the living room.

Steve and Trevor followed.

“Forensics? What for? I’ve done nothing…” Steve started to ask. He stopped abruptly. There in what had been his cabin’s neat living room lay his shattered phone, right next to his equally shattered body.

“At least we know that voicemail on his friends phone wasn’t a hoax,” Max said.

“Small comfort to that friend’s corpse.”

“You’re a ghost.” Steve and Trevor asked in unison.