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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2203406
The things of nightmares happen on dark in stormy nights in suburban neighborhoods.

The thunder applauds the lightning as it dances across the night sky. Brendon walks into his dimly lit house as his cell phone begins to ring. Hello Moto, Hello Moto

"Hello."

Heavy breathing echoes through Brendon's cell phone.

"Hello?" Brendon repeats as the breathing continues.

He hangs up the phone.

His phone begins to ring again; Hello Moto, Hello Moto

"Hello?"

The heavy breathing reverberates through the phone once again.

"Who is this?" he asks, pulling the phone from his ear.

It reads Blake.

"Blake, if this is a joke, it's not funny."

The heavy breathing continues, as Brendon hangs up the phone once again.

The phone begins to ring again; Hello Moto, Hello Moto.

"Blake, stop playing on my fucking phone! I just got home, and I want to relax," he screams, hanging the phone up, noticing a shadow darken his front door glass.

"Blake, if this is you, I have nothing to say to you," screams Brendon, clutching his phone for dear life as he makes his way to the door.

As he turns, the figure darts out of sight; the hallway is again flooded with street lights as a lively burst of lighting engulfs the night sky leaving the entire neighborhood in complete darkness.

"Are you kidding me," he screams, as his pulse quickens.

Brendon, completely caught off guard, shakes his phone, turning on the flashlight.

His phone begins to ring again; Hello Moto, Hello Moto.

Frightened, Brendon drops his phone on the floor. He quickly picks it up and slowly puts it to his ear.

"Hello?" he says with quivers in his voice.

"Hey, open the door. I just ran here, and I am out of breath, and I lost my phone. I am calling you from my work phone," Blake says, panting into the phone as Brendon looks up at him waving in.

Brendon quickly walks to the door. As he opens it, Blake spits up blood all over his shoes, holding the nape of his neck. The heavyweight of Blake's boy collapses directly upon Brendon trapping him.

A hooded figure stands in the doorway, holding a knife riddled in Blake's blood. Brendon's eyes widen as he watches the figure walk into the house. His eyes fill with tears as he tries to push the bodybuilder from on top of him. He just slips and slides in a pool of blood.

Brendon's screams fade under thunder applauding the lightning's dance across the night sky. Then silence falls upon the neighborhood as the dark figure drops Blake's phone in the middle of the street. Vanishing into the darkness of the suburban neighborhood.



© Copyright 2019 Victor L. Rolling Jr. (vick04041986 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2203406