Dead Signal

a horror short story

Dead Signal

By: Dan Stewart

          An old woman sat before me, a blanket covering her legs as she rocked back and forth in a creaking chair. Her white hair cascaded down her shoulders and covered her face. Her hands moved back and forth like she was trying to knit something, but nothing was in her hands except the blanket.
          The air was cold and stale as a white mist covered my feet with a faint ringing sound. The window behind her looked like it was iced over, but it was too dark to tell what was outside. I don't know where I stand; it looks like my room, so much like my room, but it's distorted, and the bed is in the wrong place.
          Suddenly, the old music my grandmother listened to came from a gramophone, which was nowhere in sight. I knew what it was; it was the Andrews sisters; though I couldn't make out what they were saying, it was so familiar to me. Whenever I was at her house, she would play the Andrews Sisters; something about their music always made her want to dance.
          A buzz came from my pocket, and I slid my hand in and pulled out my phone. It was all from whom I couldn't tell; it was just a bunch of jumbled-up letters that seemed to lead me to something. I answered the phone call almost immediately after that.
          "Hello?" I said, confused, my voice seemingly echoing through the room. The next thing I knew, a dark, gravelly voice came from the phone. "You can't rely on those confounded contraptions! A good old dial-up will do you just fine, baby." Strange, I thought that's precisely what my grandmother would tell me.
          The old lady in the chair started to say the same thing. She looked at me and repeated, "You can't rely on those confounded contraptions! A good old dial-up will do you just fine, baby." They kept saying it repeatedly.
          The next thing I knew, I was awake in a pool of sweat. My comforter was thrown around the room and onto my nightstand. A muffled ring came from underneath it. I took it off, and there sat the old dial-up phone my grandmother left to me before she died. Everyone she knew looked at it hard; she was the sweetest person you would ever meet. Anyone who knew her personally would agree to that. Of course, I would rather have her back in a nightmare than not. I picked up the phone and answered it. "Hello?"
          My mom's voice came from the other side. She sounded just as sweet as ever. Her deep southern accent filled my ears, and I couldn't help but smile. "Hey, honey bun, I just wanted to check in on you. I know it was a long drive."
          "Yeah, I got in about 12:30 and fell right asleep." I bet she could hear the shakiness of my voice. I was never a good liar, especially to my mom.
          "Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry, honey! I didn't mean to wake you up so early." I glanced over at my alarm clock that sat next to the phone. It read 7:30. Crap! I would ave to get up in 5 minutes anyway. "No, Mom, you just woke me up for work." "Honey. You should take the day off. I know you took grandma's passing away really rd. Even if we know where she's going, you shouldn't push yourself!"
          "Mom, Grandma would want me to go to work. Staying home isn't going to bring her back." I looked down at the floor.
          My mother sighed. Even though she loved her mother, they never really got along. She might've been the person to disagree with Grandma the most. "Ok, have a great day at work. Don't push yourself too hard."

1

We told each other goodbye, and I set the phone down with a clank. It hung up. I reached over for my cell phone and turned it on. The only notification I had was from my boss. It said that I could come in late if I needed to. He is kind, but I couldn't do that to him.

I worked security for a small jewelry business run by a little old man. I was the only one who worked security, and the company was in the "rough" part of town. I couldn't let him open up without someone to help him. I texted him back that I would be in at 8:30 like usual.

          I got ready for the day, doing the usual things, taking a shower, brushing my teeth, and shaving my face. Something felt off as I exited my small room and entered the more expansive living room. I don't know what, but something did. The pictures that lined the hall were of me and my family. Most of the time, it was my grandmother, my grandfather, and me.
          I remember much of the time I spent with my grandparents from childhood. My parents had to work a lot, but when I was little, they had some problems in their marriage. I always admired that instead of a knee-jerk reaction to getting divorced, they instead went to counseling and worked through it.

I walked into the kitchen and took a quick look at my phone. Shoot! It was already 8 o'clock. That meant I had to skip breakfast today. Breakfast was never my favorite part of the day, but I always needed it to start. As I walked out the door, the phone on the wall rang.

          "Hello?" I answered, but nothing came from the other side; the static filled my ear. I again asked, "Hello?" Only heavy breathing that sounded like a dog panting answered me. "Alright, if you have something to say, call me back," I said, frustrated, and slammed the phone back onto the wall and walked out the door.
          The next thing I knew, I was at the jewelry store. I can remember driving, but it was nothing special. I was shaken up by the phone call, but it hadn't crossed my mind. As I walked into the store, Mr. Fernsby greeted me. He was a short man with a wrinkled face and short hair. He had a very thick Greek accent, even though he had been in the States for many years. "Andy, my boy!" he said with open arms. "How are we doing today, huh?" As I walked into the store, Mr. Fernsby greeted me. He was a short man with a wrinkled face and short hair. He had a very thick Greek accent, even though he had been in the States for many years. "Andy, my boy!" he said with open arms. "How are we doing today, huh?" "Doing well, Mr. Fernsby...well, all things considered." I gave a little smile towards him. No one ever reminded me more of my grandfather than Mr. Fernsby. "I'm sorry for being late." I looked down at my watch and saw the time. It was 8:45. I had never been late to work before. Something about this morning just felt off.
          He shook his head. "You have no need to apologize, no need at all. Your family is very important to me. When you need time off, you let me know, and I will make it happen." He put his arm around my shoulder and shook my whole body.
I thanked him as I walked to the back of the store and into the security office. In reality, it was meant for a manager or something, but Mr. Fernsby preferred not to have an office. When I sat down and looked at the monitor, I noticed a boy walk in. He most didn't look more than 17 or 18 years old. He wore a dark hoodie, and his hair covered most of his face. His arms were shoved into the hoodie pocket as Mr. Fernsby talked to him.
Both men looked agitated as the conversation between them started. Mr. Fernsby not standing straight up now but was hunched over and looked increasingly agitated. The boy who stood before him was stiff and unwavering; an unnerving calm clung over him. On the monitor, Mr. Fernsby turned around to walk toward my office. When he did, the kid looked up towards me. His eyes are pitch black and stale. He mouthed something towards the camera. There's no way he could know where that camera was. It was hidden as a fire alarm.

2

          "They told me you would be here." He mouthed, and then Mr. Fernsby came into the room, taking my sight away from the security monitor.
"I need help getting this boy out of the store," he said, standing in the doorway, his face beat red and his eyes portraying fear. I had never seen Mr. Fernsby this scared. I walked out into the store. No one was in there. The boy was nowhere in sight, even when I stepped outside to see where he was. I turned back to Mr. Fernsby. "Did you see where he went." the old man just shook his head. He was rubbing his arm and seemed increasingly nervous.
          I practically ran back to the surveillance room. Rolling back the footage, the camera went blank when the boy was walking out. Nothing. Not even the sensor on the door alerted that he had walked out. I turned the volume on the monitor to see if that would give me a clue about where he went.
          The only thing I could hear when the monitor went blank was a faint, deep, static voice. Over and over, it said, "They sent me. I knew you were here." I could swear that was just my imagination. It was too clear, almost like I had heard it before. When I tried to roll back the footage, it was normal. Nothing was wrong. It shows the boy walking out and Mr. Fernsby walking to the security room to talk to me.
          The rest of my shift felt like it would never progress. I couldn't shake the kid's words. What did he mean by They sent me? I must've imagined it. When I walked out of the room to clock out, I saw Mr. Furnsby sitting in the corner on his chair, staring into space. Still, when I looked over towards him, he practically jumped out of his seat to seem normal.
          "I'll see you tomorrow, my boy," he said, raising his hand. I did the same and walked out. The ensuing car ride was just me trying to not fall asleep. That dream last night kept playing over and over in my head. Almost as if drawing me back, which makes me not want to go back to sleep. I looked around and across the street as I drove into the driveway. The sky lit up in oranges and reds as the sun set below the houses before me.
I thought it was weird that my neighbor wasn't home yet. He was always home with his wife before I got home every day. I just brushed it off. Worrying about something like that seemed so stupid.
          I walked inside to find everything. As I left it, I walked over to the couch, sat, and turned on the television. I turned it into a football game. Never really liked football, but I thought it was fun to watch. My dad and grandpa always loved football, I couldn't tell you what teams they were fans of, but they were diehard. So when football was on, I always turned it on. Made it feel like home.
          As the game loaded and I could start hearing the commentary, the phone rang. My heart immediately and involuntarily skipped a beat. Why? I have no clue. But it did, and it scared the Crap out of me. I walked over to the phone and picked it up.
          "Hello?" I told the phone that my voice was shaky, and my hands started freezing cold. The TV became static as the voice on the other end began speaking. "Get into your room," A distorted, almost twisting voice came from the phone. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't grasp it at first. The voice came again, but this time, I noticed a clicking noise starting to come outside. "Go into your room."
          I looked around the room and saw no person peering through the window. The tapping is now starting to get louder and on the window. "Who is this?" I asked, starting to get tired of the phone calls.

3

          The voice came again, but this time, I noticed what voice it was. It was mine, twisted and distorted, but it was my voice. Before the voice could speak again, there was a knock at the door. "Do not open that door."
          The knocking came again, but this time more violently. The next thing I knew, something had broken through my door. The hand that burst through the door was not human. It was scaly and broken, with two long claws that scratched the door.
          I dropped the phone and started to back up into the hallway. The next thing I knew, the creature was in the living room. It had a long, scaly body, and its head was broken. Pieces of my face smushed together. It clicked its mouth at me and turned its head.
          I started in an all-out sprint towards the bedroom door, slamming it shut and trying to pull my dresser in front of it. The old dial-up phone from my grandmother started ringing. I picked up the phone.
"It's in my house! What is that thing?" I cried, backing up into the wall and holding the phone close.
"Keep quiet. Slip out through the window when it tries to tear through the dresser. More instructions will follow tomorrow. Good luck." The next thing I knew, a buzz came from the phone. Dead signal. There was a monster in my house, and I was utterly alone. A horrific scream came from out in the hallway. The next thing I knew, the thing outside was hitting the door. The first thing that broke through was its claw. When it retracted, I could faintly see what it was doing. I was looking at the pictures of myself on the wall. I saw it slowly change its face. It was transforming into me.
          The top of the door ripped off as it started to claw through my dresser. I almost screamed but unlocked the window, opened it, and jumped out.
          I don't think I ever ran faster. The last thing I remembered was calling my mom and saying I was coming home. That was the end of the conversation and thank God my mom didn't ask any more questions.
          The car ride felt endless. Every car that drove past me on the highway was met with shaky hands. As I was listening to the radio, it suddenly went static. My car lights started to flicker. The radio went to static and then went silent.
          A sound came out after that. The voice was so dark and gravelly. "I know you. I know who you are. I am coming for you." When the voice stopped talking, I saw the creature. It felt like it crept into my mind. Its whole body blurred my vision. A loud, growling sound came from its body.
          Infront of me the road started to bend and swerve unnaturally. Like my vision was being controlled by someone else. I remember walking into my parents' house. It's so weird because I remember staring at the pictures on the wall. Never been that interested in those pictures. When I walked upstairs.
          When I woke up, I was in my childhood bed. The door was locked, and I was holding a shotgun tight to my chest. A knock came on the door. My finger hovered over the trigger as the door opened. It was my mom.
          Her light blonde curly hair stood tall, and her flowery dress flowed to the floor. "Hey, honey," she said timidly and sat on the edge of my bed. "I don't want to push it, but what spooked you so much last night?"
          My eyes must've said it all because she seemed to understand that I was freaked out, and she could tell. "I just need breakfast, and if you would, to come home with me. I can't go alone, Mom. Not again," I started to shake my head as flashes of the monster popped back into my head.

4

          She nodded her head, and we headed downstairs. She made my favorite chocolate chip pancakes. Gosh, I love my mom. After that, she drove my car, and we headed back home. How would she get home? My dad was going to pick her up. We had a no-questions policy where if one of us needed help and didn't want to answer questions, we would all help to the best of our ability.
          The car ride home felt like forever, four hours of absolute hell, and I dreaded every second of going home. I wondered what would happen when my mom saw the torn-up house. Or if they would try to hospitalize me because they thought I was crazy.
          I had texted Mr. Fernsby as soon as I woke up. He told me to take as much time as needed, but I still felt horrible about abandoning my job.
We pulled up into my driveway. The house seemed to have a dark shroud around it. That's how I felt, at least. My mother started to seem worried when I didn't immediately get out of the car. Eventually, I mustered up the courage and walked into my living room. I expected destruction and everything to be torn up. Nope, everything was perfect. It was too perfect, the bedroom was tidy, and it hadn't been like that since I moved in. The bathroom looked like it had just been professionally cleaned. It was all so eerie.
          Everything but a note that was pinned to my dial-up phone. The note said, "November 6th. 821-678-9970. Call it. Say what I said. Leave the note. Go to work. We will speak again." So, just like that, I had 35 weeks to find out what the heck had just happened. If I'm still myself in 35 weeks.

5