Wrong Number

You’re sitting at work one day and receive a text message from an unrecognized number. The text says, “I have the money and hid the body.” You think this is a practical joke from a friend, so you play along at first. But the more texts you receive, the more you realize that it isn’t a joke. Write the text conversation you have with this unknown texter.

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2 thoughts on “Wrong Number

  1. Amyithist

    I stared down at the text message for a long time, my mind whirring with thoughts as I studied it. It had to be a joke… I read it over again: “I have the money. I hid the body.” I looked at the number, trying to jog a memory of whether I’d seen it before or not; but it was unfuriatingly unknown to me.
    Sighing, I texted back: Who is this?
    A few heart-stopping moments ticked by before the phone vibrated in my hands. “This is Hank. Who else would be texting you. Get in the car and meet me at the spot. Hurry!”
    My fingers felt as if they’d nearly shake right off as I texted back: “I think you have the wrong number! I have no idea where this ‘spot’ is! Please, check the number and try again.”
    Ten seconds later: “Stop fucking around Candice. You know exactly who I am, where I am and what is going on. Get here now.”
    My breath felt as if it had been stolen. I closed my eyes against the sudden dizziness and nausea building in my stomach. How did he know my name? I leaned into my desk, lowering my head as I tried to breathe against the panic overwhelming me. Another text message buzzed through. “Candice, I’m not playing around here. You came up with the idea. Don’t leave me hanging here.”
    My mind thumped with incessant thoughts as I stood from my chair. I clicked my computer off and grabbed my jacket. I wasn’t sure where to go, but I knew I couldn’t be here. I dashed out to my car and climbed inside, slamming the door shut behind me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the war of uncertainty burning through my brain. I grabbed my phone and texted: Hank, I forgot where the spot is. Could you remind me, please?
    Starlight Hotel. Off Main Street. Room 210.
    I swallowed and glanced at myself in the rear view mirror. Who was this man? How did he get my number and what was he talking about? I tried to remember where I could have possibly met this person. Suddenly my stomach lurched and I remembered a rather timultuous night two weeks ago. I’d had an arguement with my partner, Kelly, and I decided to grab a few drinks at the local tavern. I vaguely remembered meeting a guy who was thrilled at the idea that I was a bisexual.
    Had I spoken illy of Kelly? Did we come to some sort of drunken arrangement to kill my ex-lover? My body trembled as I tried to remember. I started my Kia Sportage and backed out of the lot. I drove to the Starlight Hotel and parked in front of the run down, concrete building. I felt weak as I studied the building. I didn’t know what to do. A text came through.
    I see you. Come upstairs. Room 210.
    I felt my heart leap into my throat. I dropped my phone into my purse and climbed out of my car. I shut the door, clicked the LOCK button on the remote and dropped that into my purse. My heels made a lonely echo through the dingy courtyard as I hurried toward the stained concrete staircase. I climbed up the stairs until I reached the landing. I stood there for a moment, scanning the doors.
    Straight ahead, a flash of movement caught my eye. The heavy drapes dropped back into place and I realized that he had watched me walk from my vehicle. I felt my knees trembling as I approached the door. The silver numbers seemed to glare back at me; as if they were challenging my decision to be there.
    Before I could knock on the door, it opened. The mouth of the room gaped at me; black and ominous, as if it were going to swallow me whole. My eyes widened as I stepped inside. The overwhelming scent of cigarettes assaulted me. I tried to see beyong the darkness but I could only make out silhouettes of the bed, a dresser, a TV atop the dresser, and a nightstand.
    Suddenly, someone stepped up to me from the black. I could feel their breath falling on my lips. I could feel their presence lingering just beyond me and I gathered that whoever this was wasn’t much bigger than me. For a long moment, we stood; inches from one another. Neither one of us speaking. After a few moments, her voice broke through the quiet. “Happy Birthday, Candy.”
    I gasped as the light flicked on. Kelly stood in front of me, dressed in a sexy red nighty. My eyes immediately flitted over to the bed where a handsome young man was laying. He grinned up at me and waived. Kelly approached, wrapping her hands around my waist. She pressed her lips to mine, but I pulled back, my adrenaline still making me feel weak and faint. “What the hell is going on,” I whispered.
    She grinned at me and glanced over to the man on the bed. “We scared her,” she giggled. She turned back to me, smiling wider. “Candy, this is your birthday present! Me and Hank here.” She nodded over at the man. He was the same man I’d met at the bar that night.
    “But why did you have to play such a horrible trick on my,” I snapped, almost angry. Kelly blinked at me slightly and shook her head.
    “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She sank back slightly, motioning to Hank that we needed a little privacy.
    We sat on the bed. I was still trembling. I felt sick. “Are you mad,” she asked.
    I contemplated that for a moment. The gesture was sweet; certainly a nice way of breaking through the monotony and redunancy of such a long relationship. I sighed and shook my head. “No,” I replied back. “I just…You scared the hell outta me. I didn’t know what to think!”
    She pushed my hair back and kissed me again. Her lips tasted like watermelon lip-smackers balm. I relented and kissed her back. After a few moments, she pulled back and grinned at me. “Hank, honey, come back inside. We’re ready for you!”

  2. imherslug

    Fortunately, I think texting is stupid. I mean, HRU, really? People can’t freaking write out all nine letters? Lazy.
    Even if the texts are spelled out, I still don’t allow people to text me, so for me, the story would be about someone leaving me a scary voice mail.


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