Anonymous call (standard:horror, 1653 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Mar 17 2007	Views/Reads: 3507/2165	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
What would you do for money? How far would you go? Some callers are welcome, whilst some, most certainly, are not.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

pounds exactly in ten pound notes. The man rang me. I think he couldn't 
be bothered to text again. He told me to close the hatch. In doing 
that, I knew I would be locking myself in, as there was a mortice lock 
on the entrance that could only be unlocked from outside. I had to shut 
myself in what was effectively a prison cell. I had to trust the 
stranger, have confidence in him to come and unlock it. What I want you 
to do, said the voice, is read one more text message I will send after 
I finish speaking to you. Once you've read it, understood it, I want 
you to smash the phone, make it useless. I'm sure you can afford a new 
one. Perform what it says, and if you do that, the money's yours. 
Sayonara my friend, I won't see you again. That was it, he clicked off, 
and about a minute later, the text message came through: Escape, it 
said, nothing else. Alright, I thought. All I've got to do is get out 
of here. Easy, probably. I smashed the phone against a wooden beam. I 
made it useless. So I tried to escape, but couldn't. The floor was made 
of polished hardboard. I couldn't penetrate outside onto the roof, and 
after a while, sat down in the money to think about how I was going to 
do this. I saw the bag, and emptied out the severed head. Wonder what 
that's for, I asked myself, not really thinking about it. I thought 
perhaps that if I couldn't escape, the stranger would come and rescue 
me, but I was wrong. Another scout of the attic revealed that I really 
was trapped. There was absolutely no escape, so exasperated, I sat down 
again in front of the head, and then I realized what it was for. It was 
to give me time. It was my sustenance until I figured out how to get 
out of here, to keep me going if it took a while. I suppose it catered 
for all my nutritional requirements, being both solid and liquid. As I 
lie here, staring up at an abandoned cobweb, I understand now what the 
stranger had taught me. So full of greed was I that all I saw was the 
money, and now it's useless. I can't eat it. In here, now, with me, it 
has no meaning, and it can't help stave off the pangs of hunger that I 
knew would come. After I'd eaten the head, every bit of it, the hunger 
stayed away for around a full day, and there was nothing else for it, 
but to start on myself. It hurt, but I managed most of my left forearm. 
Thing is, though, although I'm staving off hunger, I can't really think 
straight with regards to escaping, as I think I'm going mad. I ate the 
broken mobile phone, and my watch, and very reluctantly, some ten 
pounds notes, but still the hunger comes, and I know I'm not getting 
out of here. My lesson has been learned. Money isn't everything. See, 
the thing is, as the stranger has access to my account, he can easily 
take out of it, so effectively, that money is his now his, and when I 
die here, he can come and take all this money away, and I realize that 
he is no better than I. Money can warp a sane person's mind. He gets 
most of his money back, as being greedy meant I didn't spend much of 
it, and now as I lay here bleeding waiting for the inevitable, my sense 
of greed does not let up its grip on me as I find myself jealous of the 
stranger, because he is after all, rich.


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