The Rocky Road Pact

Chapter 25: Superstitious Feeling

I was no stranger to crank calls. After all, I'd been babysitting since I was 14. And since that time, there's been no shortage of idiots with nothing better to do trying to scare the shit out of girls, especially once the VCR was invented and we all started watching horror movies every weekend.

So I laughed it off.

Until the next one.

"You're a mean little slut, and you're going to burn in hell," the voice said; deep and gutteral, as if I was talking to a demon. But underneath the growl, there was something familiar about it; something I couldn't place. "Cassie....Cassie's been a bad girl..." he taunted.

I slammed the phone down. Heart thumping, I closed all the curtains and made sure the door was locked. The staircase was completely dark and the last place I wanted to go, but the kids were up there. I grabbed a kitchen knife and bolted up the stairs as quietly as I could, snapping on the bathroom light to vanquish the maniacs, slashers and monsters that were hiding around every dark corner in my imagination.

After peeking in on the girls and seeing they were fine, I blew out a long, slow breath and went back downstairs. I called every friend I could think of, but as suspected, they were all out. In desperation, I called home. 

"What's going on?" Mom sounded annoyed. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm just getting some crank calls. They're making me nervous," I said, gripping the phone and glancing out the window. The front yard was normal, all was quiet and still. "I'm a little freaked. Do you think you could come over and keep me company."

She sighed and I heard her light a cigarette. "It's just your idiot friends, you'll be fine," she said, blowing out smoke. Gee thanks, Mom. Always there when I need you. 

"Make sure the doors are locked. I'll see you later," she said and hung up. 

I felt utterly alone, sitting rigid on the couch holding a butcher knife and cursing every horror movie I ever watched. There was one I couldn't get out of my head — the one where the babysitter keeps getting crank calls, and the creep on the phone keeps saying "did you check the children?" And finally the police trace the call and she finds out the calls are coming from upstairs...

The phone rang again, jolting me so much the knife clattered to the floor. I let it ring this time, five, six, seven times until it finally stopped. 

I was more than nervous, now I was getting terrified. A loud crack from the kitchen made me jump and I lunged for the knife. 

Well, I thought, the knife quivering in my hands. I'm babysitting these kids, and I'm here to protect them. If there's a maniac in the kitchen and he means to hurt those little girls, he'll have to go through me first. The thought made me braver; the idea that someone would try and hurt those innocent kids upstairs made me suddenly mad. Not just mad; furious.

There was no axe-wielding maniac in the kitchen, just a glass of ice water I poured earlier in the night. One of the ice cubes cracked. I sighed in relief and laughed a bit, checking that the back door was locked and bolted tight.

To distract myself, I started putting away the arts and crafts and cleaning up the kitchen. The table was full of small toys, crayons and plastic dolls. I got a plastic bin from under the cupboard and started filling it up with stuff, cleared away the clutter and did the dishes.

Feeling more like myself, I took my ice water to the living room and popped a movie into the VCR. Not a horror movie this time, I needed something more wholesome to take the edge off the evening, so I chose one of the girls' Disney films. Sleeping Beauty — my favourite.

The minute the familiar bursts of silver sparkles and fireworks filled the screen at the start of the movie, I settled into the couch under a blanket and felt more comfortable. The cartoon was beautiful, each scene was like a painting; the colours and animation vibrant and fluid like a dream. Soon, I was dozing off.

The phone jarred me out of my light sleep and set my teeth on edge again. I picked up the phone slowly, not bothering to say hello. Again, with the breathing.

"What do you want?" I said, not recognizing my own voice. It came out like a tiny squeak.

Nothing. Just breathing. It felt like someone was right behind me, literally breathing down my neck. I was gripped by a full body shiver, and slammed the phone down again. 

I remembered feeling trapped earlier in the night, just by the usual demands of babysitting. Now, I was on the verge of tears. It was barely ten o'clock; the McNeils were at a dance in the city; they were paying me extra to stay late and likely wouldn't be back until one in the morning. It was going to be a long three hours, with me stiff as a board with fear and watching the clock.

There was only one more person I could call. I felt pathetic doing it, but I swallowed my pride and punched in the number. 

"Helloo?" The voice on the other end had a strong Cape Breton accent, sounding almost Irish. His aunt, Bee.

"Hi, is Tommy there?" 

He and I had an unspoken rule. We never called each other, or made plans. We just always ended up together in some weird, cosmic way. I wasn't sure yet what we had or where it was going, or even if it would continue but whatever it was seemed to be a weird sort of magic. I didn't want to ruin things by starting to call him all the time, or acting weak or needy like other girls. What we had was lovely and strange, it seemed fragile like a bubble floating in the wind. One wrong move would cause it to pop.

But I was desperate.

"No, dear. I'm afraid he's out. Who's calling?"

"It's Cassie," I said, feeling foolish. Of course he was out. Probably trying to make up with that snotty girlfriend. 

"Oh Cassie. I've heard all about you." Her voice was soft and warm. I brightened. "Really?" "Yes. I'll tell him you called."

"No, wait—" I said, but she'd already hung up. Shit. I didn't want her to mention I'd called. 

But. 

He talked about me to his aunt? 

I suddenly felt calm and kinda happy. Well, well.

Wrapping myself back up in the blanket, I unplugged the phone, put the cartoon back on and soon forgot about the creep. My favourite part of the fantasy was when the handsome prince killed the dragon and rescued the princess — who doesn't love a happy ending where love conquers all? 

But I remember as a kid wondering why in the Disney cartoons, none of the princesses could ever rescue themselves. It would have been cool for at least one of the cartoon heroines to be able to kick ass.

It was close to midnight when I yawned and stretched, figuring it was safe to plug the phone back in. I hoped the asshole got tired of trying and moved on to doing something else with his time, like taking a long walk off a short pier.

As soon as I plugged the phone back in, the ringing began again. This time, I was ready. 

I marched to the kitchen and grabbed a whistle out of the basket of kids' toys. I picked up the phone and without waiting, blew out a loud, screechy blast into the guy's ear. "Take that, you sonofabitch!" I yelled.

"Jesus H. Christ on a cracker!" I closed my eyes in horror. It was Mr. McNeil on the line. 

"What in the name of God is going on over there?!"