dirty thoughts

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You're sitting on your couch, half-heartedly flipping through channels on your TV. But there's nothing interesting on. You pause when you land on the news channel, a the latest headline a screaming warning about curfew or whatever due to the handiwork of the masked killer that had been terrorizing the city. Allegedly, his victims always received a call before they were killed.

You weren't too worried though, you rarely went outside, being a homebody. Not to say you didn't have friends, but you preferred to keep your own company.

The sound of the phone ringing broke through the hazy atmosphere that had settled over your apartment, causing your eyes to drift over to your phone-which was currently on the kitchen counter-with distaste.

"Who the shit is calling at this hour?" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock.  It was half past two and a Friday night. You noticed the caller ID was unknown, so you declined the call, irritated to have your evening disturbed. Before you could even set your phone down, it rang again. The same number as before. You declined the call again. Why don't people just send texts?

It was probably just some spam caller anyway. You made your way back to the living room when the phone rang for a third time. This time, you spun on your heel and against your better judgement, answered the call with the desire of hoping the caller would leave you alone after.

Boy were you wrong.

"Hello."

"Who is this?" You demanded.

"A secret admirer" The caller replied flirtatiously.

"I doubt that, people don't often have crushes on me."

"Well I do."

"How flattering, goodbye."

"Wait- Don't hang up!" The abrupt urgency in his tone caused you to hesitate.

"Yes?"

"I wanna talk with you for a second."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"Don't hang up on me-" His voice took a darker more menacing tone. You briskly hung up, ignoring the chill that had set over the house.

Just then you got a text. It was the same number, it was him. You opened the message nervously.

Pick up the phone.

The phone rang again.

You picked it up nervously. "What do you want? I'm not in the mood for your mind games."

"Oh yeah? You in the mood for monopoly?" He teased.

You scowled at his sarcasm.

"Why are you tormenting me? Who are you?"

"The question isn't who am I, it's 'Where am I?'"

You felt yourself go still, running over to the TV, you switched it off before glancing outside nervously and shutting your curtains. Coming to the horrible realization in that moment that you were probably being harassed by Ghostface.

"That's pointless. You look good by the way, but I think I liked you better in that black bra." His metallic voice made you shiver and you glanced down at your outfit. You realized the undertone of his comment, he had been watching you before. God knows what he's seen.

You were wearing a tight white tank top with nothing underneath and short booty shorts. Maybe not the best outfit, but you had been comfortable before and to your previous knowledge, alone.

You glanced around, trying to figure out how he could possibly know what you looked like. When your eyes settled on the security camera in the upper right corner of your living room.