believe me // the black phone

chapter nine

     Over the next few days, the cycle of torment continued, a haunting rhythm that Sydney learned to anticipate with each passing moment. Every time the man descended into the basement, the oppressive air thickened with dread. She felt utterly disgusting, trapped in a nightmare that seemed to stretch on endlessly. All she could think about was vanishing from that horrid place; the desire to escape burned fiercely within her, but there was no way out.

Having endured nearly a week in the dark confines of the basement, Sydney's hopes of escape dwindled to an all-time low. Her spirit, once vibrant, had been dimmed by fear and despair. Suddenly, she heard the large metal door creak open, the sound echoing ominously in the stillness. The man walked through the doorway, a malevolent glint in his eyes and something shiny in his hand—a knife.

"Hey, Angel," he said, his voice smooth, but laced with a sinister undertone.

Sydney's heart raced, her breath quickening as panic surged through her. "No, no, no, please!" she cried, her voice trembling. "You don't have to do this! I'll do whatever you want! Just don't hurt me!"

He laughed, a chilling sound that reverberated around the small space. "Oh, you've been so amazing, Syd. I'm sorry it has to come to this."

"Please, just let me go," she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I don't want to die!"

The man began to approach her slowly, the knife gleaming in the dim light. "It's been an incredible time," he said, his voice smooth as silk, yet dripping with malice. "You're a very special girl, Sydney. I've enjoyed every minute."

In that harrowing moment, Sydney noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Her heart raced with a flicker of hope. She wasn't ready to die; she refused to let this man extinguish her life. Summoning every ounce of courage, she bolted for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" the man shouted, his voice turning cold as he lunged after her.

He tackled her to the ground with brutal force, the breath knocked out of her as she hit the cold floor. Sydney squirmed beneath him, desperation fueling her fight. "Get off me!" she screamed, thrashing as she struggled against his weight.

"What a feisty girl you are, Sydney," he said with a twisted grin, pinning her arms above her head. "That's what I like about you, Angel. It makes this so much more fun."

But in a moment of adrenaline-fueled clarity, Sydney managed to grab the mask from his face, yanking it off with a frantic tug and sending it skidding across the floor. He quickly covered his face, momentarily distracted, and that brief lapse was all the opening she needed.

With a surge of determination, she broke free from his grip, scrambling to her feet just as he turned to retrieve his mask. Seizing her chance, she dashed toward the door, heart pounding in her chest. She pushed through the slightly open door and raced up the stairs, each step echoing her desperation.

Once she reached the top, she glanced around, searching for an exit. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she spotted the front door. With no time to waste, she flung it open and sprinted outside into the cool night air. She didn't dare look back; all that mattered was the pounding of her heart and the burning need for freedom.

As she ran, the world blurred around her, her focus solely on escaping the nightmare that had held her captive. She sprinted down the dark street, fueled by fear and hope, knowing that she would do whatever it took to reclaim her life. The night was alive with sounds—crickets chirping and distant cars rumbling—but she felt only the rush of her own heartbeat in her ears. In that moment, Sydney was determined to fight for her survival.

Sydney's lungs burned, and her legs ached as she sprinted through the dark streets, her vision blurred with fear and exhaustion. She didn't know how long she'd been running, only that she couldn't stop. Every dark corner and shadowy alley seemed to be pulling her deeper into a nightmare. But then something changed. The twisted streets began to look familiar. A cracked sidewalk here, a graffiti-covered fence there—it all clicked into place. Her pace quickened as she realized she was nearing her own neighborhood.

With a surge of adrenaline, Sydney rounded the final corner and spotted the familiar outline of her house. She nearly crashed through the front door, flinging it open with such force that it rattled on its hinges. She stumbled inside, gasping for breath, her body trembling.

"Sydney!" Her mother's voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and cold. "Where the hell have you been?" She stood in the hallway, arms crossed tightly, her eyes blazing with fury.

"I— I was kidnapped," Sydney choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her voice was raw and desperate, every word an attempt to make her mother believe her.

"Kidnapped?" Her mother's lips curled into a sneer. "Don't give me that bullshit."

"It's true! I'm not lying!" Sydney cried, her voice rising. She could feel herself unraveling, panic clawing at her chest. "Please, you have to believe me—"

But her mother just turned away, dismissing her words like they were nothing more than the whining of a spoiled child. Without a second glance, she grabbed the phone off the wall and punched in the number for the police.

"Yes, it's me. She just walked in," her mother said flatly, glancing at Sydney with eyes full of disdain. "Sorry for all the fuss. Turns out she was just out running around and came up with some crazy story about being kidnapped."

She laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that made Sydney's stomach twist. "Yeah, I know. Always looking for attention."

Sydney stood there frozen, the tears that had been streaming silently down her face now falling in heavy, choking sobs. Why wouldn't she listen? Why didn't she care?

Her mother slammed the phone down, her face twisted with anger. "Great. Now the police are coming over here to deal with this nonsense," she snapped, her voice laced with frustration. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Sydney stared at her, the words caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, to shake her mother until she understood the terror she'd been through. But no sound came out. Instead, she stood there, silent and shaking, as her mother glared at her like she was the enemy.