5 End of Calls

The Grandfather Clock stands tall beside the wide window. The tip of the Clock's golden arm points between the ebony XI and XII, the longer one at II. Eleven o' ten. Only ten minutes has passed since the start of our graveyard shift. How time seems to move too slow when you least want it to be. How I wish I weren't here right now!

Behind the Grandfather Clock, beyond the shock-resistant glass window, and a few meters away from this house, swarms of black insects, presumably moths, fly around the street lamp situated on the very edge of the parking lot, its brilliant amber glow casting strange blots of moving shadows on the grassy ground. The nightsky is a floating sea of massive smoke and swirling mist. Sizzling forked lightnings slash across the dark clouds, momentarily illuminating them. The moon, ever bloated with bluish halo around it peers from beneath the dark clouds. Under the pale moonlight, branches of trees sway and rock, dancing along with the strong gust of wind.

Gust of wind.

My mobile home can withstand strong wind. The chatty sales clerk at Divisoria told me so. Stout, flexible framings, and durable fabric. But then again, she could be wrong. Looks like a rain is coming, and the idea of getting my whole house blown away like a piece of paper, with my valuable belongings still crammed inside it, is beyond horrific. I can't afford to lose them. They're all I have in this upsy-turvy world.

The voices of my co-agents cease, overcome by the spooky old song Sharon plays on her PC upon her desk.

🎶It's close to midnight. Something evil's lurking from the dark. Under the moonlight. You see a sight that almost stops your heart. You try to scream. But terror takes the sound before you make it. You start to freeze. As horror looks you right between your eyes. You're paralyzed...🎶

"OM Sharon! Avail!" I can imagine Precious cocking her face on one side and looking inquiringly at Sharon. "Dead calls! What to do?"

Precious is right. For some reason, the queuing on my softphone stopped. Good.

"What happened?" The confusion and panic in Helga's voice are too obvious as she lurches toward the other side of my station. I can almost imagine her long face twisted like a feral imp, mouth and nose spouting white-blue flames, hands clenched into fists at her sides, scorching dark eyes riveted at poor old Sharon. "Now what!"

"I just received an emergency call from PLDT, Helga."

"So what!"

"A storm is coming."

"A what?"

"A storm."

"Storm? What the hell, Sharon? Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious, Helga."

"Stop pulling my leg. It's not funny!"

"I wish I was."

Pulling the headset off my ears, I throw a glance at the empty seats around me.

"Unfortunately, there might be no longer any call for tonight. I'm truly sorry."

"A storm is coming, sure! But what the hell is it supposed to do with the calls? Go ahead, Sharon. Explain yourself. I'm thinking about those sales that we're losing!"

"Lots of trees and communication towers were crashed down by the storm. In Batangas area. Some of them are PLDT's. So-"

"Sharon, that is utterly ridiculous! We're in San Pablo City, not in Batangas area. The storm is yet to hit us so why the hell would we lose our leads!"

"Calm down, okay? PLDT said-"

"Bullshit!"

"Helga, PLDT themselves said it. Why would they lie?"

"Ask PLDT!"

"Very mature, Helga," Sharon retorts, her voice now cold and unsteady.

Sharon and I have been schoolmate since elementary, and knowing her for almost a decade now, I'm sure Sharon is on the verge of losing her cool. Unlike Helga with her foul mouth, Sharon's best way to vent her frustration and anger is by serving the one who dared cross her a knuckle sandwich in the face. Sharon punched me when we were in our junior year five years ago because of some small misunderstanding and misinterpretation. A terrible mistake on her part that had me wearing a silly eyepatch for three miserable weeks just so I could hide my wounded eye which was as black as Mickey Mouse's nose. To make it worse, all the students and even our professors started calling me Thor, and sometimes Nick Fury. Speaking of victim-shaming. I was a victim. Sharon apologized for her lack of better judgment, and wondered if we could still be friends. I said sure, of course, though I refused to talk to her for several weeks, always gave her a wide berth everytime I see her walking the hallway or using the library. And Sharon could not blame me. She very well understood. The wound heals but the scar festers. I'm always a victim of false accusations. And I have no intention of eating her knuckle sandwich again. Never again.

This is bad. Sharon will surely lose her job if she inflicted even a tiniest scratch upon Helga. No doubt.

"We can do nothing now but to wait, Helga. We still have the lines, after all. And the Internet. It is just the leads that has been compromised."

A moment of silence.

"Log out, everyone. Close your ViciDial and all the apps. Turn off your PCs. Now!"

With a furtive grin, I quickly close the ViciDial.

A strange file, as large as a whole sheet of paper, appears on the screen.

!!!LOLITA OUTBREAK!!!

If YOU read this message, then you are alive, but not for long. Lolita WILL feast on your filthy soul when the clock strikes Midnight!

You will DIE

Unless...

Unless you pass this message to that single person you hated the most.

The hour grows late.

Fulfill the task before it's too late.

My friend, be wise.

Ignore this message and you will pay the price.

SHE'S COMING.

I lift my head.

A pale face, caked with red splatters of seemingly dried blood, peers from above the wall that divides my station to the one opposite mine. Portions of her dangling thick hair cover half of her face, one flaming red eye nailed upon mine. Her bloody lips curve into a sardonic smile, revealing small sets of impossibly even and white teeth pitifully studded with silver braces. A red sticky-looking thing is pinned in between her teeth. A bubble gum. She is obsessed with bubble gums. She always has something in her mouth, her jaws always flexing and moving like a cow's.