Short stream of consciousness for you all. Happy reading!
The text message simply said 'very clever'.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Ben stared at his phone in a mix of horror, irritation, and amusement. It wasn't the first time he had gotten a spam message, and it wouldn't be the last either. But all the same, this one stood out. Because it wasn't like the others, those had been proper scammers, trying to get him to click on links and send money to them. But this one, this was from a private number so there he couldn't ring the person. He'd have to reply to the message.
Was he opening a can of worms, he thought, the message bold and bright on his phone screen. He'd come home from his shift, and the message had been sitting in his texts. Odd, because no one texted him anymore. Apart from his mother, who refused to use Messenger or any kind of social media. Biting his lip, he typed, his heart hammering against his chest.
What's clever?
Locking the phone and putting it face down on the table, he sat back on the sofa. The telly was showing a repeat of a sitcom. He'd been scanning the channels to see if there was anything he could watch, but there wasn't. His tea was cooling on the table next to his phone. It was just a simple microwave meal, but it would fill him for tonight. Picking up his fork, he leant forward and stabbed at a piece of pasta. There was a sudden burst of laughter from the telly.
His phone buzzed. Another message. Shaking his head, he ate what was on his fork and set it back down. Picking his phone up, it was from the private number again.
You. You're a clever sod.
Okay, he thought, that wasn't as bad as he expected. Sighing, he put the phone down again without replying. He ate silently, apart from the telly and the family next door shouting. The walls in his flat were paper thin; he could hear everything. And that meant everything.
The phone buzzed again. Flipping it over as he chewed, a new message flashed up on the screen.
And you won't get anyway with it. No matter how well you covered your tracks.
Done? What had he done? He woke up every morning, worked a 12-hour shift, came home, ate, showered and collapsed into bed. He didn't have time to do anything else. He hardly saw his mates, the handful he had, and he didn't see his family apart from his sister on the odd occasion. His daily cycle continued day after day after day. He had a day off every now and again, where he did normal adult stuff. Cleaning the flat, running errands, going food shopping, all the boring stuff. But that was it. His life was dull and unfulfilling.
His phone buzzed again.
And I know where you are, Benny.
The fork fell out of his hand and clattered on the table. He stared at his phone long after the screen went black. Getting up off the sofa, he hurried to the front door and made sure it was locked. It was because he always deadbolted it. Then he checked his windows, the three that he had. All locked. No one was getting inside.
Going back into the living room, he leaned against the doorframe. His phone buzzed.
'Bloody hell,' he muttered, sitting back down and tapping his phone screen.
You really think it's that easy, don't you? Cause it isn't. How do you know I'm not already inside?
A chill ran down his spine. There was nowhere in his pokey flat for someone to hide, was there?
The phone buzzed again.
Counting down, ready or not.
Thanks for reading!
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