I woke up in the middle of the night to my phone buzzing on the bedside table. I groggily grabbed it and looked to see who was calling me at such a late/early hour. It read "Blocked," so I let it go to voicemail.
I was intrigued to see what could be so important as to warrant a call to me at that time, so I listened to the voicemail. And then I spent the next hour fighting off nightmares because this is what I heard:
A child's voice. But not the sort that actually comes from a child. The sort that comes from a voice changer. The sort that comes from those freakish twins in the Shining.
This shrill, gasping, childish voice asked -nay, demanded - money from me. And emphasized that when I call back to give that money, to make sure to list all my identifying information: address, e-mail, birth date...
It was at about this point in the message that my sleep-deprived mind started thinking about the Shining and serial killers and how the child-impersonator was probably lurking right outside my window watching me. I quickly deleted the message, but the damage was done. These thoughts were enough to keep me up for the next while tossing and turning in the sheets.
This morning as I relayed the story to Blake over breakfast, I wished I hadn't so quickly deleted the message because it was all seeming a little less scary than it was in the middle of the pitch-black night.