Could You Take Me Home?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Two girls lost at night when leaving a party. Unsure where they are, they are stalked by a masked silent figure who wants to kill them, instead of taking them home. Will they find someone and ask - "Could You Take Me Home?"

The night approaching unknown hours, the only indication is the darkest night, with the faintest stars leaking light, and the moon is a complete stranger. The temperature outside, as still as it freezes. The night is not alone and lonely because it offers anything in the world as a next-door neighbour. Two girls wandering in places that are vague as a complicated question. Are they lost? Are they on their way home? Wearing clothes that makes their skin feel cold, nothing surprising for teenagers nearing that age.

Walking along a path that just leads, the skies darker and darker, the night more stilled than silent, more stars are dying in war, the compass is on a different axis. Looking more and more lost, they keep on walking, wasting time. It’s like being stuck in a horror film, where they are the only victims alive at night. Being film students at school, they always know that the dark night will always wear a mask.

“I can’t believe you wanted me to walk with you. Walking in places I don’t even recognise.” A friend points blame, even though she had the choice to say no.

“Did I take a wrong turn?” The other girl asks, talking when walking, clearly not understanding the sins of idealism. Eyesight is a lot more encrypted, in a unknown place, at an unknown time.

No sign of rain, snow, leaves or wind, no sign of the time of year, the status of this season unclassified. The night a different word from day, the people disappear, the life of an alternate reality. Looking into all corners of the world, each part mimicking the other darkness and shadows, no light to find the compass. The girl who wanted to walk, stops to find her bearings, or something else. Lighting a cigarette, and talking that first draw, maybe a distraction, maybe a relapse from an unwanted situation. Sharing it with her friend, she blows smoke in her direction. Waving her hand between the smoke to make it go away, she coughs like a mortal patient, waiting to find out, the acceptance of heaven or hell.

The girl with the cigarette, cursing her lungs with the colour of the palette they walk under, throws the cigarette away. The ash burning out like cancer, passing on the effects, second-hand smoke is just as dangerous. They walk on further into the night, no more mockingbirds, the unknown only alive in shadows. The girl who threw the cigarette away, takes her phone from her bag, and checks the screen. The phone will either be dead or alive, but too unconscious to make it to a charger at the hospital.

“Please have a signal… Please have some life left…” the little voice inside her head tells her, no angel, no demon on her shoulder, only fear with a voice, her voice. Heavily breathing, the fear isn’t leaving. Her phone has one bar of life left, acting as the girl’s final lifeline on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Scrolling through names and numbers, looking for the right name, the right number, that can come crawling through the night, dismissing the silent whispers that only the eccentric can hear.

Finding the correct name, unknown to her friend, she calls this mystery person, hoping that they have the answers to the cold.

“What are you doing? Who are you calling?” A tricked friend will ask. Rejected, no chance of atonement, she is shut out, her friend turning her back, walking slightly into darkness.

Under the one lamp post light that shines faintly, her shadow becoming a monster in that shadow, reaching the doorstep on her friend, afraid to open the door. Waiting for no reason, a memory or no memory, the girl on the phone, her words spoken so silent so her friend can’t hear her, gives her friend a glare. She continues to wait, the night not getting any lighter or nice. The friend with the secret phone call, friend or fiend? Hunter or prey?

Standing still is not the way out of a maze, she walks up to her friend and takes the phone. She pushes away the dialler of the call when she tries to take the phone back. Putting the phone to her ear, nothing on the line, the line cut dead, words died inside a human when their tongue was cut. The friend who waited, is not left frustrated. The last chance of getting somewhere gone because she smashes the phone. It hits the ground hard, so many broken pieces, the human body is mortal.

A lifeline gone, the words and voices of so many people lost. The girl with the lost phone, no longer in her hand, quickly has something to replace it with. Her hands around the throat of a companion, a fatal tornado outside, a weak tornado inside. Deciding to crush it and to end her lifeline. Would you rather have a friend in the dark?

The eyes white, not from the emotion, that threatens her life. A monster is now ready to kill a monster. A grip loose, black shadows expand, to cover even their own skin. One more friend to turn around while listening to Bonnie Tyler, a shadow gone, welcome to the night. The longer into the night, suddenly, a phone rings from the girl’s bag. Why would something ring if their phone had already been destroyed? The friend who destroyed the first phone, her eyes wide, paler than the iceberg that made the Titanic sink. The phone continues to ring, no sign of hanging up. The girls are seemingly shocked as each other.

“Why didn’t you say that you had another phone?” A friend wanting answers, needing answers, her persistence darker than paler eyes.

“I don’t have another phone. Whoever is ringing, it is not for me. I don’t know why, or how it got there. Could you have put it there accidentally? Her friend only answers with a shake of her head.

Baffled, a crime scene contaminated, no sign of the phone stopping its ringing. Who will answer? Will anyone answer? The friend carrying the bag takes the phone and answers it. Passing it to the other girl, the line goes dead. Like trying to skip without a rope, all life will fall down, silent and complete.

A small light into the distance is approaching, maybe one time lost, maybe the girls are now found. A vehicle is approaching, and the girls spread their arms in panic, like a flag representing the wrong country, hoping for detection, instead of a reflection. The vehicle invisible in the dark, the chameleon of the night. The driver maybe over a hundred metres away, and they have under nine seconds to make a new world record.

“Maybe I should slow down. Is that what I’m looking for?” He questions himself, seeing movement in the distance.

In the back seat, a sleeping quilt, maybe on his way to a party, a sleepover or maybe not. Movement under the quilt, yet the driver only recognises the movement ahead. A silent figure suddenly rises, wearing attire darker than the night, leaving humans, monsters and nightmares afraid. The silent figure is like a silent ghost, because he has a haunting emotionless face, sitting as the unknown passenger. His mask emotionless, the face underneath unknown. Approaching the girls but still metres away. The car windows a part of the night, and nobody can see through them. A gloved hand around the throat of the driver, tightening his grip, slowing down the speed of the driver’s breathing.

The driver looking into the rear-view mirror. What does he see? Driving past the girls, they watch on, and the car is gone. The driver and the car becoming part of the night, another star burnt out. In the distance, far past lost girls, and into the last interaction. The driver dares not speak; the grip is still around his throat. The silent figure even quieter than total silence, the truth is the fact that people should never speak at night.

Revealing his full hand, the silent figure has a knife in his hand of cards and stabs the knife through the driver seat headrest. The blade breaking the barrier between blood and bone. Inserted into the driver’s neck at the tip of where the spine connects to the brain. The driver slowly stops the car, and all lights are switched off, people are more comfortable sleeping with the light on.

The silent figure retrieves the blade, releasing it from the target it hit. Granting the silent figure, a treat, the colour of blood, looking delicious in silver. Slight blood coming through the headrest, the driver casually choking on a red water, his own blood, the best time of year to surf. The silent figure even more emotionless, looking at the blade for a few moments, a new colour, a new toy in a limited colour.

Slitting the throat of the driver, the knife delightful as it is like a sword cutting paper. The blood is pouring so that the pen will never find enough ink to write a suicide letter. The silent figure has the best seat in the audience, finally able to see the play. Bloody red waterfalls never seen before, pouring like lava, the first time the volcano erupts.

Opening the vehicle door, the silent figure leaves quietly, giving the sort of care the driver would expect from his passenger, when he takes him to his destination, free of charge. The vehicle door closed, the darkest shadow, unseen in the night.

The girls quiet, for time has passed, the voices in their head, losing more words. Walking on into the night, one giant area of painted lines and designated stops. A pay metre? A telephone box? Something in the distance located in the middle, only be moving closer, is reckoning or salvation. The other phone that they had, they gave it to the night, since it called them like a realistic nightmare. They left it hanging somewhere in the past, because it harassed.

Now in a place more familiar, or a place unknown. It is a place of nowhere, not even a light, a lamp post. No people, no transportation. Walking over, ten feet from something that could be home. In the distance, a phone box standing there, like a person looking like a rapist in the night. The front windows clear. The sensible friend to make a phone call this time, is walking closer to inspect. Checking the door, it opens and closes in perfect working order, a steal at this price.

“Do you have any change to make a phone call?” She asks, inquisitive and sceptic at the same time.

The friend checking her bag, to retrieve the coffin of her purse. So many still things in her purse, like a dead person, waiting to be spent. Counting the coins, not sure if it is enough, but at least enough to get a phone line to go dead. The friend extending her hand, demanding the coins to make the phone call. Ignored, the friend with the coins, watches on as her ally form the night enters the phone box. Closing the door, the left side of the phone box covered, no way to see what’s outside, no way for the outside to see what is inside. Advertising on the glass, doing a job of advertising blindness, instead of help.

She puts her coins non top of the phone and takes it off the handle. Inserting a coin, she dials a number that is unknown. Putting the phone to her ear…

The girl who made the first call is now having to wait, impatience is a word with an updated meaning. A phone box in the middle of nowhere, is like being in a cemetery with only one grave. The two girls are the grieving friends, forgetting to bring a flower for the one who died, shedding only tears that cried. Being the one left in the background, she knocks on the door. The friend turns around to acknowledge, holding up a finger to say one minute.

A minute gone and the girl exits the phone box. Walking past her friend, who will light up a cigarette, because the craving of waiting, was too much to handle. Entering the phone box herself with her cigarette, she sees the phone unhooked, on top of the case that acts like a barrier. Seeing several unused coins next to it, she picks up the phone. The phone line is a mutual friend to both girls, the phone line has gone dead, reverse psychology.

Turning her back to the phone door. She puts the phone down. Picking it up again, picking up a coin, she now has credit…

The other girl will start enjoying a cigarette outside, dropping it before its completion. Not normally a smoker, but tonight is the exception. The silent figure in front of her. She stands strong, trying not to show fear. Something emotionless wearing something pale, yet ghostlier than her pale eyes. Knowing weakness isn’t a friend, but a fiend, the odds are against her.

“If you need to use the payphone, my friend won’t be long…” She tells him straight, not trying to waste his time. The silent figure remaining silent, not moving, just staring. The girl a little shaken, because a mask is far scarier than a face.

She holds out her box of cigarettes, offering one to the silent figure, but he stays still, not looking at them, looking at something that doesn’t come with a warning. Staring her down, a new Juliet, will he buy her a rose? Prompting her to change her tactics.

“If you don’t want to use the phone, or want a cigarette, what do you fucking want?” The silent figure ignores her request to the dance and reaches into his hoodie pouch. He slowly reveals her prize, a knife which only feeds on blood, not fear.

Before she can scream to alert the only friend in the world, the silent figure tightly covers her mouth and nose with his left hand. Her air depleting, her voice a fading memory. Like the end of a song when it has ended. Her eyes as still as a stone, the silent figure stabs her in the liver, just once, because it will be enough for her death. People always questioning “will I go up to the skies, or down to the grounds when I die?” She slowly slides down against the door, the question already answered.

The silent figure takes her body, and walks around the left side, which the outside can’t see in, and the inside can’t see in. Her body out of sight from open, alive eyes, the silent figure can stalk, but a dead girl cannot talk.

The girl on the phone, unaware of things never explained, turns around to try to tell her friend what is happening in regard to their situation. Another side that can counter her version, she is no witness of alibi. The phone off its hook, she looks outside. Looking out of the window, the vision poor, no way to alter the painting. No sign of a friend, no sign of anything, or anyone.

Slowly opening the door, looking left, looking right, only darkness in all directions. Gingerly out of the pod, turning left. Walking slower with every step, the back of the phone box, empty, cleans, no words, no cigarettes, no shadows. Another corner to make, taking her time. Around every corner, a monster in the dark, around this corner, slowly, nothing in the dark. Back in front of the door, her hand reaching for the handle, stilled and stilted. Cannot see what is inside, the abyss darker than the darkest dark.

Grabbing the handle, the seconds pass, if only she had a candle. Slowly it opens, no light shining, the darkness expanding. The door wide open, her eyes revealed, not wanting what she wanted to see. The door closes, and she reaches for the phone. The line gone, her credit out. Her back dangerously turned on the door, she waits a moment. Turning around, the damage done. Screaming, a ghost like image, on the other side of the glass, painted in to be comfortable in the surroundings, and the bleak colours. The eyes fixed on her, her movement limited. The image scarier when it is still fixed on your eyes. Nothing happens, seconds turn into minutes. Fear vs tension, who will win?

She grabs the door handle, a way to keep inside. Force is best to keep the outside on the outside of the picture. The silent figure also grabs the handle, the first move taken, a chess game for the ages. The door not opening, not closing. She uses the force against the silent figure, as she lets go of the handle. The force against a force itself, her unseen weapon. The figure crashes to the cold floor for a moment, and she uses this, to run out of the payphone, and away from the silent force.

She has managed to escape from the silent figure, and away from a location that is familiar, now in her new memories. Running faster than the wind, the only thing missing is wings. Reaching a bus stop, cautiously stopping for a rest, the night now hers, to live a dream, and slay the nightmares. Scanning nearby areas that her eyesight can see, she sees nothing. For once the bleak colours of death are on her side. Black and night means survive, blue and day means temporarily alive.

To her shock, a vehicle coming her way. Stopping when it reaches her, beating her to the time she is meant to wave her hands for unwanted attention. The door opens, and she is kindly greeted by the driver, who is not wearing a mask.

“Are you ok miss? This isn’t the route I normally take, but they always change…” Asking about her being.

“Please let me get on. You can’t leave me here…” Hurrying her escape, not delaying it.

The driver stalling, another question, rather than a ticket.

“Has something happened miss?” Delaying her escape, not hurrying it.

“My friend disappeared, and someone, or something, came after me” Speaking the truth, and her face reveals it.

“Come aboard, and we’ll find you some help…” He says with normal passion, a respectable citizen.

She gets on the bus, and the door closes. She nervously looks at the seats, and she is the only one there. Like being the only person at a cemetery, because your friends are dead, and it’s quieter to have conversations with dead people.

“Drive, just drive… Could you take me home?” Her last instructions.

She sits down in the middle of the bus, and the bus moves, departing from the bus stop. The silent force appears from hiding behind the back seat, the assassin, the killer, the ghost of the night. Knife in hand, the silent figure stalks the aisle way, slowly making movement towards her. Not noticing the fate now standing behind her, silent and stilled. The bus drives off into darkness, maybe even darker then when the darkness first came tonight.

Could You Take Me Home? © 2021 Dexter Angelus Draven. All rights reserved.


Submitted: August 30, 2021

© Copyright 2021 TheGothicSinner. All rights reserved.

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BriannasBooks

This was really suspenseful! I have always had a fear of walking at night, and always have a feeling there is something lurking in the shadows. It must have been so scary for that girl to have to leave her friend behind, having witnessed what that man is capable of and knowing that she is next. Amazing as always! Can't wait to read more of your work :)

Sun, October 3rd, 2021 1:11pm

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Many people have a fear of walking alone in the dark, feeling that there is something in the shadows. I enjoyed writing a story like this again. Trying to write and post at least one story a month here. I look forward to reading more of your work :)

Sun, October 3rd, 2021 9:33am

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