Free Fearsome Things: Five Short Tales of Horror and Suspense by Anthony M. Strong Page A

Underneath, in small type, ‘Enter a phone number.’ A green submit button pulsed, daring him to continue.
    “Well go on then. Put it in.” The bartender leaned forward, watching, waiting.
    Jack switched to his contacts and found the number. He typed it into the box, his finger hovering over the submit button.
    “Are you going to press it or what?” The bartender urged.
    “What will it do?”
    “It’ll drive him crazy, that’s what. Completely screw up his phone. Fake text messages, phony calls with no one on the other end, he won’t get a lick of work done. You’ll love it. It’s hysterical.”
    “Here goes nothing.” Jack pressed the button. The text box disappeared. A new message popped up. ‘Congratulations. You’ve given the evil eye.’
     
    ***
     
    Jack awoke to a brass band parading inside his skull. He groaned and rolled over, wishing he’d stayed at home instead of going to the bar. The alarm clock announced that it was 8.36am. Great, he was late for work.
    His mouth felt like the inside of a carpet showroom. He tried to remember how many shots of whisky he’d downed. The last thing he remembered was sending some stupid app to Jerry, who, no doubt would be stealing more of his sales right now.
    He swung his legs from the bed, stumbled to the bathroom and found a bottle of Advil. He downed two pills and put his mouth under the faucet, gulping down the cold water, before pulling on yesterday’s shirt and pants and heading to the car.
    By the time he arrived at work the parade in his head started to quiet down. The drive across town had been hell. Traffic was backed up thanks to an unseasonal rainstorm, and then he’d been forced to park two blocks away and walk through the downpour. Worse, his umbrella seemed to have wedged itself under the seat and refused to budge. He didn’t have time to mess with it. When he reached the office he was wet and humorless. He slipped behind his desk and logged on to the computer, hoping his tardy arrival had not been spotted.
    “Late night?”
    “Huh?” Jack looked up to find Jerry grinning down at him. He hadn’t seen it before, but Jerry’s round face, ginger hair, and freckled, pale skin made him look like a naughty schoolboy.
    “You look like crap, and you’re forty minutes late.”
    “Thanks for noticing.” What he really wanted to say was screw you and the horse you rode in on , but he didn’t.
    “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back old buddy.” Jerry winked at him, a grin plastered on his smug face.
    God, I hate you, thought Jack. “Thanks.”
    “Oh, by the way, I took the Jackson Hardware order a few minutes ago. You weren’t here. Hope you don’t mind.”
    “It’s fine.” Why would he care, after all, it was only money.
    “Like I said, I got your back.”
    And my commission, Jack mused. “What would I do without you?”
    “I know, right? Hang on.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Damn. Not again.”
    “Problem?”
    “Some idiot’s been texting me all morning. Same thing over and over.”
    “Really?”
    “Three words, ARE YOU SORRY? ” Jerry scowled. “Don’t people have anything better to do with their lives?”
    “So text them back.”
    “I did. I told them it was a wrong number. Didn’t help. It’s getting a little annoying to tell the truth.”
    “I bet.” Jack grinned.
    “It’s not funny.”
    “No, it’s not, you’re right.”
    “They’ve been calling too, ever since last night. Woke me up four times before I put the damn thing on silent. When I got up this morning there were sixteen messages. Sixteen.”
    “Did you listen to them?”
    “Same thing, some weird voice asking if I’m sorry. Guy sounded drunk or high or something. Still, to dial the wrong number that many times…” Jerry’s phone sprang to life. The screen lit up even though it was still set on silent. “See. There they are again. Over and over.”
    “So answer it.”
    “I did already. Again with the ‘am I