I went to the station when it was about nine in the morning, holding my phone gingerly between two fingers. An officer took it from me while another questioned me with what I imagine were normal questions for this kind of an event: did this friend display any weird signs before, was she aggressive about issues regularly, did she have mental health issues, et cetera. I told him that apart from the mentions of the TV show, there was really nothing else–she had depression, but I hardly think that warranted this.
She’d always typed in lowercase letters but formal phrasing, and the only irregularity I’d seen was last night, when she had typed in all caps and called me a slut and a cunt. On my second coffee on the day, I was fueled by the desire I had to throw those same words back in her face. I’d been the one who had brought her ice cream all throughout high school when she was sad, who she’d called when she was certain her roommates hated her the whole first year of college. And then she had the audacity to say this?
The uncharacteristic-ness of it all made me think: what if it wasn’t her sending those messages towards the end? I posited this concern to the officer just as his partner came back inside the room.
Her face was what I imagine people describe as “ashen” and “grey”. She looked positively horrified, and when I asked what was going on, all she would tell me was she’d watched the three clips in order. She whispered something to the other officer, who took the phone himself and left somewhere while she stood in the corridor. I pried some more, and all I was told was that a murder was involved. I remember nearly having a heart attack as I asked if it had been real. She hesitated and then said that yes, it appeared to be real.
A few minutes passed by, and the other officer came back in. He explained that they would be launching an investigation into this, and would I be so kind as to let them have my phone for evidence? The asking was clearly a formality, but I responded in the affirmative regardless.
He asked me two more questions before I left: did my friend ever show inclinations towards the “occult” or ritual killings, and did I have any disputes with her in particular? To my knowledge, the answer to both of those was a resounding no, but also, my knowledge wasn’t worth even a penny lately. I mean, there had been that time in our junior years when we’d fooled around a bit with the kind of creepypasta that you found around on the internet in the 2010s, but nothing that warranted a whole deep-dive into some kind of killing.
I drove down to my mom’s later that day, and got set up on the sofa after telling her what was going on. She looked shocked, and told me she’d talked to my friend that past afternoon, just a cursory conversation about some Facebook post. Apparently she’d seemed perfectly normal, apart from mentioning she’d started watching a particularly riveting show.
Goddamn. She was trying to cyberbully my mother now, too. I took her phone and blocked my friend on Facebook, but not before noting that her bio had been replaced with a singular link, and her profile picture had changed to something a bit different. Instead of her smiling with her husband and kid, now it was just a picture of her, seemingly deep in thought, looking to the side.
I was literally going to click the block button when message notifications from her began to pop up.
DON’T YOU DARE BLOCK ME, YOU CUNT
Then right before the block went though, one final message –
YOU WILL WATCH
There was a lot to be concerned with here. The biggest issue was how she knew exactly what I was doing. I called the police again, went all factory-settings on my mother’s phone, grabbed my mother and sat in the car to drive thirty minutes back to the station.
It was maybe two or three in the afternoon, and the police seemed a lot more alert as I described to them how the messages seemed to coincide and almost anticipate my actions. I got served with my own bit of bad news too; apparently my friend had been missing since four in the evening the previous day. Her husband seemed just as confused, and had mentioned how she didn’t come to pick their kid up from preschool.
When he found out what was going on, he came down to the station himself to apologize. We had never been particularly friendly, but we were acquainted enough to share a common what-the-fuck-is-going-on-here moment. He offered to let us stay at his house, and I said absolutely not.
The last I would be doing was staying at the house of the woman who was tormenting me and my mother. I feel as though I should stop referring to her as my friend now. After all, friends don’t send each other snuff films about apparent ritual killings and then continuously harass each other to watch said films.
There was the issue of surveillance, and what was agreed on was that my mother and I would reserve a hotel room and stay there for a bit. We submitted our phones and the police said they would get combed for any weird software or spyware. I asked if I needed to give them my work computer as well–they took it in, combed it first since I still have a remote job I am rather attached to, and then handed it back to me nearly five hours later. We were told to stop by every day just for accountability, and then off we went.
It was night, and I was honestly scared enough to where I considered sleeping in the car. My mom seemed to consider it for a brief second when I brought it up, but then shook her head and called me absurd. We tucked in for the night at around ten officially, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.
I truly can’t think of any reason this could be happening. A tiny part of me worries that Marcela (fake name) got mixed up with something weird, and another far-fetched conclusion I’ve been panicking about for the past half-hour is this; what if the body was hers, and the messages were someone else’s?
I remember that I hadn’t been able to see the face, considering it was in literal pieces. The body had been wearing a dress, though, or a skirt–and oh my god, Marcela hadn’t been seen since four yesterday. I got the texts at like eight or nine.
Was it possible something happened to her in those four hours? And the insistence that I be the one to watch those videos–was it possible the same thing was going to happen to me?
Marcela had always been one of those chain-mail distributee types–she’d see a post or story and send it to at least three other people. What if she’d clicked on something weird like this and all this had happened as a result, and now whoever had her account was using it to spread the same thing?
Above all, the biggest fear: am I alone in this?
I don’t have my phone on me tonight, but I have energy drinks from the vending machine and plan on staying awake long enough to go back to the police station tomorrow and voice some more of my concerns. Assuming I don’t get any more messages today somehow. I mean, this computer was combed, so it should be fine.
All my adrenaline in this situation should last me until the morning, and I’ve pulled all-nighters before. I’m equally scared and just…shocked at this all. I never imagined anything like this would happen to me.