Rain pelted the city, creating pools of water that glinted under the neon lights. Every drop felt like a herald, announcing the start of yet another restless night. The patter against the window pane was once a lullaby, but now, it was a sinister hymn.
From my fifth-floor apartment window, I could see the people below hurrying to find shelter, their hurried steps and colliding umbrellas reminiscent of frantic insects escaping an unseen predator. But what was I escaping from?
The events always began with the rain.
That evening, the scent of petrichor and damp asphalt seeped into my apartment. The room darkened by storm clouds pressing against the city’s skyline, the only light from the occasional flash of lightning streaking across the gray abyss.
On the street below, an old-fashioned red payphone stood. It was odd for such an anachronism to exist in our modern age. Every time it rained, that payphone would ring. The shrill trill was distant, but loud enough to reach my ears over the storm’s roars.
I don’t know why I first decided to pick it up months ago. Curiosity? Boredom? A daring venture? Regardless, the voice on the other end was the catalyst for the ordeal I found myself trapped in.
“You can’t run forever.” A man’s voice, deep, and dripping with malice, pierced through the rain’s chorus.
Tonight was no exception. The phone rang, echoing into the storm’s cacophony. Someone was about to answer it, drawn in by its mysterious allure.
I watched as a man in a tan raincoat, collar pulled up to shield him from the downpour, approached the phone. From my vantage point, I could only see his back as he hesitated for a moment before finally lifting the receiver. The lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his confused expression as he listened. He hung up swiftly, his face pale, and hurried away, casting nervous glances around him.
Each time someone answered that call, they disappeared the next day, leaving behind only a soaked raincoat.
My curiosity had me ensnared. I’d witnessed this cycle countless times. It wasn’t a coincidence. But every attempt to intervene was met with resistance. The police dismissed my concerns, neighbors laughed it off, and friends said it was just my overactive imagination. “Urban legends,” they’d say. But I knew. I had answered the call once.
I decided to venture out. The city looked different in the rain, a mosaic of reflections and silhouettes dancing in watery mirrors. The payphone was my destination, but why? To confront it? To understand it?
Making my way through the rain-slicked streets, I found myself before the blood-red booth. The phone inside looked ordinary, yet it emanated an energy that made the hairs on my arms bristle.
Hesitating, I entered the booth. The smell of cold, stale metal overcame the scent of the rain. The phone was silent, waiting.
I lifted the receiver and placed it against my ear. Silence. Only the sound of rain drumming on the booth’s roof. Maybe I was indeed delusional.
Suddenly, the voice, dripping with cruel anticipation, broke through. “Thought you could escape, didn’t you?”
I dropped the receiver, my breath erratic. The voice wasn’t coming from the phone anymore. It was all around me, pressing in, like the oppressive storm clouds overhead. The door to the booth wouldn’t budge. Panic gripped me.
“I’m coming for you,” it whispered.
Through the glass door, I saw him. A man, drenched in rain, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Each step created ripples in the waterlogged streets. My heart felt like it might burst from my chest, but I had to act.
Using all my strength, I slammed my body against the booth’s door. Once, twice, and on the third attempt, the latch gave way. Stumbling out, I began to run, with the steady rhythm of pursuing footsteps echoing behind me. The city was a maze, streets blending and buildings closing in.
Would this be my fate? Disappearing like the rest, leaving behind nothing but a soaked raincoat?
The rain seemed to intensify, each drop feeling like a million pinpricks on my skin. The streets, which were familiar by day, morphed into an alien terrain under the storm’s fury. Corner after corner, I twisted and turned, desperately trying to put distance between me and the relentless pursuer.
Alleys blurred past, neon lights smeared by sheets of rain. The city was an unforgiving maze, yet one thing remained constant: the echoing footfalls, a reminder that he was always close. Every alleyway became a potential trap; every shadow, a potential threat.
I had to find shelter.
A dimly lit laundromat loomed ahead. Without a second thought, I darted inside, praying he hadn’t seen me. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the hum of washing machines filled the air. Empty. No one else inside, save for a lone janitor mopping the wet floor, his back turned to me.
Gasping for breath, I ducked behind a row of machines, peering through the gaps to see the entrance. Minutes felt like hours, but the door remained closed.
Had I lost him?
My sigh of relief was short-lived. The door creaked open, and the silhouette of the man in the wide-brimmed hat appeared. Water pooled around his feet as he stood there, scanning the room. The janitor, unaware of the danger, continued to mop.
I weighed my options. Running would give away my position, but staying meant certain doom. I needed a distraction.
A flash of inspiration hit. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a handful of coins, and hurled them across the room. The clinking noise echoed, drawing the man’s attention. As he moved in the opposite direction, I began to silently creep towards the exit.
The janitor, curious about the sudden commotion, turned just in time to see the man bearing down on him. Their eyes locked. The janitor’s face contorted in terror, but before he could scream, the man lunged, wrapping his fingers around the janitor’s throat.
No time to think.
I bolted for the door, bursting out into the rain once again. The streets were now virtually empty, the rain having driven everyone indoors. But this was no relief; without the crowds, there was nowhere to hide.
A distant scream echoed from the laundromat. The janitor’s fate sealed. Guilt gnawed at me, but survival took precedence. I couldn’t save him, but I could still save myself.
The rain continued its assault as I made my way towards the city’s heart. A plan began to form in my mind. If this man, this entity, was bound to the payphone, perhaps if I could destroy it, I could end the nightmare.
Navigating through rain-drenched alleys, I finally found myself back at that cursed phone booth. Through sheets of rain, it stood – silent, menacing, and waiting.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I approached it, determined to put an end to the cycle. Grabbing the phone, I pulled with all my might, but it remained steadfast. Frustration mounting, I scanned the surroundings, looking for something, anything, that could help.
And then I saw it. A construction site nearby with a large bulldozer. If brute force wouldn’t do it, maybe raw power would.
Dashing to the site, I managed to start the bulldozer. The roar of the engine was almost drowned by the rain, but it was the sweetest sound I’d heard all night. With grim determination, I drove it straight towards the payphone booth.
The impact was explosive. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the payphone was reduced to a pile of rubble.
Relief washed over me. It was finally over. But that solace was shattered when a familiar voice echoed from the debris, “You can’t escape.”
From the wreckage, the man emerged. Unscathed. Unhindered. Unstoppable.
Drenched and shaking, I stood face-to-face with my relentless pursuer. The storm around us intensified, seemingly feeding off the confrontation. Lightning crackled across the sky, momentarily illuminating his face beneath the wide-brimmed hat: blank, emotionless, with an endless void where eyes should be.
Desperation filled me. If the phone’s destruction didn’t stop him, what would? As if reading my thoughts, he tilted his head slightly, his non-eyes locking onto mine.
“You think you’re the first to try?” he asked, his voice a haunting melody of mockery and menace. “This isn’t about a phone. It’s about you.”
Questions flooded my mind. Why me? What did I ever do? And who or what was this being?
But in this torrent of chaos, a memory resurfaced. A day, months ago, before the rain-induced terror began. I had been in an argument with a stranger over a trivial matter. Words were exchanged, and in a fit of rage, I wished the worst upon him. That night, it rained, and the phone calls began.
This wasn’t just a random curse. This was my doing.
Gathering what little courage I had left, I faced the entity. “What do you want?”
His laughter, if you could call it that, was like the sound of static – grating, unnatural, and cold. “Want? I’m here because of your desire. Your wish. I am the consequence of your malice.”
This was my punishment, a sinister reflection of my own emotions taken form.
“But why the others?” I demanded, thinking of the countless victims. “They had nothing to do with it!”
His hollow gaze focused on me. “Misery loves company. Each time you ran, each time you hid, your fear fed me, and so, I sought more. Like an insatiable hunger.”
A plan began to form. If he was a manifestation of my own dark emotions, maybe the opposite could banish him. But how could I find hope or love in such a dire situation?
The rain intensified, thunder rumbling in the distance. He began to advance, each step echoing with finality.
Desperate, I closed my eyes, thinking of better times – laughter with friends, love from family, the joy of simple moments. Memories flooded back: my mother’s comforting embrace during a childhood storm, the first time I fell in love under a clear starry night, the undying support from friends in my hardest times.
As these emotions surged within me, I began to shout them out loud, each word a beacon against the storm. “LOVE! HOPE! JOY! UNITY!”
With every declaration, the entity faltered. The once-imposing figure now seemed to dissolve, becoming translucent like the rain around us. His form wavered, the once solid darkness now nothing more than a wavering shadow in the deluge.
“Your time here is over,” I whispered, feeling an inner strength I never knew I possessed.
With a final scream of anguish, he disappeared, evaporated into the storm.
The rain began to subside, the once tumultuous storm now a gentle drizzle. The city, which had been a haunting maze just moments ago, began to show signs of life again. The dawn broke on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.
Exhausted but alive, I made my way back to my apartment. The ordeal had changed me, reminding me of the power of emotions, both dark and light.
From that day on, the payphone remained a shattered relic, never to ring again. The city moved on, memories of the missing fading with time.
And as for me? I learned the importance of cherishing positive emotions and the dangers of letting negativity consume. The rain still falls, but now, it’s just water from the sky, cleansing the city and nourishing the soul.