Life is like modeling clay. It is shaped by our decisions just like in those realistic video games in which the choices of the player determine the outcome. The only difference of course is that in real life, the choices and outcomes are much more important and serious. Sometimes, the choices made can also affect other people around the decider in various ways. This is exactly what I experienced myself a few years ago.
My name is Rolan. The events you are seconds away to read about happened to me in 2017 during my college time in Western Europe. One beautiful Saturday, on my way to a morning class, I took the bus going to the terminus, a less than fifteen minutes ride. The lazy guy that I was always felt tired on those Saturday mornings, therefore, I decided to go straight to the back of the bus where I intended to doze off a little bit.
I made my way to the last seat, catching glimpses of the various passengers on the bus who alternately glanced back at me as I progressed. One seat before the last one is where I saw her sitting. We exchanged a brief look before I sat on the back of the bus. For privacy’s sake, let us call her Tasha. A beautiful girl in a very ravishing black dress, brown hair, wide set eyes, holding a phone and a small backpack on her lap.
Right after sitting, I already made the choice to just leave her alone and was minding my own business, distracting myself with the view of other motorists and pedestrians through the window, when she suddenly turned to me and started a conversation about the bus fares. I just played along, and everything went on to us exchanging names and a few pleasantries, and since the terminus was not far at all, it was soon time for everybody to get off.
What wonderful situation am I in right now? My guy-mind just questioned. I mean, it is unlikely to be suddenly addressed to by such an attractive girl, hence I seized the opportunity to ask for her digits right when the bus stopped. As soon as I did, Tasha’s expression changed in a not so positive way. An empty expression robbed her from the beauty she radiated just some moments ago. She froze for a few seconds, as if someone else was taking over her mind and body and I was just witnessing that terrifying transition.
I felt like I should not have done that, but before I could say anything, she snapped out of her strange daze stood up and just gestured me to follow her outside. On the way to the bus door, two guys tried to engage her in a conversation, and one of the dudes even tried to retain her by the arm when she refused to pay any attention to them, and she shook him off. They surely wanted her digits just like me, and I was about to get the number and felt really lucky.
Outside, a few meters next to the bus, a not so friendly Tasha asked for my phone, typed her number, and gave it back to me, before we parted ways, with me of course being happy about the encounter, despite the strange way it ended in. Yes, I made a choice. Yes, it was about to result in terrible consequences and make my life take a very wrong turn, but not in the way you are probably thinking right now.
The day after, during the afternoon, I tried to contact Tasha so we could talk a little bit and know more about each other. I launched a call which directly went to— voicemail. I tried for a second time, and then a third time, and then a fourth, only to obtain the exact same result. Later in the evening, I tried again hoping it was just about her phone battery being flat, but again, straight to voicemail.
Keeping calm and remaining positive, I checked the number to see if it was correctly written; maybe there was nine digits instead of ten which could explain the situation, but everything seemed correct. I quickly noticed that the number was also registered on a popular instant messaging app, therefore, I tried to reach Tasha there. Instead of a text message, I opted for a voice message, greeting her, and introducing myself only to get an unexpected and rude text reply less than five minutes later:
‘This isn’t Tasha, I don’t know any Rolan so leave me alone!’
Finally realizing that Tasha accidentally or voluntarily gave me a wrong number, I deleted it while shaking my head, struck by utter disappointment. This is not an uncommon occurrence for guys in general and most of the time, things just end there. However, for this case, the real horror was about to begin, and not just for me, unfortunately.
The next Saturday, during the afternoon, I was home enjoying a funny show with some snacks and a cool drink. At some point, my phone rang but when I looked at the screen, I noticed on the spot that it was not a prepaid call, it was instead a call on the instant messaging app and from an unregistered number. I looked closely and recognized it as the wrong number supposed to be Tasha’s that I had deleted last week.
“Well, what’s up now?” I said before answering the call, hoping to finally be talking to Tasha.
A second wave of disappointment hit me as soon as I heard the caller’s voice. She sounded like a mature woman but not a lady that could be Tasha. However, disappointment soon turned into uneasiness. The woman’s voice trembled at each word she pronounced as if she was going through a frightening situation but was forcing herself to act nice and composed. Once again, for privacy’s sake, let us call her Natasha.
She introduced herself briefly and asked me who I was. I found it very strange since I left her a voice message last Sunday to which she rudely responded to, but I chose to be polite and nice enough to reintroduce myself. I then explained the circumstances that led to me obtaining the number and assured her that I just had the wrong digits and that we did not know each other.
Everything should have at least just ended there, but it did not. Natasha acted like she indeed met me somewhere but could not remember. She went on to ask me about my looks, what I do, what institution I was a part of, my address and other quite personal information that I was reluctant to share with that person I was certain not to know.
When she realized my clear resistance to her interrogation session, she abruptly disconnected the call. Natasha left me dumbfounded, lost in a daze, my eyes on my phone screen, as many questions and answering attempts flooded my mind. What could be the use for a stranger to know all these things about me? I was about to soon get the horrifying answer to the question.
Natasha then called me once per day from Monday to Friday of the following week at exactly 8:10 pm. It made me feel stalked. There was nothing classic about those stalker calls such as the heavy breathing and all that. In fact, there was nothing at all. No words, no sound, just absolute silence, and emptiness, except for Friday. On Wednesday, annoyance already flooded my mind as all that became too much to bear just from a conversation on the bus. However, it was only the tip of the iceberg.
During the last call on Friday, I heard it a few seconds after picking up. I wish I could have the words to better describe something so disturbing but, just imagine the kind of sounds an animal makes when they are agonizing. You know, after they are mortally wounded, then left on the ground to just bleed out to death. For over thirty seconds, I remained petrified, listening to that horror, when out of nowhere:
“Daddy?” A child called, prompting Natasha to abruptly end that nightmare.
Fortunately, one of my good friends invited me at his house on the very next day for a two-days party. That weekend would have been the best of my life if not ruined by what patiently waited for me. Late in the night on Saturday, I was dropped at home by a few friends because I was too drunk to make it there alone. Believe it or not, I was only worried about how I would show up for the next round on Sunday.
Being drunk does not take away my awareness. I just want to point it out. It only makes me dizzy and physically slow, not oblivious to what goes around me, hence, when my friends pulled me out of the ride home, I noticed a pick-up truck parked in the alley, not very far from the house. I did not think much of it, and I believe I would have done the same even if I was not drunk that night. My friends waited for me to lock the house and verified it by trying to open door before leaving.
Around noon the next morning, some sun rays bathed my face with heat and light as I opened my eyes. Slowly, I then sat on my bed, my head full of pain and between my hands, trying to bear the hangover, when something worse invaded the room. A stench I could not even describe violated my nostrils, almost curing the headache on the spot as I quickly stood up to look around, my hand placed on both my nose and my mouth.
The cleanness of the room testified that I did not vomit on my bed or anywhere else in the around, therefore, I stepped out of the room to investigate further. The concentration of the smell increased at each step I took towards the uncovering of its source, a level so much unbearable that I started to cough. I reached the living room and quickly spotted a garbage bag carefully placed in the middle of the premises and purposely left open. How drunk could I have been last night or what sick prank my friends tried to pull on me before they left?
I was still thinking about reasonable scenarios that could have led to a garbage bag being left open in my house, frozen at a certain distance and not daring to approach when I heard heavy running footsteps behind me. I felt a tearing in my heart, suddenly gripped by the fear that arose inside me. Before I could even turn to face the intruder, I received a violent blow near my forehead and fell unconscious.
My eyes still closed, I regained consciousness, helped by the screeching sounds of utensils on a plate and knocks on the door. Somebody was apparently eating next to me and another person outside was looking for me. Once more, my head was pounding before my attention shifted to the stench, even more unbearable at that moment. I opened my eyes and saw candles, and darkness all around as I realized that the sun had already set, and a lot of time had elapsed.
Hands behind my back and unable to move my legs, I felt the solid ropes scratch on my skin at each movement I made trying to get off the chair. The garbage bag was still open and placed on the chair in front of me and an unknown man was sitting on my left. He had placed three candles on the middle of the dining table and served us the exact same menu, and by us, I mean myself, him, and also the garbage bag in front of which a completely burnt steak was served on a plate.
“My name is Walter.” The man quietly said, calmly but painfully eating while enduring the smell and the burnt meal. “I believe you smart enough to know that this fork in my hand will end up in your throat if you make any noise.” He added, not addressing me a single look, and keeping on eating. To my distress, the person outside gave up and probably left.
“What—what you want? Why you doing this?” I asked, trying my best not to vomit because of the smell.
“I’m Natasha’s husband.” He said, making my heart explode in dread, as the picture became clearer by the second. “Tasha for short, right?” Walter added, briefly looking at me with a mischievous little smile.
“Natasha? The—the lady on the phone?” I questioned.
“Yes. Of course you remember.”
“But— I don’t know her. I was trying to call Tasha.”
“Tasha, Natasha, where the fuck is the difference? Hm?” He said, visibly irritated by my reply but still eating. “How do you have the number of someone you don’t know, and then call that person on the phone, and by her name?” Walter asked.
“Look man, I met a—girl on the bus and—her name Tasha, she gave me that number but I think it’s the wrong number. It’s true don’t—” I tried to explain before he stopped eating then slammed his fist on the table, interrupting me.
“Young man really takes me for a fool!” Walter said to himself, smiling and shaking his head.
“No, no it’s true I heard your wife’s voice and—”
“Listen young man. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of all this. You see Rolan, I’m nothing but a facilitator.” He said, resuming his eating. “I’m here to help you share my wife with me. There’s no reason to be afraid or feel embarrassed. After all, we’re a big happy family. Don’t you think Rolan?”
“What? Share your—no, I don’t know your wife. I don’t know Natasha, I was just—” I could not even finish my sentence when he lunged at me, fork in hand, and planted it in my shoulder.
My mouth wide open to scream in pain gave Walter the opportunity to grab the burnt steak on the plate in front of me and shove it down my throat to silence me.
“I really think you drank too much last night.” Walter said while walking towards the garbage bag. “Your memory needs to be refreshed.” He added, searching the bag before pulling out horror itself out of it: the severed and decaying head of a woman.
With brute strength and absolute disrespect, Walter placed the head on the table and yelled:
“THIS IS NATASHA! Will you deny her now? I guess she wasn’t speaking loud enough on the phone, so I brought her here for you guys to have a talk. WHY DO YOU DENY HER?”
Unable to say a word, I kept my eyes on the woman’s head while tears fell from my eyes. In pain, overwhelmed with fear and in disbelief, I shook my head, ready to shout the truth I knew deep inside my mind. That Natasha was not Tasha, the girl I met on the bus.
“She will now be part of us. I have her inside me, so you too, will have her inside you.” Walter said and made me understand what the burnt meat inside my mouth exactly was.
He approached and started shoving the piece of burnt flesh further down my throat, insulting and degrading me, yelling at me to swallow. No longer able to resist it at some point, I vomited and started to choke. From time to time, Walter would press the fork, still in my shoulder to make me scream and open my mouth wider. It felt like every muscle, nerve and tissue were pulled towards the fork. My eyes on Walter’s angry face, I accepted my fate, paying the price of a crime he thought I committed. My end was here or so I thought.
Out of the blue, I heard someone kick the door open. The person said something that I could not hear properly, but it sounded like an order. Walter looked and froze, seemingly contemplating his options, his hands still on the fork and my mouth, respectively. He finally released his grips and raised his arms, surrendering himself as he began to sob.
Karl, one of my neighbors worked at a facility serving as both a mortuary and a crematorium. Let us just say that he knows the smell of corpses in various states. He detected the stench of Natasha’s corpse earlier in the day and the smell of burnt flesh when that insane Walter tried to cook it. He was also the one who was knocking earlier along with one of my friends who probably came to pick me up for the party. So, in the meantime, during my ordeal, he called the cops because I did not answer the door.
After a few days in the hospital, I had fully recovered. A friend of mine accompanied by a mysterious man came to visit before I was discharged, and what they told me shone the light on that whole disturbing experience.
Natasha and Walter were married for around five years before what happened. According to friends and relatives, at some point in the marriage, Walter changed into a whole new person, becoming more jealous, and possessive. Unfortunately for Natasha, the wrong number given to me by Tasha happened to be exactly her number on the instant messaging app. This of course did not escape from Walter’s control who believed that ‘Tasha’ as I mistakenly referred to her, was a short for ‘Natasha.’ That did not help the woman’s case.
He went on to murder his own wife Natasha and even dismembered her to fit the corpse in a garbage bag. He was the one calling me without saying anything while his wife that he had already hurt very badly was slowly dying each day. She was the one making that disturbing agonizing sound during one of the calls. I am grateful for being alive, but my heart bleeds for their young son, four years old Desmond. Yes, the little child I heard calling for ‘daddy’ during one of Walter’s sickening calls.
Following his deposition, Walter had mysteriously died the same day while in custody. The investigation about his death was still going on while I was on the hospital bed, talking to my friend and the mysterious man. I learned the same day that Walter was a distant relative to a very important and influential figure of that country, therefore, the mysterious man was sent to ensure that me, my friend, my neighbor Karl, the police, and any other person closely or distantly involved in one way or the other remain silent like the dead.
Without finishing my cursus, I left that country a few days later for my safety and my sanity but learned a valuable lesson. Acts have consequences. Some are genuine mistakes since we humans are not perfect. However, because of that same nature, other acts just reflect pure irresponsibility and immaturity. I will never meet Tasha ever again, but when I think about everything, I really hope she just made a mistake while typing her number.
Since it has happened to so many guys out there, it is safe to say what I am about to say. It has become a sort of habit among girls to just give fake numbers as a ‘smart move’ to get rid of annoying guys. Is it not just easier to politely say no? If this is what Tasha did because I somehow crept her out or anything, and if she came to know what had happened as a result, how would she live with that? How would she live knowing that I nearly lost my life, a woman did lose her life and a child is now parentless? She could be out there just living her life not knowing what that single act from her cost, all that, just from a wrong number.
There is no age requirement to act responsibly. One method I always apply is constantly asking myself the question what if. For example, you are behind the wheel fully aware that you are drunk. Of course, you want to go home and of course you think you can handle both the drinking and the driving but, what if something happens? Just what if?