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works-of-evection-blog · 7 years

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Paradise - A Prologue

I surveyed the swimming pool from behind comically large sunglasses. The tropical surroundings were almost laughable, they were that pristine. A soft gurgling sound signalled I had reached the bottom of my iced tea and that it was time to walk along the bay. I stood up, stretching my arms as I purposely aimed my toned, tanned stomach towards Tanner, the pool lifeguard. He was intently scanning the pool, but the way he scratched his neck informed me that his peripheral vision was definitely in working order. Another gurgling slurp; Cassie had finished her drink and was rising to meet me. With white smiles and tousled tresses we linked arms, heading towards the fresh sands of the bay.

“So,” Cassie began, “what’s the deal with you and The Lifeguard?”

“Cass, he does have a name, you know.”

“Oh I know, you never stop saying it in your sleep. Tanner...ooOOhh Tanner.”

At that moment, a seagull flew by, echoing Cassie’s jibes with its sharp, salty caw.

“C’mon, I’m not that stupid.”

“No, I know Phe. You do have good taste, I’ll admit.”

“Of course I do.” I gave Cass a playful push, “Not that I need your approval. Or permission, for that matter.”

“So you HAVE done something!”

I laughed as I thought back to last Sunday, writhing and tossing around in Tanner’s silk sheets. “I wish, Cass, I wish.”

Cassie regarded me; for a moment I thought she saw right through me.

“The sun’s made you glowy today, Phe. You look good!” False alarm.

The sky became a gorgeous mixture of deep orange and pink as Cassie and I continued our walk along the bay. Salt crystals settled on the cracks in my lips and I licked them intermittently. All that was missing was tequila. Every so often, we passed others along the beach, most of them packing up for the day. Each one was an image of sunkissed perfection. White teeth, blushy cheeks and bright eyes. Against the perfect sunset and baby blue water, every person looked dreamy, as if they belonged in a Corona commercial.

We reached the opposite end of the bay in just under 30 minutes. We both liked to walk to the end every Sunday and glimpse the dying sun rays from this section of headland. It felt private and serene. It also helped to remind us how good life could be. We sat silently, side by side, taking in the soft lapping of the water against white rock. I dipped my toes in; perfectly warmed from the sun. The perfection of the day almost broke me, but I pushed the tears away with one big breath. Without even turning her head, Cassie grabbed my hand and interlaced her fingers with mine. How I dreamed to see a mushroom cloud over that red horizon, one that would engulf us and take us far away from here.

“Phoebe. We’d better head back.”

I grabbed her wrist reflexively, “Just another minute.”

She didn’t fight back. I knew she wouldn’t. An extra minute was everything.

After an hour-long minute, I told Cassie I was ready and she nodded passively. We stood up with less flamboyancy than we used at the pool. For the first time since we had reached the rock, I looked at Cassie’s face.

“You’d better clear up those eyes, girl.”

“Today was just so...perfect.”

“I know.”

The last red streaks of sun veined through the sky as we made our way back to the poolside section of the bay. The closer we got, the more we shoved our misery back into the pits of our stomachs. It was as if someone flicked a switch; by the time the waiters emerged from the trees to light the tiki torches our chins were held high and our smiles glowed in the flames. The waiters smiled and waved at us while we giggled and waved back, playing our part perfectly. Tanner was off duty by the time we reached the pool. I took one last look at the ocean, still and black amongst a sky speckled with embers - the stars would be out in full swing tonight. The breeze was perfectly warm and rustled the palms lightly; nature’s kiss was more elegant than any human’s. The smell of roasted meats and seasoned vegetables reached my nose and suddenly my mouth watered hungrily. I smiled and turned toward the resort’s dining hall, misery buried deep by now. There was no need to worry. We are perfect. The world is perfect.

#paradise #book #story #prologue #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #novel

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works-of-evection-blog · 7 years

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The Busker

It had been a tough week so far. Client retention had dropped by twelve percent and I was up to my ears in unfinished reports. I sighed and stared at my computer screen, willing the spreadsheets to complete themselves. It was simply one of those weeks. After a few more moments of mid-morning inertia, I figured the reports could wait a few more minutes. I needed a coffee.

I found comfort in my coffee runs. I liked to take in the sounds of passing traffic, unintelligible chatter and heels on concrete while my mind wandered through a forest of thoughts that had nothing to do with work. My ten minutes of intimacy among the bustling corporate grind.

As I passed by ANZAC Square, I couldn’t help but notice the faint melodies coming from the busker perched there, unkempt as ever with his long fingernails and wooly hair. He had this way of looking wild without looking filthy. I stopped to watch him, sitting happily on his crate, licking his lips in preparation as he painted a picture with each strum. Before he sang, I watched the corners of his mouth twitch up, the way they always did.

The smoky, familiar melody that escaped his vocal cords filled me with memories that set fire to the quiet forest in my head. Through the flames came memories of another life; a life where I clawed desperately at the ground trying to find a different one. The busker must have sensed that desperation in me the night we met. He saw that desperation and confused it with passion, spirit. He was an attractive fool, full of the passion and spirit I lacked.

He was so confident when he sidled up next to me at the bar, mouth corners twitching, his “Hello” as genuine as his music; the type of person who could enlarge small talk in an instant, dispelling awkwardness with the wave of his right hand. In one night, my pale attempts to dig through the ground didn’t matter because it had fallen from beneath me. A night that began as a whim and ended in the busker’s living room at 5 a.m., watching the delicate plucking of strings while strange new friends passed a joint and discussed society, art and love.

I never looked back after that first night, or the second or the third. The nights piled up like the foundations of a bonfire. Many of them were spent higher than Everest and many days were spent coming down that rocky mountain of euphoria. And in the middle of a week-long bender, the busker still laid down his hat every Thursday in ANZAC Square. I would spend that time breathing in his sheets and staring at the fanless ceiling, distinguishing insect from scuff mark.

I never went to the Square to hear him play; that music was played for others. I would wait in his bed and pretend to be asleep when he came through the door. He would sit at the edge of the bed and play a tune as yellow as the sunrise, making it impossible to maintain the sleepy facade. We would stay in that bed for hours, never tiring of each other. The passion we shared was more raw than his fingertips after hours of guitar practice.

As the busker hit a minor chord, memories of sunlit lullabies and starlit ecstasy abandoned me. For a slight moment I was back in that Square, feeling my heels on the concrete. The sun had gone behind the clouds and a cool breeze kissed my neck and made me shiver. It reminded me of the way he used to brush his lips against my ear and make the neurons across my face dance alongside my beating heart. My ears started buzzing just thinking about it. I rubbed them until the feeling subsided, which took longer than I expected.

He never made eye contact when he sang. At gigs, he would say, “I can’t play knowing you’re all looking at me, so I’ll do my best not to look at you. No offence, you’re all beautiful people, don’t you worry.”

His audience loved it. Every time he performed at a bar I would watch the same people cram in to see him play, followed by the newcomers. I don’t think he knew just how many fans he was gaining back then. I never talked to him about it because, well, I was selfish. It was never about fame or money anyway. It was about sunrises.

I wanted so badly for him to look at me. I believed I could be different. After all, I was the one who breathed in his sheets, awaiting the sunrise. One evening, I took off my clothes in time to his music, swaying my body in front of him while he looked towards the floor. The closer I leaned in, the more the strings twanged frustratedly until they stopped altogether.

“Stop it. Just stop.”

“Why should I stop? I just-”

“Because I’m practising. You know how I am when I’m practising.”

“But...it’s me, in front of you…not a crowd of strangers.”

“Oh, come on Claire, should that really make a difference?”

So many things broke that night. We never cleaned the walls properly; sometimes I wonder whether they’re still stained pink from the angry spaghetti sauce that was left too long before an attempt was made to wipe it. We ignored the congealing mess by locking ourselves away in the bathroom, whimpering apologies under a cleansing stream of water.

He experienced writer’s block for the first time and blamed me once. It took only three days to go back to him and make more mistakes. The nights were full of substances, smoke and strange friends, almost always ending in situations you wouldn’t tell your mother about. The days consisted of casual shifts in jobs that didn’t matter and raw afternoons in the busker’s arms. Wherever and whenever we were, there was always music.

Jefferson Airplane played as he prepared the needle. He glanced up at me and gave me a very rare, direct look as he said, “You’re going to love this.”

I did. I loved the way the heroin picked me up like a baby and carried me away to the sound of White Rabbit. As beautiful as it may have been, it was the aftermath that stuck with me. Experiencing the feeling that precedes a heroin coma was enough to ensure I never did it again. He felt differently.

I witnessed his eyes become downcast from missing the drug and not from playing music. I never pretended to be asleep on Thursdays anymore. Instead, I continued to breathe in his sheets while listening cautiously to his fragile breaths next to mine. One Wednesday afternoon, I walked through his door just in time to turn him on his side to let the vomit spill out onto the floor. I cried as I watched his the skin of his face return to a colour of life. As the blood reddened his cheeks he mumbled parts of words, but I knew what he was trying to say:

“I’m sorry.”

“That was the last time.”

“Never again.”

I hushed him while running my fingers through his hair, telling him everything was going to be okay. Among the soothing words and gestures, however, the fact remained. I turned to face his guitar, gathering dust in the corner. There had been no music for months.

I went an entire month without seeing or contacting him. In that month there had been 42 messages left on my answering machine, varying in context and emotion towards me. I took a full-time job as a distraction. There were five Thursdays in that month. Each of those Thursdays I sat in ANZAC Park and ate my lunch while a stark wind rustled the trees in my forest of thoughts. It was louder than the city’s thoroughfare. I would return to the office and complete every scrap of work I could get my hands on, focusing on nothing else. Slowly, the wind became a soft breeze and I accepted the empty Thursdays.

I was prepared for closure but I hoped for something else. I returned all 42 messages with one phone call.

“Hey, it’s Claire. I’ll come over tonight, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The small talk was awful. It was as if everything we had learned about each other over the course of a year had slipped from our fingers and got carried away in the wind.

“So, I got a proper job. Full-time, in the city. It’s going pretty well.”

“Oh, that’s really good Claire. Really good.”

“What about you? Anything going on?”

“Don’t play nice, Claire. Why now? Do you feel better than me now? Got yourself a full-time city job in some swanky office, so now you want to come by and rub it in my face?”

He lifted his head so I could see his watery, red and yellow eyes, “Where were you?”

It was a weak and trembling busker who uttered those last three words. The breath caught in my throat. He held my gaze and I couldn’t look away. Reflected in those eyes, I saw the yellow lullabies, the whiskey stained ballads and the heroin induced coda. It was all there, staring back at me through beautiful, bloodshot eyes. I wanted to love that man with the weak, bloodshot eyes, but it was the busker I had loved.

He returned his gaze to the floor and I breathed again. There was nothing left to say. The silence clung to the air like dust particles. For one more lingering moment, I wanted to believe that I could fall in love with the man. He opened a drawer - one that I knew housed his guitar picks. He pulled out a syringe kit and I sat, silent and unfeeling, as the man laid the busker to sleep in his heart.

I looked at the guitar, still standing in the corner of the bedroom, dustier than ever. Before I left, I picked it up and felt the beautiful weight of the wood and strings in my arms. I let my fingers fall across the strings, letting out an ugly, mournful strum. The man let out a sound that resembled a chuckle. I turned to see his eyes, staring up at me, watching me with the busker’s guitar.

A mixture of sadness and rage overcame me while staring back at him. I thought nothing and felt everything as I slammed the guitar into the floor. I have never forgotten the sound of the splintering, hollow wood and snapping strings that reverberated through the room, disrupting the dust and leaving a toxic silence in its wake.

I let the broken pieces fall to my feet as his eyes fluttered shut. He was away.

I’ll never know what happened when he woke up. He’ll never know how I cried myself to sleep that night, praying to a god I didn’t believe in to fix him.

My heels met the concrete once again. He wasn’t playing for me anymore, but he was playing. The tune was bittersweet; the once yellow sunrises had transformed into deep purple sunsets. They were beautiful all the same. His downcast eyes remained, which allowed me to bask in the anonymity of a crowd of friendly strangers. I was no different, after all.

After purchasing my coffee I passed the Square again on my way back, eyeing the busker as he packed away his guitar. I caught a glimpse of familiar splinters and strings, mended, as the sun reappeared from behind the clouds. My little forest of thoughts, now charred and blackened from the fire, nurtured a single green sprout as I made my way back to the office.

#writing #short story #story #writer #writers on tumblr #music #sad story #love story

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works-of-evection-blog · 7 years

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all is not gold, 2016. By Jessica Andersdotter. Click here for more of my art.

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works-of-evection-blog · 8 years

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works-of-evection-blog · 8 years

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works-of-evection-blog · 8 years

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What I learned in the afterlife.

Almost 24 hours have passed since I was pulled from the horrific wreckage that almost took my life. As I sit in this hospital bed, memories pass through me in patches. The sound of heavy metal crunching in an instant, the smell of burnt rubber, the sight…

They gave me an iPad to keep myself entertained. I haven’t slept yet. They’re calling it shock, minor PTSD. They don’t know the half of it. They have no idea what I saw in there. All you need to know about me is this:

1. I am a 26 year old law enforcement officer, working my ass off to become a detective. So that means no drugs. Apart from a beer every once in a while, I have been clean of any type of substance since I was born.

2. I’ve taken every defensive driving course I can, and am a very cautious driver.

3. I am agnostic. Say what you will about people “who are too careless to believe in something”. I can entertain the idea of a higher entity, but that’s all it is to me until I see definitive proof. I feel the same about ghosts and aliens.

These three aspects of my life are quite insignificant to you, but they’re significant to my story. 24 hours ago, these facts were barely significant to me. Now, here I am; sitting in hospital after driving straight into a 5 car pileup on the highway, possibly seeing the afterlife and typing it all up for a community of online strangers.

I’ll get to the point of all this now. Didn’t mean to drawl on about myself or the accident. I guess I just wanted to set the scene for you.

So there I was, driving down the highway, listening to some classic Metallica, when, from a mile away, I notice this accident as it happens. It’s horrific, two cars hit each other trying to go into the same lane, but it seemed neither checked their mirrors and awkwardly sandwiched a car that was already in that lane.

My first response, like many others around me, I assume, was “Oh fuck!” followed by some swerving action – only the swerve never happened. I drove, calm as anything, directly into the three cars. Yes, you read that right. I, a cop with advanced driving skills and hazard perception, made a beeline for the accident, going straight up the back of the poor car in the middle. I remember the feeling of collision and instantly understanding why they call it “whiplash”. Within half a second, I watched my bonnet crumple and shatter my windscreen. Then the car behind me destroyed the back of my car. The second assault left me dazed – being thrown around and crushed in my own metal box of safety was very…unhuman. Like nothing I’d ever experienced. Time really did slow down in those moments, and I was alert, taking in the tiniest of details until the end.

Then the end came.

My head landed hard on my steering wheel and all became silent. Everything was so loud in an instant and then…so silent. I never expected chaos to create such immense contrast. It was scary; obviously, the adrenaline flooded me. The adrenaline got me through the whole crash, but once my head hit the wheel, that was it. Nothing. Blackness. Silence. This is where things get harder to describe, but I’ll do my best.

First of all, there was nothing. Not even me. I was not aware of me, I was nothing and I was aware of nothing. But, something of me – an essence, maybe – must’ve been hanging around. I remember thinking, You can’t go through that much trauma in your final moments and then simply disappear. That just happened, fresh in your mind. I guess it was consciousness. And that single weak thought strengthened me back into my own conscious mind.

I was shaken, remembering everything, but there was no physical attachment to how I was thinking. There were literally only my thoughts. So, this is death? The consciousness really does live on?

“We’re getting instability in Section 8.”

What was that? A male voice, barely louder than a whisper came out of nowhere. I thought harder and harder, trying to piece my final moments together. Why had I simply driven directly into a car crash? Into my death? Much like how losing one sense makes the others stronger, losing all of them seemed to put my mind into overdrive. I realised a lot of things in a short amount of time.

You’re not even connected to a body right now. You are not Marshall Grund. You, in fact, never were Marshall Grund. Marshall Grund was a vessel, just like everyone else.

“Sir, we’re gonna need your help back here!”

There it was again! I dropped the epiphanies and focused on the voice, trying, in a sense, to sniff it out, to follow it.

“Oh, shit. Sir! It’s dangerously close to breaking through! Help me!” “Calm down, Briggs. Not in 2 million years have we had a breakthrough. It’s not about to happen now.”

*What did this all mean?*

“But…Sir..”

Suddenly, things started taking form. No longer was there only blackness, now, the blackness had shape, depth. As the shape started giving way to colour, background noises started becoming apparent. It sounded like a really busy call centre, the humming of busy people and fast typing. The droning of hundreds of computers and the small blips from unknown devices – it was becoming clearer and clearer.

I don’t know how, but I knew I had to angle myself upwards. As I did, it was as if there was a surface above me, and I was way below in the depths. I began swimming, getting closer to the light and the rippling surface.

“Sir are you seeing this?” “Briggs what have I told…shit. Melanie, call a Code Blue. We have a breach in Section 8.”

I swam and I swam. They were panicking over me. The closer I got, the more frantic the sounds of the office got. Still, my mind raced. *We were not meant to be people, we are not people…*

The light was close now. The water greeted me like an old friend. I was going above it. I was breaking through, I was breaching Section 8.

“FUCK!”

I had done it. Now, I could see the office I was hearing this whole time. It was more like a lab. There were at least fifty people around me, standing in stunned silence. Then it hit me. These people. These people were people. I was not. Everyone I knew, was not a person. I was a prisoner, living the life of these people. They feared us and used their technology to keep us under control. I had every right to be furious, but I was not human, and I did not process things the same way. All I was before this was Marshall Grund, the 26 year old cop. I had spent 26 human years believing I was one of them. I knew nothing of who I actually was, or what I was capable of. Before I had a chance to figure it out, I felt hands clamp around me. I was pushed back into the water, which felt heavier than before. Down I went, watching as the darkness engulfed me, and I returned to nothingness, to prison…

“Sir, can you hear me? Can you hear my voice? You’re going to be okay, we’ve got you.” I opened my eyes and everything returned to me. Smell, sound, sight, touch, weight. Everything. I was lying in a stretcher, and was being loaded into the ambulance. I heard a paramedic tell an officer that I was the only survivor before I drifted back to sleep.

Once I woke up properly I started rambling straight off the bat, to anyone who was around. They quickly passed it off as shock, DMT, etc. I’ve been pretty silent since. And hey, maybe they’re right. Maybe it all was a trip. Maybe I dreamed it all up. Or maybe, death is our only chance at figuring out who we really are.

#creepy stories #horror stories #black mirror #sixpenceee #unsettling stories #short story #short stories #short horror stories #writing #horror

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works-of-evection-blog · 8 years

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I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Final Part.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Needless to say, something took over me from that moment. I no longer felt scared or vulnerable. It was as if a slow-burning adrenalin had finally filled my entire body and all of my systems were ‘go’. I went back to my laptop, staring defiantly at the black box.

“Alright, you fuckers. What is it this time?” I clicked the box and a webpage opened up. It was loading a video.

“Cherie what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m fed up of waiting for answers! Dean, this game ends today. Those assholes are going to get what’s coming to them and I’m going to be a part of it.”

I stared directly into my webcam as I finished that sentence. No fear, no sense. I wasn’t sure what the look Dean gave me translated to, but he didn’t try to stop me.

The video started playing. It looked like surveillance footage from some sort of warehouse. Apart from a few shelves, there was nothing else in the shot. Don’t ask me how, but my gut, my gut that I should’ve listened to from the start, told me that this was where they held those hostages.

“This is the key, Dean. I just know it. We have to figure out where this is-“

Suddenly a person wearing a balaclava walked into view and stared up at the camera. As we watched, he slowly drew a phone out of his pocket and brought it up to his neck, where he made a slicing motion, as if it were a knife.

“Hey, turn up the sound.”

On Dean’s order, I turned the sound up as far as it would go. Faintly, we heard what sounded like a vehicle approaching. The hooded man walked out of view. Norman’s phone buzzed. Dean picked it up, “It says ‘keep watching’.”

Turning our heads back to the screen, we saw the warehouse door moving. Someone was outside, trying to get in. After some heavy banging, the door didn’t budge. After a little more time and some quieter sounds, the door cracked open. Greg and his team emerged from the sunlight outside. I picked up my phone and dialled him. I watched as he answered.

“Cherie I’m kinda busy at the moment,”

“I know, we can see you guys on a surveillance camera to your left. They sent me a link on my laptop. Someone’s in there, we saw them.”

I watched as he hung up and took out his gun. He nodded to the surveillance camera in recognition. I didn’t even realise how tightly I was clenching my jaw. All we could do was watch, we had no idea where this warehouse was or what would happen next.

Suddenly, Greg seemed to stiffen up. He dropped his gun and the other four cops lowered theirs slowly. We watched as a woman stumbled into view and dropped to her knees. Greg was visibly shaking as he uttered the name, “L..Lauren.”

His wife. Those bastards had his wife. The hooded man came back, standing behind Lauren, pointing a gun to the back of her head. I let out a gasp. I couldn’t believe this situation. What’s more, I wanted to be there, I wanted to intervene. This had to stop. No more killing.

“We need to get there, Dean. We need to go. How the fuck do we figure out where it is?”

Dean suddenly leaned in close to the screen, staring into my webcam.

“They’ll tell us.”

That was all it took to get a text sent to both of our cheap phones.

Wait outside.

I didn’t care where this led, I was going. I went to my kitchen and grabbed a knife – the only weapon I had in my house.

“Geez, Cherie, you sure about this?”

“One hundred percent.”

I grabbed my jacket and walked outside, not waiting for Dean to follow. Minutes later, he joined me. After a few minutes, a car turned up with two people inside.

“That’s them. The twins I met – Bella and Johan.” We got in the back seats, the twins stared straight ahead, robot-like. They took off calmly, as if everything was normal.

“So who are you guys, really?” Dean asked impatiently.

They didn’t reply straight away, but the man looked like he was pondering an answer. I had to cut in. “Don’t think about it, just fucking answer the question.”

“Wow Dean, your little girlfriend here is rather rude. How on earth did she pass the interview?” I watched Dean clutch something under his jacket. His face was turning red with anger.

“Give us some answers, now.”

The man let out an exaggerated sigh, then spoke, “Look, guys. All we know is, these people are giving us a loooaaad of cash to do this shit. We’re not a part of whatever the hell they are, we’re just professionals.”

“Professional what, exactly?”

It was the girl who spoke this time, “Oh, you know, professional…errand runners, I guess.”

“Like hitmen or something?”

“Mmph, nothing that morbid on our portfolio yet, but I mean, we just do illegal shit for companies and very rich people who can pay the right price.”

“So how’d you get involved with this?”

“Reddit.” They both answered in unison.

I was taken aback by their nonchalant nature to this conversation.

“You’ve been working for them all this time?”

“Yeah, they get us to do a bunch of seemingly harmless stuff. Interview people, courier people, that’s really it. Apart from that, we don’t know much else. That’s another thing about us, we don’t ask questions.”

“Huh. So where are you taking us now?”

“Same place they get us to take everyone else.”

“Big warehouse out of town, I’m guessing?”

The guy seemed to mock surprise, “Wow, Florence, we have a detective in the car!”

These people were Grade A sociopaths if I ever did see them. Dean scrunched his face up in disgust.

“You’re hurting innocent people!”

“Darling, we’re following orders. By the looks of it, so are you.”

That was a stab to the gut. She was right. We were no better than them. The rest of the drive was silent, until we reached our final destination.

“Off you go.”

As soon as we closed the doors, they sped off, down the dirt track we’d taken to get here. We stared at the typical, out-of-town abandoned warehouse looming over us. The police car was still parked out front.

“This is it. This is where we end it.”

I looked at Dean, and he looked back and nodded. We approached the warehouse door that was still ajar from where Greg had entered. Without missing a beat, we walked in, not knowing what to expect. The scene became familiar, and I glanced up to find the surveillance camera that we must’ve been looking through. It was too quiet.

“There,” Dean pointed, “that back room. C’mon.”

As we approached the door, it opened and the balaclava man presented himself with a low bow, inviting us in. We slowly walked into the room to find each of the four cops standing in the corners of the small room, their backs turned. Greg and Lauren stood, clutching each other in the middle of the room. The balaclava man produced a knife, and teased Lauren's jawline with it. She whimpered and pleaded, her husband's attempts at comfort worthless. He turned his head to us.

"You know what's been the most fun part of this whole...adventure?"

We said nothing.

"Getting away with it."

"Enough of this, who are you?"

He let out a guttural laugh and removed his mask.

"I...I don't believe it." whispered Greg. Lauren fell to the ground. Dean took a step back. Greg stumbled over his words, "I...saw you die, Norman."

"No dad, you watched someone else die. Just another poor soul, following orders like the rest of you idiots. Do you know how much it scares me? Being able to manipulate all these people, dad? You should know how that feels. You do it every day, after all. And mum, you're not much different. You think you're independent but I've seen the texts, the emails. You both make me sick. You all make me sick."

Norman's parents hung on their son's every word, each syllable seemed to hit them like a bullet. Lauren looked like she couldn't take much more. Greg was silent, statuesque. Why was nobody doing anything? There were literally four armed police officers in every corner of the room, standing with their backs turned. I had to say something.

"Hey! What are you all doing?! Fucking shoot him!"

"They won't listen to you, Cherie. They, just like everyone else in this room, are under my control."

"And what exactly is controlling them?"

"Money. What else fuels motivation more than paper?"

I was disgusted. This absolute psycho was toying with us from day one. And he had started with his own father.

"Norman," Greg spoke, "tell me who you killed in that video, son."

"Don't 'son' me! You're not talking your way out of this one!"

Nobody was acting, we all stood in stunned silence, listening to him talk.

"It doesn't matter who that kid was, he was nobody. The only purpose he served was mine. Now he's dead and no one will care. Can't you see the correlation here? Look at you all. Pathetic. Alone. Nothing going for you. You should be thanking me, I've given you purpose. And now we're all here."

"WHY?! Why the fuck are we all here?" Dean portrayed the resentment I felt.

"Well, now that you're here. I can get to that. Dean, you follow instructions blindly. Selling your soul on Instagram to desperately hit 1000 likes a post. Because that's all you have. That's all you live for, gets you through the day. And that promise of influencer status really got to you, didn't it? Thanks for leading me to Cherie, by the way."

"What?" I stared at Dean. His eyes twitched.

"Don't act so surprised," Norman turned to me, "he knows exactly what I'm talking about. Four weeks ago, when my people met him, they asked him a fairly mundane question. 'So Dean, answer honestly: name someone you see every day, that you wouldn't look at twice. Someone who doesn't make a difference in your life.' He perfectly described you, and it took about a day of investigating to find you, Cherie. The 'random girl who buys a coffee from my shop every now and then, basically insignificant.’”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was fucked beyond words.

“Bust most of all, thank YOU, dad. You were the one that started this all. Telling me about this opportunity to join something cool. Cause at the end of the day, that’s your biggest fear, your only son, becoming a loser.”

Greg was crying alongside his wife at this point, “Norman, no. Norman, please!”

”It’s too late for that! SHUT UP!”

My thoughts of Dean calling me an insignificant girl, before he even knew me, that…triggered something. A kind of resentment for people that was always there, I guess, bubbling away deep inside. But that moment, the moment confirmed my deepest, darkest fear. That people I didn’t even know really did judge me, they really did.

“Norman honey,” Lauren’s voice was so broken, it barely broke through the air, “what about your friends? They’re all going to find out about this…”

“You just don’t get it, mum, do you? I could not care LESS about my ‘friends’. They’re not friends anymore. They’re all fucking drones. Sure, ‘come over Norman, let’s hang out Norman, it’s been ages’, only to come over and watch them bury their faces into their phones. OBSESSED with whatever is on that fucking screen! Barely saying a word to me. Yes, I really wanted to come around to watch you communicate with others!”

It started to make sense. The manipulation through mobiles, why he saw taking over the app as a good opportunity. I was twitching all over. Still, nobody moved.

“Phones. And money. People will do whatever they say. And since I do not wish to become one of you, I will simply go above you. All of you.”

It was enough. A blatant psychopath stood in front of me. He’d killed at least one person, admitted it in front of 5 police officers, and they all stood, backs turned, because they were getting paid. Dean was the reason I was here, because I was ‘insignificant’. His parents could do nothing but tremble and shake at his every word. I felt angry at everyone in the room. I wanted them all to take action, to do something. Couldn’t they see what would happen if they just let this guy live?

“I know what you’re thinking, Cherie. Pathetic, isn’t it? All these people, not doing a thing. Weak. But you see, you, too, are simply standing on your two weak legs, nothing better to do. And that’s the way it’s always been, hasn’t it? Letting everyone trample over you, keeping inside your passive, little shell. You say it’s fine but things bother you,” he started walking towards me very slowly, taunting, “they always bother you. And then you go home, cry it off into your diary and simply get up hoping tomorrow will be different. Newsflash, Cherie, tomorrow? It never changes for people like you.”

People like me? He knew fucking nothing. It took me exactly 1.2 seconds to take my knife out of my jacket pocket and dig it deep into his throat. As his blood spurted onto my face, I watched his smirk transform into a reddened smile.

It took me exactly 30 seconds to kill everyone in that room. Once Norman fell to the floor and started convulsing, I interrupted Dean’s “What the-“ with a brutal slash to the throat. I then stabbed him twice for good measure. 15 seconds, I moved on to Norman’s shocked parents. First Lauren, she had nothing left in her. At this point, neither did Greg. They both went down without a fight. 24 seconds and I took Greg’s gun from his holster, cocked it and 4 bangs later, those cops made the first motion they’d made since I walked into that room. Straight to the ground. I had never held a gun in my life.

I barely heard the sounds of the struggle, my mouth and brain screamed the whole time in unison.

I stood there, breathing heavily, staring around the room, which I had painted red. The way all of those years of built up emotion came out…there was only one word for it. Orgasm. The blissful release of all pain, all happiness, sadness, anger, hatred, love…and the calm that followed. I was at peace. And for the first time since I became caught up in this mess, possibly the first time in years, I felt true liberation. I stayed in that warehouse overnight, lying among the bodies. Not a single thought of regret or guilt swallowed me. Just calm, clarity, everything was okay.

I went home the next day. Norman’s car was parked around the back. It didn’t take long to locate his keys. Even if I ended up getting caught and sent to prison for my crimes, I didn’t mind. I found something I didn’t know I was searching for. I found what everyone secretly searches for. My purpose.

I got home and enjoyed a cold shower, followed by the deepest sleep I had ever experienced. It was over. I was free. I was unsure where I would go from here, I didn’t feel a need for anything more. I simply existed contentedly now, knowing I had full control over my life. I opened my emails with full intention to resign from my job, checking my new messages – just a bank statement and junk mail.

I opened up the statement. What I saw made me frown. Immediately, I felt those human emotions of dread and suspicion crash into me once again. The final deposit into my account was made last night at exactly midnight.

$1,000 from an unknown account.

I wasn’t in control after all.

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I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Part 4.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dean and I walked to Pinzo’s Bakery. He knew where it was and it wasn’t far from the police station. I was a quivering nervous wreck, protected by a thin shell that was bound to break from the slightest bit of pressure. Dean said nothing. We had no idea when we were meant to be meeting this ‘cop’, only that it was to be at this bakery for some reason. I didn’t care. We would wait, and we would get to the bottom of this.

By this time, the bakery was closing. We sat at the bus stop that was directly out front. I felt more vulnerable and unsafe than I had ever felt in my life. Then, Dean, a guy I had known less than 48 hours, gave me a brief, tight squeeze on my arm. It was a reminder. He was here, and he was just as vulnerable. There were people everywhere. Heading home from work, going shopping, heading out for drinks or dinner…it gave me little consolation. Who, out of the masses, were lurking…waiting for us…waiting for instructions…

We spotted him. The ‘cop’ was walking towards us, but he was looking elsewhere. He entered the bakery and seemed to be talking to the people who were cleaning up. The looked unthreatened. So, cop guy was looking like another pawn. Maybe. After 5 minutes one of the ladies came out and handed us some leftover cinnamon scrolls. “Here, on the house courtesy of Mr. Lawler. He’s out back now, c’mon, I’ll show you.” Dean and I looked at each other, a resolute feeling passing between us. We got up and followed.

Mr. Lawler sat in a back alley on a milk crate, still wearing his police uniform. He made a phone with his hand and pointed back inside. We dumped our phones and came back out. “Can’t be too careful. They could still hear us. Look, I know you guys must have a lot of questions, but first I want to apologise. I thought it was you two who killed my son.” “What?” “My son, Norman. You see, I have been a product tester for this app for a month now, and I was the one that got Norman to do it too.” “Fucking monster…” “When I started, the app was fine. You’d get picked up by someone, drive together, see a cool place and go home. End of story. I’d done two mystery drives and both were fine. So, I got Norman on board too.” He paused for a really long time. I sat there, staring at him, trying to take it all in. This guy just lost his son over this shit. Possibly. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lawler. That’s awful. This is going to sound insincere, but-“ “I have proof. Well, as much proof as I can give right now..” he showed us a photo of himself, his wife and Norman in his wallet. This was either super thought out or he was legit. “Okay, what can you tell us, Mr. Lawler?” “Ahem, well, like I said, the app seemed fine to begin with. Then, the same night you met Norman, I was using the app too. I started getting really specific, strange requests, so I shut off the app and went home. I had a bad feeling and I couldn’t shake it. So I called the developers to double check that everything was working fine. All numbers I tried were disconnected. At around 5am that morning, I woke up to a notification. The app…had sent me a video. A video…of someone, mutilating my son. I heard his screams as they cut out his eyeballs and held them up to the camera. I heard his screams become gurgles as his stomach was cut open. I’ve been on the force for 25 years, and not once….not once has something drained the blood from my body like that.” “They sent me that weird black suit, and made me steal your car. They convinced me it was you two who had plotted the murder. I’m sorry for how I acted. Something else took over me and I…reacted without thinking.” “Was that why you stopped in the middle of the road?” “No. I stopped because I felt my phone vibrate. I froze out of…pure fear.”

I knew that feeling. “What…did you check the message?” “Yes.” Dean gulped, we were hanging on to this guy’s every word. True or not, we were captivated. “What…what did it say?” “It simply said ‘Life as usual’. I just about caused a scene in that street. But, I didn’t want to feed into their sick, twisted game, getting off on my pain. It was at that point, where I turned off my phone and returned to work. I wasn’t really expecting you two to turn up, but I hoped. And I’m glad you did.” “Mr. Lawler,” “Please, Greg.” “Hmm, Greg, why this bakery? Those people might say something.” “They won’t. We use this spot sometimes as a meeting point for…delicate negotiations. There’s random places all over town. They’re notified beforehand and paid for their cooperation.” “Ah. Greg, do you know anything else?” “Yes. I did some research after signing up for this - I ran background checks on all the people I spoke to in this start up before commencing the test. They all checked out. I believe the people you all met were imposters. I believe the start up was legit, but unprepared, technologically. I don’t know what’s happened to the legit people but it seems that they have nothing to do with their app anymore. It seems that a wave of really good hackers took over, resulting in this…sinister mess. I’ve got everyone I can working on this back at the station.”

Greg Lawler’s words made a miniscule part of my tension go away. The police were on it, and one of them had been dragged in first-hand. “Does this mean we won’t go to jail?” I asked. “Not if I can help it. But first, we need to figure everything out.” “We’ll help, we’ll do anything we can. This won’t be over until we finish it.” Dean’s voice rose slightly as he spoke. Greg looked at him seriously. Dean continued, “We’ll get the bastards who killed your son, Sir.” I saw Greg’s serious look falter; he didn’t smile, he simply…softened. “I appreciate that, but please, leave cop stuff to the cops. I’ll keep you informed of anything we find. For now, I think it’s best if you come back to the station and stay there.”

I had no argument. The thick walls of the police station, surrounded by people who were doing everything they could to help – there was no place I’d rather be. Within 15 minutes, we were sitting in chairs back at the station. It was only then that I realised I hadn’t eaten for more than a day. I stared at the bag of cinnamon rolls I was still clutching in my hand, and opened it hungrily. I handed one to Dean and we tucked in; they were gone within seconds. Greg made us both a cup of tea, telling us it was probably a good idea to try and rest. I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but after a feeling of safety flowed over us, and the cinnamon rolls settled, we both dozed off, free from the paranoia of phone vibrations or sounds.

I was shaken awake by Greg. “Hey, Cherie, Dean, we’ve got something.” Blearily everything came back to me. Where we were, how we’d gotten there, this guy who’d lost his son… “Wh..what? What have you found?” “The original developers. They’re being questioned right now. It seems that they were kidnapped from the office 2 and a half weeks ago, and held hostage somewhere.” “And they’re here now?” Dean asked. “Yeah, from what I’ve heard, these guys blindfolded them and dropped them on the edge of town about 24 hours ago. They’ve been locked up somewhere for the past 2 weeks.” “Shit.” “They’re doing everything they can to get information, but it could take a while. They’re pretty shaken up by it all. When they learned exactly what’s been happening with their test app, they just about shat their pants.”

It occurred to me that we hadn’t discussed the different Bella’s and Johan’s with Greg yet. “Greg, can we see what they look like?” “Sure, through here.” He guided us to the front door of the room they were occupying and allowed us to briefly glance in through the window. In the room, two police officers calmly talked to the five shaken people, who looked dishevelled and exhausted. None of them looked like the people I had met. “Greg - Norman, Dean and I all met completely different people. We can give you descriptions.”

Suddenly, Greg whipped out a notepad and pen. “Of course, shoot.” We continued to describe the couple we had met separately, including Norman’s description. “This is something. Thanks guys. Those two in the corner, they were the people I met with when I signed up. Their names are indeed Bella Fiverson and Johan Weekes. Where’d you meet up with these people? I’ll see if the coffee shops have surveillance footage.

After that, things started falling slowly into place. The police managed to get the surveillance footage from the days we met with the “developers” and began ID’ing straight away. Dean and I bought cheap phones and never left each other’s side. Greg had told both our workplaces that we were needed for an investigation and cold not work. He kept us updated on anything new and we had constant police supervision near our homes. The days of radio silence were unnerving. To go from being tasked to do horrible, weird things to absolutely nothing seemed to create more tension, rather than destroy it. They were out there, waiting.

When I opened my laptop, 3 days after leaving the police station, I realised it had been hacked. A black box stared at me from the middle of the screen, urging me to click it. “Dean…get Greg.” “What is it?” “My laptop.” Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing resounded through my apartment. We froze. It was coming from my spare bedroom. Dean walked in and returned, pale faced, holding a cracked iPhone that still had some blood on it – Norman’s phone. They had planted it in my house. The phone continued to ring in Dean’s hand. “Answer it Dean,” I reached for my own phone, “keep them on the line.” Dean suddenly knew what I was doing. I texted Greg to track his son’s phone, now. Within 10 seconds, he replied with “on it”.

Dean answered the call and put it on loudspeaker. Neither of us spoke. I could hear this rasping, rattled breathing coming from the other end. It was Dean who spoke first. “Enough of the games. Tell us what this is.” “This,” the voice was so loud and abrupt, that we both recoiled, “is more than you think. You’ve been running and hiding. They want you to fight!” The wheezes became strained as the person spoke. “You say ‘they want us to fight’? Who the hell are you, then?” “I…don’t have much time. They’ll find me…I tried to stop them, I wanted out, I swear! They’re going to send you commands through Norman’s phone soon. That’s why they planted it. They got me to do that.” His voice was cracking and shaking. “Wait, where are you now?” “Hiding. I…can’t fight. I know, what we were doing is wrong. Please…stop them.” Just like that, the phone call ended. Dean and I merely exchanged horrified glances. I immediately called Greg. “Greg? Hey, did you get that? Somebody planted Norman’s phone in my house and just called us from it!” “We picked up on the end of it – we also got a location. I’m sending backup to your place now. Stay put, I’m going to the location. It’s just out of town. Stay. Put.” I hung up and told Dean what was happening. He was still staring at Norman’s phone. “Cherie, I can’t stop seeing Norman in that trunk.” “I know,” I trembled with anxiety, “we need to bring that guy justice. We need justice for Greg and his wife.” Suddenly Dean looked up, “Cherie, do we know if Greg’s wife is okay? Like, Greg’s on this case and what’s she doing? Grieving alone?” “She probably has family around. Why? What are you implying?” “Maybe…it’s just weird that all we know of her is that photo Greg showed us.” I really couldn’t deal with another plot twist like this. “Dean. Please don’t go jumping to conclusions. A cop is coming over now, we can ask them about Greg’s wife.”

To my relief, we learned that Greg’s wife was, indeed, away with family. Apparently, their marriage had been quite rocky beforehand. Norman’s death had pretty much blown it apart. I suddenly had a burning hatred for the people doing this. Destroying innocent families and ruining innocent lives. Why him, why us? I wanted to see these fuckers burnt alive. I wanted to do exactly what Greg had told us not to do. I wanted to end this, and I couldn’t do that from the comfort of my apartment.

Read the Final Part

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I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Part 3.

Part 1 | Part 2

After that moment with Norman’s phone, Dean and I went on autopilot for a while. We cleaned his garage together until it was spotless, then cleaned and polished the car. He had a shower and got changed, dropping his clothes in boiling water before we left and drove to my place. I showered and did the same thing with my dirty clothing.

“Now what?” “Well, we uh…actually going to do this? Dump a body?” “Guess so.”

The frantic Dean that had turned up at my doorstep 2 hours ago had subsided and what remained was a hollowed-out man, devoid of…something. “It’s fucked, but I almost feel…” “Guilty?” I looked at Dean as I said that word. He looked back before looking down. This was the worst.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I shot up and grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling down words rapidly. I turned to Dean and handed him the paper. Keep our phones in our pockets. Don’t speak, just write. I placed the pen on the coffee table and sat down next to him on my couch. He regarded it for a second, then reached for the pen.

Reckon we could fake our own deaths? Act out us weighing up our options, panicking and eventually offing ourselves? If they can only go off what they hear/see, and our phones are in our pockets the entire time…

I took the pen from Dean and began writing underneath his words. Good idea. But then what do you think would happen? Dean thought for a moment, then wrote, Either they come, or the cops. He looked at me and shrugged, then wrote again, We’d better start talking, they’ll get suspicious. I nodded and let out a deep breath.

“So, what do we do?” “How many fucking times are you gonna ask me that?” “Look, the sooner we can decide on something, the sooner we can be done with this whole thing.” “I have a dead body in my car! Fuck – what if these twisted fucks have put in an anonymous tip to the cops? They could be coming up to investigate right now. Oh fuck…oh fuck…” “Alright Dean calm down, nothing has happened yet,” I began writing as I talked, “the cops aren’t here, and I have an idea.” “Oh yeah? Wha-“ I held up the paper. They’ve told us not to delete the app or call the cops. They haven’t said shit about turning off our phones.

Within seconds, we both shoved our hands into our pockets and fumbled for the lock button, holding it down until we felt the little buzz. We checked our phones to make sure they’d turned off, and that was that. We were both cut off. Funnily enough, it didn’t feel very liberating at all.

“Think we’re gonna piss them off?” Dean asked. “…probably.” “Well, whatever happens from this point, can we agree to deal with it together. I won’t ditch you if you ditch me. Deal? Cherie, at this point, you’re all I’ve got in this fucked up game.” Dean’s eyes twitched as he spoke. He seemed to baring all to me through that single look. “Deal.”

Things were tense and silent for a while. We sat for what seemed like ages, waiting for someone to beat down my door and do God knows what to us. I sat there, thinking of Norman. Then, something occurred to me. “I wonder…” Dean looked up, “Huh?” “I wonder why they…killed Norman. And why take his eyes? And just break all his fingers? Surely that wasn’t what killed him. He would’ve lost a lot of blood through that cut in his stomach. Enough to kill him? Maybe. But there certainly wasn’t much blood in your trunk before we…did what we had to…” I shook off the memory, “He bled out somewhere and was placed in your car.” “Well, yeah. Proves that these app guys are sick fucks. Or…are you thinking something else?” “There are so many possibilities, I don’t know where to start.” “You really want to play detective? It’ll land us in more shit!” “I know, I know. Should we call the police?” “We should definitely call the police.”

We left my apartment and headed to Dean’s car, which we soon realised, was nowhere to be found. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” “Holy shit, Dean…look.” I pointed down towards the end of the street. Dean’s car had just turned into it – someone was driving it and heading slowly towards us. We stood there, not knowing what was about to happen. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, sounds reaching my ears at different points. The revving of the engine, the tyres squealing against the road, Dean’s voice, yelling “Run!”. I seemed to be out of my body, watching from afar, as if I were a nosy neighbour. Dean seized my hand and jolted me from my reverie. Immediately, my legs pumped against the concrete as the driver made a beeline for us. I didn’t turn back to look, I simply ran with Dean until we turned behind a building and hid.

The car skidded to a stop. We heard the door open and close as someone stepped out. Footsteps, getting closer and closer…I gave Dean a quick look of desperation. He motioned to sneak around the building, so we began walking quickly around the next corner. “He’ll be coming around, head to the car, I’ll see if he left the keys in there.” Sure enough, when we got to the car - keys still in ignition, engine purring - we dove in and sped off. Our chaser appeared in the rear view, running down the street after us. He was covered from the neck down in black, gloves and all. The only thing uncovered was his bald head. “Dean, he’s chasing us!” “I can see that! He’s one of them.” “No no Dean! He must be unarmed, surely he would’ve shot at us by now or something?” “You REALLY wanna take that chance?” “We can injure him, check him. So far he’s our best bet at getting information.” Dean braked hard. We had about 10 seconds before our chaser would catch up to the car. We locked the doors and wound up the window, watching him get closer.

He ran up to Dean’s side window and simply stopped. He didn’t look in, he didn’t speak, he didn’t try breaking in. He simply stood there, frozen, staring straight ahead. Dean tapped on the window. “Hey! Tell us what’s going on!” No response. “I’m talking to you!” The man in black simply continued to stare straight ahead. “Okay, we’re leaving.” Dean put the car into gear and started driving ahead. My head was stuck on the strange man as we passed him by. He was still stationary. Before we turned the corner, I could’ve sworn I saw his face contort, as if he had begun crying.

Dean and I decided to drive straight to the police station. There were no other nasty surprises on the way. We didn’t speak a word, and our phones remained in our pockets, turned off. When we reached the station, we immediately parked and walked up to the doors, feeling a sense of shared dread as we entered. There was one person at the admin desk, head bent down, scribbling notes. We approached him slowly and I looked at Dean in a way that said, “You speak.” He managed a weak, “Huh-hem.” The officer stopped scribbling and looked up. Underneath the hat, the bald man from earlier looked back at us coolly. There was no mistake, it was definitely him.

“Can I help you two?” Dean’s mouth opened and closed while he stared at the officer, unknowing of what to do or say. Suddenly, adrenalin took over my body and before I knew it, I was on autopilot. “We want information. Tell us what you know. We know it was you.” The officer simply guffawed, and said, “Yeah, okay, door’s over there kids.” I glanced at the back rooms, looking for others. “Listen man, please, help us. You have no idea…”

It was then that he held up the notes that he had been scribbling. “Look, take a report form, fill it out over there, and we’ll see what we can do.” He explained, as if to a 5 year old. What was this? We took the papers and it was then that we realised that he’d given us a message.

Not here. Meet at Pinzo’s Bakery. Will explain all I know.

For theatrical effect, I yelled, “FUCKING ASSHOLE” on the way out. So, we were going to get answers. Well, we were going to get something, which at this point, was better than anything.

Read Part 4

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I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Part 2.

Part 1

I can’t begin to explain the strangeness that we all felt, sipping coffee together in my little kitchen at almost 3 in the morning. Norman, Dean and myself would have most likely never met in real life if it weren’t for this app and here we all were, sharing coffee, drinking in silence. Nobody dared to speak. I think we all felt like the first person to talk would appear guilty of something. I’ll be honest – I’ve seen enough horror flicks in my time to know not to trust them. I just wished I could.

I was the first to break the silence, as I wanted to develop some trust. What I said was pretty dumb, because it made a divide, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to be honest. “Okay guys, I have to admit something to you. This isn’t about being ‘in’ on anything, I was serious when I said I don’t know anything. Did you guys…seriously only get those gift cards for doing this?”

They both nodded, Dean eyeing me with more and more suspicion.

“Well, my acceptance form told me that I’d be paid $1,000 cash for completing the product test.” “What?!” Dean scoffed, “A grand?! Okay now I’m even MORE convinced-“ “Dean, I’m telling you this because I’m WORRIED. I know all I have is my word but I don’t want to hide anything from you guys. We’re all involved in this and three minds are better than one, okay?”

As soon as I finished talking, their phones went off again. The pit of my stomach lurched as they read the notification. “It’s saying you’re lying again.” Norman looked up at me, looking torn. “Alright, I’ll prove it.” Defiantly I went to grab my laptop, coming back and putting it on the countertop. I opened my emails and showed them my email correspondence with Tom. “See for yourself, these are the only emails I’ve exchanged with them.” Norman turned to me, “Cherie, I really want to believe you, I really do. But this, this doesn’t exactly prove anything, apart from the fact that they offered you money.”

I was getting frustrated, “Okay Norman, but at this point I’m the only one trying to put some of these fucked up pieces together so we can all go home and never see each other again!” “What’s stopping us from going home?” Norman blinked at Dean’s words. He had a perfect point. “Seriously, so far, all this app has done is spook us. The vague directions, that countdown…and there’s obviously spyware installed into the app, considering the messages accusing you of lying.” “Huh, you’re perfectly right. Then that also means that someone is definitely listening to us right now as well.” “Yeah, they’re listening, you assholes,” Dean made sure to get real close to his mic to say that, “Well done guys. Your little experiment or whatever was quite clever. Thanks for the gift card, I’m going home.”

Dean started gathering his jacket, and I kind of felt a little better. He was right, the test had freaked us out, but we had never been in any real danger or felt unsafe at any point. At that moment, Norman’s phone lit up. He quickly read the message and turned to Dean. “Uhh, Dean?” “Mmhm.” “So uh, my car’s still where we left it when you picked us up.” Dean released the biggest ‘tsk’ from his mouth, “I don’t owe you shit bro. Get a fucking Uber, at least that shit’s legit. I’m sick of this. I’m going.” Norman received another notification as Dean headed towards the door. He swiftly read it and jumped up after Dean. “Yeah I get it but like, c’mon man. You agreed to do this thing can you please just drive me back to my car?” I glanced down at Norman’s phone. “Convince Dean to drive you to your car.” “Try harder.”

This was getting ridiculous. “Hey, Norman, forget about Dean. Let’s delete the app and I’ll take you to your car.” Dean walked out and shut the door behind him, leaving me and Norman in my apartment. I watched him glance down at his phone again, and look towards the door, weighing his options. “You’re not inclined to follow instructions from an app. C’mon, the sooner we go, the sooner we can head to our own beds.” Norman seemed to relax a little. He grabbed his phone and I grabbed my car keys. Once we got into the car, I received a new message. “Oh shit, what now?”

“Good luck finding Norman’s car without a route. We hope your memory is good.” BING “And don’t even think about deleting the app.”

These messages weren’t surprising, however I felt inclined to be weary and do as I was told, no matter how stupid that sounded. Different types of fear make you weaker or stronger, I believe. This growing fear induced weakness in me. Norman appeared to be a soft soul in general, and I could feel the fear welling up inside him with each passing minute. “C’mon, let’s try and retrace our steps.”

We drove back through the city, following the same route I remember Norman taking the first time, however the gleeful conversation we shared was missing this time around. “Okay, I’m just barely recognising things out here, is anything ringing any bells for you?” “Umm….ooh, yes, that park, we drove past this. Then I’m pretty sure I turned down here.”

We drove slowly for about 10 minutes, and eventually, we turned down the right street. I could see Norman’s tension subside as his car came into view, untouched. I pulled up next to his car and let him out. “Hey, thank you, Cherie. Tonight’s been…well, strange. Take care of yourself, okay?” I smiled, and told him I would. “Oh and, do you think it would be a good idea to exchange numbers? You know, just in case?” I thought for a moment, and decided it couldn’t hurt. We exchanged digits, and went our separate ways. By the time I got home, I flopped into bed immediately and managed to enjoy a decent sleep that morning, free from any unwanted phone notifications. ______________________________________________________________

It was, in fact, a knock at the door that startled me the next morning. I was still wearing my clothes from the night before, so I simply got up and walked over, looking quite like death. To my surprise, Dean stood on my doorstep. “Huh-“ before I could even string together a reaction I locked on to his bloodshot eyes and very pale face. His eyes were bulging and emitted a kind of shock I’d never seen in real life before. “Dean…?” “I uh..I deleted the app when I got home.” Why did I feel like I was about to hear something very, very bad? “Oh, right, yeah. I didn’t get around to it,” suddenly Dean grabbed my arms tightly, “DON’T DELETE IT.” His eyes. Oh my God his eyes. “Ouch! Okay hang on,” I pulled him inside and shut my front door, “What the fuck’s happened?”

Dean simply stood there, shaking and looking around the room. “Norman.” “What about Norman…Dean?” “Um. Oh God. Cherie we need to go to the police.” “Tell me what happened!” He was intensely shook. He couldn’t string sentences together, he could only stand and wring his hands. “Sit down, have you slept?” He shook his head. I heard my phone ping from the other room. Dean’s eyes shot towards me. He seemed to be pleading to me not to check it, but if he wasn’t going to speak, then I needed to see what this was. I strode across the room and read the notification. “Get Dean to show you.”

I turned and walked out slowly. “Dean…what do they want you to show me?” He was trying to hold himself together, I could see it. Slowly, his breathing calmed a little and he seemed to gain some composure. After one huge exhale, Dean stood up and said, “Come on. I’ll show you.” Through clenched teeth. I wasn’t sure whether to be as scared as he was or not, but I needed to see, I needed to know. Before he reached the front door he turned to me, “Cherie, I don’t trust you, and what you’re about to see is definitely not going to make you trust me. But I need you to help me figure this shit out. I’m really fucking scared.” So was I, Dean, so was I.

He had parked in the visitor’s section of my apartment building. He looked around, checking for passers by. “Hmm, I can’t show you here. It’s way too risky. Look, I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, but my place is only a 5 minute drive away and I’ll feel more secure in my garage.” I wouldn’t argue with his fear, “Okay, lets go.” The drive was horrible. Every second was making my heart pound against my sternum until my chest felt raw. I couldn’t stand not knowing. Why couldn’t he tell me? What was he about to show me that shook him up so bad? We arrived quickly and pulled in to his garage. Once parked, Dean seemed to stop and reflect for a passing moment. “Alright. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry for all this.” “Just get to it.” He got out of the car and I followed suit. Walking to the boot of his car, I felt my whole body tremble. Each step towards the boot was like forcing my feet through mud pits. I was almost certain my legs would give at one point. I got there, and simply said, “Show me.” Dean opened the trunk. What I saw drained everything out of me.

Norman. He lay in Dean’s trunk. His eyes were gone and all of his fingers seemed to be broken. I couldn’t look away. I surveyed the mess as if it were spilled wine. You know how something shocks your system so much, your brain decides that ‘now isn’t the time to take this in’? I think that’s exactly what happened to me. Just as I urged my body to turn away, I heard the unmistakeable vibration of a phone. I looked at Dean, Dean looked at me. We checked our phones and realised it wasn’t coming from us. Dean then turned to Norman, looking pained.

“It must be his phone. It must be in here somewhere. Ugh, fuck. I can’t.” The buzzing continued. It was all I could hear. Filling my brain with fear and threats, life and death. “PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.” “OKAY, okay, okay. Oh God…” Dean slowly leaded in and started checking Norman’s pockets. When the phone wasn’t there, he punched the side of the truck. “FUCK THIS.” “It’s gotta be in here somewhere. It won’t fucking stop.” That was when I noticed a slight, rectangular bulge under his shirt. “His…stomach, Dean! It’s under his shirt!” I gingerly lifted up his shirt.

Well, the phone was there. It wasn’t under his shirt though, it was under his skin. It looked like someone had just cut a pocket into his lower abdomen and slid his phone into it. They’d done a bad job of stitching the cut back up – the blood was still fresh. To think this guy walked out of my apartment that same morning…

“Norman…” I felt sad and guilty. The phone still buzzed. “Dean,” I said in my quietest voice, “please, I can’t do this.” “AND YOU THINK I CAN?” “JUST DO SOMETHING. IT WON’T STOP OTHERWISE.” Dean seemed to do that thing again where he exhaled and composed himself – I wished I could do the same. “I’ll be back.” He returned with tongs and scissors. “Okay, you can either cut the stiches, or pull the phone out.” “Stitches, please, Jesus.” I made quick work of them, after about 3 minutes of trying to control my shaking hands. It was Dean who suffered the worst. After inserting the tongs and grabbing hold of the phone, a fresh gush of blood spilled out of Norman’s body as he pulled it out. His trunk was ruined, soaked in Norman’s blood. I grabbed a tea towel and frantically wiped down the phone until the screen became legible. “Don’t delete the app. Don’t call the police. Get rid of the body.”

Dean got up and slammed the trunk shut. There was blood on our hands. Real blood on our hands. Because of this fucking nightmare app. Dean seemed to read my mind. He knelt down by my side, and gave me a serious look. “They’ve made it clear that this isn’t harmless anymore. We’ve already come this far. We’re either going to die or going to jail.”

Read Part 3

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works-of-evection-blog · 8 years

Text

I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber.

Isn’t it funny how getting into cars with strangers is fine now because our phones tell us it’s okay? You and your drunk girlfriends need a lift home at 3am and taxis are far too expensive – don’t worry! Dave will swing by in 5 minutes and pick you up in his own car! I get it, it’s heavily regulated and such, and to be honest, I’ve never heard of anything really dark happening to people who use Uber, myself included. So when I was contacted via LinkedIn to be a product tester for a new type of app, dubbed the “Uber for impulsive decision makers” I thought, “Cool, why not?’

Firstly, I had a meeting with the people who were creating the app. We talked over coffee and they just asked me a few, casual routine questions. It almost felt like a quiz. “How often do you travel?” “Do you plan in advance or do things last minute?” “On a scale of one to ten, how whimsical would you rate yourself?” They were a young man and woman who were very down to earth with that geeky side to them, really nice people. After our coffee chat, we parted ways and they told me they’d call in a few days. Well, a few days went by and I didn’t receive any calls or emails. I figured I wasn’t successful but I always got disgruntled when people didn’t follow up to let me know.

It was during a rather uneventful shift at the office that I received a phone call from a number I didn’t recognise. “Hello Cherie speaking.” “Hi Cherie! My name’s Tom and I work with Bella and Johan, who I believed you met about a week ago regarding the new ride sharing app?” “Oh, hi Tom. Yes, I did meet with them. I never heard anything back though.” “Yes, apologies for not getting back to you sooner. We’ve been really busy with the startup the past week and have only just got around to calling our successful product testers, of which you are one of them! We hope you’re still interested?” “Oh! That’s excellent! Yeah of course I am. What do I need to know?” “Great Cherie, just great. Well, I’ll email you a little more information and an acceptance form that I need you to fill out. Once you get that back to me, we’ll be able to set you up for a product test!” “Okay, sounds great.” “Excellent, bye!”

That was the first time my stomach twinged with apprehension, but of course, I ignored my gut and waited for the acceptance form to come through. I clicked it open and whoa – for a seemingly cool job I’d have done for a free meal, they were offering a decent sum of money. Kinda weird, but eh, maybe those founders were just cashed-up rich kids that wanted to start hype early by offering decent pay packages to their team members. I definitely wasn’t gonna complain. I hastily read the generic terms and conditions, signed and sent it back to Tom. As I clicked send, my gut twinged again. This time, I brushed it off as hunger and went to lunch.

I never received confirmation back from Tom regarding my acceptance form. But the next day I received a link to download the app. I did so, and my phone seemed to work as fine as before, so no nasty surprises there. The app didn’t have a name yet, it had just been named Test App 345 and had a slightly less slick design and layout than Uber. However, there was no Request Ride option. There weren’t any options at all. Just a map screen that had a pin at my current position. I pondered over this for about 5 minutes, waiting to see if anything was still loading, but when nothing happened, I closed the app and got ready for bed.

I awoke at 1am from a notification sound on my phone. Test App 345 shone at me through the darkness. The notification simply read, “You’ve got a ride request”. What? I was 100% sure I signed up to be a rider, not a driver. I opened the app to read a little more text, but I was still in a state of confusion. “A driver nearby has requested to take you somewhere!” Ummm…okay? Was this how the app worked? Oh, wait. The Uber for the impulsive decision-maker, duh! Suddenly it made sense – they were hiring drivers to take people on mystery drives. Cool concept? Of course. Seedy as fuck though? Definitely. I thought about the payoff, and quickly put on a jumper and jeans. This was dumb, but a kind of excitement took over me. I hit accept on the app.

I went outside to see a car pulled up right out front. The street was eerily silent and the night was still. The only thing that interrupted the quiet was the low hum of the engine. I walked up to the window and tried to make out a face. A man put the passenger window down and waved as I approached. “Um, Cherie?” “Y..yeah, that’s me.” “I’m sorry dude, 1am wasn’t my idea, but that’s kinda how the app works apparently. I’m Norman, by the way.” So far, Norman seemed normal enough, so I opened the car door and hopped in. “Well, nice to meet you Norman. So you can see my name on the app, but I can’t see yours?” “Yeah, I’m not sure whether that’s because of the whole surprise factor, or a prejudice thing. I probably know as much as you. Basically, I get a notification that tells me when to get in my car and then I’ll sit and wait until a rider accepts the drive request. Guess you were the only person up.” “Hmm, interesting. How many people are testing it at the moment, do you think?” “No clue, but I’m really fascinated by the concept.” “Yeah, it seems pretty cool. Kinda weird though, no control over when you drive though…” “I like to think that’s part of the beauty. Keeps things interesting, especially for young people who aren’t creative enough to think of things to do or places to go anymore. It’s like an adventure with a stranger.” “Huh, guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

We drove and chatted for a long time. The whole time neither of us checked the time, or found nothing to talk about. We just drove around, talking and admiring the lights of the city while Norman followed the randomised GPS route on his phone. To be honest, it was one of those few movie-perfect moments in my life to date. Test App 345 was a really cool concept.

We started heading south of the city when I first questioned where we were going. “Umm, I’m not too sure, but the GPS says we’re about 10 minutes away from the destination.” “How well do you know this area?” “I have a few friends who live down around here, but I’m not too sure where we’re stopping. Nervous?” “I’m not too sure how I feel right now. Nervous excitement, maybe? I mean, I’m not hacked up in someone’s shed right now so, so far so good.” Norman let out a nervous laugh. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Norman! That probably sounded a little messed up. Geez, it’s kinda easy to forget you’re a total stranger when we’ve been night-driving and talking for the past 30 minutes.” “Heheh, yeah I get you. I’m nervous excited too.”

Eventually we pulled up at the end of a fairly run down cul-de-sac. There were no houses on the end, just a small field leading down towards a creek. We turned to look at each other with apprehension in our eyes. It gave me comfort knowing he looked as confused as me. He turned off the car and said, “Okay Test App 345, what now?” The silence was so thick you could almost pour it over yourself. Suddenly, we had nothing to talk about. I stared out into the grassy field and looked out my window. The street was still and black. I checked the time. 2:17am.

The sudden BING from Norman’s phone made us both jump. He read the notification out loud. “A driver is waiting for you to accept their ride request.” He turned to me and mouthed “what?” to which I simply shrugged. “Adventure Phase 2? What do I do, though? I haven’t received anything, my app still says ‘With Norman’.” “Maybe, we’re supposed to go together.” “Well, I sure as hell aren’t staying in your car until you come back.” “Yeah, fair call. Okay, I’m accepting the request.”

Within 5 minutes, a car turned into our street and pulled up next to us. I had to keep reminding myself that nothing bad had happened so far, but it wasn’t doing anything for my nerves. The new car’s window lowered. “Hey guys, I’m Dean.” We slowly got into his car and began the next part of this ‘adventure’. I’m not sure whether it was my growing nervousness or the sleep I was losing, but I started worrying for my safety. Either way, we drove and talked, all three of us. Dean was nice enough as well; we all discussed the weirdness of the app, how we were contacted to be a part of it and what we were getting in return. “Yeah man,” said Dean, “as a uni student, I’m happy to accept anything!” he pulled out a card and flashed it. It was a $50 gift card to Coles. “I’ll be able to actually buy real vegetables for a change! Hahah.” “Hahaha right on! I got one of those too!” Okay…the guys got $50 Coles gift cards? And they already had been payed. I wasn’t sure how to respond when they asked me if I got one too. “Uh..yeah, heh. I left it at home.” Their voices faded away as my head filled with the sound of my own heartbeat. That gut twinge had become a heavy rock, sending my stomach down in an instant. I couldn’t figure out why they would offer a rider so much more than the drivers for this test. The rest of the drive was an indefinite blur. Before I knew it, we were parked outside my house and silence fell again.

“Well, um, I guess this means it’s the end of my trip?” BING. This time it was my phone that sounded. I read the notification from Test App 345 slowly: “Invite Dean and Norman inside for coffee.” Even though these guys had both been super chill so far, I’d known them for a whole 2 hours. This was crossing a line with me. “What’s it say?” “Um, it says ‘Thanks for testing the app’. I guess that means bed time for me. I actually really had fun with you guys tonight-“ B-BING. Both of their phones lit up in unison and they looked down to check. They looked at each other and back at me with apprehension. “What? What’s it say?” “Uhh, Cherie, it says you’re lying.” I let out a slow breath. My throat was closing up and I honestly felt scared. What the fuck was this? I was sick of this fucked game, so I decided to do what I should have done earlier. “Okay guys, it’s telling me to invite you into my house for coffee. But to be honest, that just makes me really uncomfortable. You guys have been cool, but I don’t know you. I just can’t let you in to my house…” “Hey, Cherie, I totally get it. I agree, that is a little weird.” “Yeah, I mean, I signed up to drive people around and that’s it. Nobody told me anything about going into stranger’s houses.” I was so thankful that they agreed with me. “Yeah, I think this is enough weirdness for me. I reckon I’m just gonna go right ahead and delete the app.” Then, all of our phones went off. We unlocked them, and a timer appeared, counting down from 25. “What the fuck?” With each depleting number, the ticking sound became…uglier, more hostile. We all sat, frozen, staring at our screens. “What should we do?” asked Norman. I was trying to control my emotions, but the frantic, loud ticking was making things difficult. “Fuck it, just come up and make this stop!”

We were all inside my apartment by the time the timer counted down. Shaken and panicked, we all looked around at each other. I immediately fumbled for the light switch and bathed us all in an off-yellow glow. “Look guys, I’m sorry, this is the weirdest fucking night-“ BING. “UGH, WHAT NOW? Jesus Christ, ‘Make them some coffee’. Okay guys, I’ll put on some coffee. Can we talk about how weird this is please?” “Fuck, if I knew this is what it’d be like, I wouldn’t have done this. I’m just as in the dark as you two. Norman, you met Bella and Johan didn’t you?” Norman turned to Dean, “Yeah, just as you did. And you met up with them too, Cherie?” “Yup, almost two weeks ago.” Dean looked pensive for a second, then said, “What did they look like?” “Well, Bella was a redhead – short hair with glasses. Johan had dark features, and he was very well-dressed.” Suddenly Norman piped up, “That doesn’t sound like who I met at all. When I met them about three weeks ago, Bella was blonde and tanned, Johan was also really blonde and tanned.” “And four weeks ago the Bella and Johan I met with were twins.”

We stared at each other, disbelievingly. I had had enough of these mind games, it wasn’t worth the price anymore. “I’m gonna try calling Tom. Right now. The guy who sent out the acceptance forms.” I searched back through my calls and came across the number. It rang for about half a second before a robotic lady told me the number had been disconnected. “Fuck! The number’s disconnected.” “Okay you’re doing nothing for my nerves, Cherie. Are one of you in on this?” Dean looked as agitated as I felt. Norman shook his head rapidly. “Dean, Norman. For the sake of everyone’s nerves. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that if either of you haven’t tried anything really fucked up yet, then it’s safe to say that you’re both as confused and worried as I am at this point.” Dean regarded me suspiciously, but he nodded, if only for the false hope of believing I was not a threat. My apartment filled with the sound of bubbling water and I prepared the coffee in silence. Nobody’s phone rang or buzzed.

Read Part 2

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