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Imagine how I felt.
Before standing up, I snatched the phone off the floor and ended the call before dropping it onto the counter. If it rang again, I’d just flush it down the toilet.
Maybe my manager would believe this place was haunted by a flute-playing evil spirit—with a hatred of phones—just like Ben.
“Mrs. Vaughn?” I asked even though I knew it was her.
“Hello, dear. I’m here to get the clarinet.”
I nodded. “It’s all ready for you in the back. Just give me a moment to get it for you.”
When I picked up the crutches, she made a sound. “Oh, do you need help?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
My legs trembled the entire way into the back, and it wasn’t because of these stupid chopsticks. I still couldn’t manage to get my heart under control and my nerves to settle.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I scolded myself. “This is the kind of stuff you scoff at in movies.”
I had to admit I was starting to feel a little kinship and empathy for all those people being stalked and harassed in the movies I loved so much.
I’d have to tell Jamie. And Lars. It might make them feel better.
Back in the stockroom, I took a minute and leaned against the wall, breathing steadily to try and even out my pulse. The entire time, I listened for the phone, but it stayed silent.
“Probably just some stupid prank,” I told myself, checking the clarinet and making sure everything was in the case.
Back out at the counter, I slid it across for Mrs. Vaughn to inventory. Once happy with the order, she signed the receipt and left.
I finished up the sheet music, not even once side-eyeing the phone as I worked. Lie.
Once the tasks in the front were complete, I moved into the stockroom to organize—clearly something else no one had done.
The bells on the front door jingled, and I called over my shoulder, “Just one moment, please.”
I expected the raucous sound of the electric guitar to lurch through the quiet, but that didn’t happen. Instead, the dark tone of “Dies Irae” echoed through the store.
The portentous, deep tune dragged its bony finger of dread right down the column of my spine, bypassing my skin to scrape right against bone.
A short riff played again, ballooning into the rafters like a heavy, dark cloud.
I stood unmoving in front of an oversized cabinet and idly wondered if I could climb inside and shut myself in. Hiding wasn’t an option, not only because I’d literally just called out to whoever was out there but also because I wasn’t a giant wiener.
I probably wouldn’t even think the song was that dire if I wasn’t already creeped out by the mouth breather on the landline earlier.
The door of the cabinet creaked loudly when I shut it, the latch clicking into place like a loud boom in the room. Squaring my shoulders, I took the crutches and went out into the front, heart back in my throat, panic clawing my guts.
When I cleared the door, my brow furrowed because no one was there. “Hello?”
Nothing.
You know, I was getting really tired of calling out and being greeted by silence.
“Anyone here?”
The bells on the front door bounced against the glass, making an unpleasant clattering sound. The howling wind outside must have rattled the door. Usually, it was too heavy for that, but if someone had just left, the wind probably had time to catch it before it fully closed.
I started forward to latch it, and when I made it around the counter, something in the corner of my eye shifted, and I screamed. One crutch fell to the floor as I stumbled back, but I gripped the other, raising it like a baseball bat.
