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Angry, horrified tears spring to my eyes, and I glance around, expecting to see him, yet I don’t see a soul.
“I’ll call the cops.”
A raspy, autotuned voice comes over the speaker. “What will you tell them? Will you finally tell them the truth about what happened a year ago?”
I wipe my eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on. Are you really going to deny that you aren’t exactly what you really are, a murderer?”
“I’m not!” I shout.
I rip the seat belt over my chest, and shifting into drive, I whip a U-turn, making my way toward the main road.
“It’s really not safe to talk on the phone and drive. You know, hands-free and all.” He chuckles.
I slam on my brakes, my eyes going wide as I look out my window. “Who are you?” I cry out.
“I could show you. Maybe you should wander into the woods, see if you can find me. If you do, maybe I’ll show you who I really am. Or how about this…we can play a game.”
I shiver, my foot going from the brake pedal to the gas so quickly, the tires screech on the pavement as I drive to the main road.
“Scared, are we?” He chuckles.
I turn on my blinker, heading toward town, where there’s people. Anywhere but the complete silence I’m currently in. “I’m not playing your games. Leave me alone.” I pull the phone away from me, and I hear a growl.
“If you hang up, I promise you’ll end up with a knife in your gut in the middle of the night.”
Tears flow down my cheeks, and I don’t bat them away, my fingers shaky as I keep my phone pinned against my ear. “What do you want from me?” I gasp, the world turning blurry before me, the colors of the streetlights mixing into one distorted mess.
“Play my game, and maybe the night won’t end in death.”
It’s hard to swallow, my lungs seizing in my chest. I can’t say a word, fear holding me in a chokehold.
“In the movieFriday the 13th, Jason Voorhees didn’t wear a hockey mask until part three. What did he wear before the hockey mask?”
My mind spins, and I let out a squeak as I try to think back. His mom was the killer, and I remember the part when he shot out of the water when the girl was in the boat. But what the fuck did he wear before the mask?
“Time is ticking, Lakyn. It can’t be too difficult, right? I thought you loved scary movies.”
“I do,” I sob, wondering how he knows they are my favorite.
“So what did he wear? You only get one guess,” he jokes.
“I don’t know,” I cry, blowing right through a stoplight, not caring in the slightest.
“You have five seconds,” he sighs.
“A-a potato sack!” I cry. I remember some slouchy thing over his shoulders, I just can’t remember what it was.
He chuckles. “Unfortunately, baby, you are wrong. Before Jason Voorhees wore a mask, he wore a pillowcase from one of the cabins.”
A chill runs through me, and I pause, pulling over onto the side of the street, terror locking my limbs.
“What are you going to do?” I whisper.
“Do you want the truth, or a lie?” he asks.
Sweat forms at my temples, and I bring my hand up, swiping away the dampness. “The truth,” I growl.
