Your Next

You’re Next

Always check your spam…

It was a glorious Monday morning, as the sun was rising over Daor road.The birds were chirping sweetly and you could hear a gentle roar as cars and cycles went on by. A stray cat curled up on the road as a dog walker ambled on, a jogger passing by. This was the scene that greeted Sniatruc as he opened his curtains. He was in his early 60s and was a retired History teacher and seemed to be stuck in the past, putting on a pinstriped suit morning without fail with a plain colourless tie that had seen the washing machine one too many times, in fact he looked like a man that had been put through the washing machine one too many times with a bleached skin, hair that might once have been blond before it had succumbed to old age and a face that seemed to have no other purpose in life than to scowl. The same road accident that had killed his wife had left him unable to walk and stuck in a wheelchair permanently. He was the sort of man that chose to exist because there was nothing else to do. He would sit at home bingeing on Netflix serials and having his food directly delivered to his door and could rarely be seen venturing out.He was the target. 

It was one such morning, when he had exhausted all the serials that Netflix had to offer and was just settling in for his afternoon nap and happened to be checking his emails when his old, prune like fingers accidentally pressed the spam folder instead of his inbox. He was just about to go back to his inbox when a new mail popped up in his spam folder. He was tempted to ignore it, but his finger seemed to gravitate towards it as if it had a mind of its own. He jabbed down on it wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. He didn’t know why, but something didn’t feel right-like a subconscious sixth sense was sending him warning signals telling him not to open it. Regardless he pressed ok on the standard message that warned him of a potential virus. A single two words greeted him as his elderly eyes struggled to read the small, strange font. You’re next. He physically recoiled as if it was a bad smell or a snake hissing at him. He hurriedly checked the name of the sender, it was; A. Sasseyn.

He wheeled himself over to the nearest window wanting to open it and have a breath of fresh air when he noticed a man standing on the sidewalk staring and holding a Next parcel. With you're on one side and Next on the other. He needed to go to the local town hall- they were doing interviews for a pension upgrade and he thought he’d go here for a change of scenery. The line took forever and finally he was at the front he must have zoned out because he was abruptly woken by another person in the line prodding his back and saying “Hurry, up you’re next” Again those two words. He just couldn’t evade the feeling that something was wrong. He considered phoning the police but quickly banished the thought. What would he tell them “Officer, the words you’re and next have been following me!”. They’d think he was mad, and perhaps he was fussing over two words for no apparent reason than a ‘feeling’ . As he rotated the wheels on his discoloured wheelchair heading for his car he noticed a person lying on their side apparently hurt. He stopped in his tracks. Now this was a real cause for concern. He phoned an ambulance and was put on hold. An automated message chirped “You’re next in line and we’ll be with you shortly”. He cried out in terror and dropped his phone. He was physically shaking. The street seemed to tilt to the side and black dots appeared in front of his eyes. Black curtains closed on his vision and he fell unconscious.

He awoke to a dimly lit cell with a single naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. There were stains on the wall that he knew at once weren’t ketchup. A hard wooden chair was supporting his weight in front of a table that had seen many years with wrinkles throughout its surface. His mouth felt funny and his head hurt.Sharp ropes were biting into his skin. He wondered how long he’d been unconscious for. A single meal was pushed through what looked suspiciously like a catflap. He inhaled the plain bread and water not realising how hungry he was. After a few hours later, he heard keys clinking and the door groan as it was pushed open. A sinister person, who he wasn’t sure was a man or a woman, walked into the room. Their head had more grease than hair with a peculiar smile and long twisting fingers and bulging eyes with skin so pale it was almost transparent. 

“I guess it's curtains for you Sniatruc,” he/she said. It was only then that he noticed the hypodermic needle resting on the ground seemingly blended in with its gloomy surroundings. They lifted the needle and he wanted to move his arm away.However he could barely move. All he could do was wriggle helplessly as the 13 mm of steel entered into his skin and seemed to go on forever. He tried to scream but no words came out. Then the world went black and he once again fell unconscious. 

He awoke to the sound of his phone alarm ringing, it had all been a dream! Or so he thought. He reached for his phone to turn the alarm off but instead of going to the alarm clock app he instead went to his emails he could only watch helplessly as his fingers moved of their own accord. They typed to a random person. You’re next…