"Number 42"

Day 1

For whatever reason the supermarket was insanely busy today, especially the deli section. There was a 3:20 ratio of servers to shoppers. Most shoppers had trolleys, some packed to the brim while others looked to have just started. No matter what everyone looked impatient and disgruntled at the delay. 

Weaving my way through the crowd using my basket to part the crowds like Moses parting the Red Sea I reached the ticket dispenser. 

Tearing off a ticket, I glanced at it and took a step back, preparing myself for a long wait. 

As I did I caught snippets of conversations from the other shoppers.

“Why don’t they put more people on?”

“Surely they can buy the prepackaged bacon “

“I have to get this to my son’s party by midday. I’m not going to make it.”

I couldn’t garner any sympathy for them. We were all in a hurry and wanted to be somewhere else but there was nothing to be done about it. Abusing staff won’t help. Complaining won’t help. Just grin and bear it is what I think. 

“Number 42?” One of the deli staff called out over the murmurings and conversations of others.

I checked my ticket again and waited.

“Number 42” she called out again.

I looked around, like everyone else, I was waiting expectantly. But people were checking their tickets, confirming they weren’t number 42. I looked at the lady calling out the number 42 as she was looking back and forth amongst the crowd waiting for someone to come forth with the chosen number.

But no one did.

I looked at the others wondering who might be number 42. There were some who didn’t look like they were paying attention. The old man with a long beard, a hunched over old lady, a man with two young kids vying for his attention, a handful of young people focusing on their phones. Any of them could be number 42.

But none of them came forward and I sensed my opportunity. I could see I wasn’t the only one who was planning this. The middle aged woman with two kids nagging her, the man holding a basket that was getting too heavy. I could see the gears turning. They were thinking it, wrestling with the idea of if caught, could they deal with being an asshole in front of everyone?

She was about to call the next number. Damning number 42 forever.

But I was too quick. “Yep!” I said, holding up my ticket like I’d won a trip to the chocolate factory. I squeezed my way through, avoiding eye contact, and arrived at the counter, placing my ticket, number 54, in the bowl with the other used tickets.

“How can I help you today?”

20 minutes later I was out of the supermarket with my food for the week. Living alone has its perks and quick shops were one of them. I made my way to my car, dropped my bag in the back seat and got in. I lived in that awkward spot where walking was bordering too far but driving could be considered lazy. Usually I walked but it rained all week and the grey clouds threatened even more.

Driving out of the car park, rain started falling and it seemed to get darker by the second. I turned and headed down the main road towards home, the rain starting to come down harder and I switched on my wipers.

Music playing, I made my way slowly down the road, stuck in traffic before my turn off. It was a typical suburban street, one lane each way and lined with houses on either side. My mind was on autopilot as I drove, listening to my music, when, suddenly, I heard the roar of an engine. Checking my rearview mirror, I saw a white Mitsubishi Triton charging up the road like a crazed bull. 

“Shit” I breathed, watching and wondering what the hell was going on. I expected it to overtake me and continue tearing down the road but instead it slowed down right behind me. Then they flashed their high-beams and I was momentarily blinded.

“What the hell is your problem?” I asked, glaring at them from the side mirror. Winding down my window I waved the driver past but that seemed to enrage them further and they started blaring their horn at me.

I tried to get a look at the driver from my mirrors but the high-beams and the dark windscreen kept them hidden. 

The high-beams and the constant BAHHHHHHRRRR was too much. I couldn’t see how close the Triton was, but I was sure it was almost bumper-to-bumper. I drove on, trying to ignore the driver who was still tailgating while blasting their horn. Whatever was going on, it was serious. I sped up, hitting 80 but the Triton kept up with me.

This was ridiculous, going so fast in a suburban street was a recipe for disaster. Cold wind ripped through my open window as I thought about calling the police, but I didn’t want to risk using my phone and losing concentration while going so fast. Despite the road being straight, there were cars parked on the street and oncoming traffic I had to avoid. I realised there was a serious risk of crashing now.

Ahead of me was an intersection and a stop sign. I felt relief, I had a reason to slow down and the Triton would have to do the same right?

Wrong.

I tried slowly down but the Triton only moved closer until all I could see in my mirror was the bullbar. With the bright beams flooding my cabin, I panicked and floored the accelerator. My car jolted forward, creating separation from my tailgater, and I blasted through the intersection.

I heard a screeching of tyres and a second horn blaring. I slowed down and looked back. At the intersection two cars had skidded to a stop in the middle of the intersection, while the Triton was nowhere to be seen.

Not long afterwards I pulled into my driveway and shut off the engine. It was then I realised my hands were shaking and I was covered in a cold sweat.

“What the hell was that all about?”

Day 2

“Another day. Another dollar, ey?” Matt said, joining me in the elevator.

“50 cent after taxes,” I replied, pressing the button for B1.

We rode the elevator down in comfortable silence. I’d been working with Matt for 5 years and we hung out from time-to-time, going to bars or the footy. The doors opened and we walked to our assigned parking spaces, which coincidentally, were next to each other.

I passed by his SUV and said bye and as I reached my car I froze.

“What the….?”

Matt came up beside me, “What’s the matter?” Then he saw it. “Oh…”

Along the passenger side of my car, written in red spray paint was: “IT WAS ME.” The paint was still wet, and streaked down the sides like the title to a horror movie.

“‘It was me’” Matt read aloud. He looked at me, “Who?”

I shrugged, “I have no idea…” then I thought about the Triton. I told Matt what happened.

“So you think this is from the same person?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

“Any idea who it could be?”

Shaking my head, I said, “I haven’t pissed anyone off lately.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Beats me.”

We stared at the red words dripping down the sides.

“It’s rather vague,” he said.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You should probably get that cleaned off.”

“You’re a well of advice,” I said drily.

“Just trying to help,” Matt said, holding his hands up defensively. “Need a hand?”

I shook my head, I couldn’t deal with this right now. “I’ll clean it off at home.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he said and then got into his car. He started the engine and the headlights illuminated the paint, giving them a creepy, shadowy effect and I involuntarily shivered.

Night had fallen by the time I arrived home and washed the paint off. Unfortunately it left a stain but it would do until I could get it properly fixed. At least I wouldn’t be driving around the streets with a graffitied car.

I was exhausted after a long day at work and then cleaning off the paint that I shuffled inside and went straight for the shower. I washed off my paint-stained hands as best I could and closed my eyes, relaxing under the hot water.

Once I finished, I dried off and got dressed in my pyjamas. I was tempted to go to sleep but my stomach was growling so I decided to make myself a sandwich. Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed some sliced bread and headed to the fridge. I grabbed the package of fresh salami I bought from the deli and a jar of mustard. Back at the counter I laid out my bread and turned over the package to find the seam.

I carefully pulled it open, unwrapping the package and gasped.

Written on the inside was ‘IT WAS MY TURN!”

“What…?” It was all I could say. I was dumbfounded. 

Then the smell of rotting meat hit me and I dropped the package. It hit the edge of the counter and landed on the floor with a smack, the salami spilling out. The red meat was covered in small pale white maggots wriggling and writing. I gagged and stepped back.

I bought that yesterday! How is it spoiled?

Using my pyjama top to cover my nose I used the paper packaging to collect the meat, wrapped it back up and took it outside to toss into the garbage.

What was going on? First the car, then the graffiti and now the spoiled meat? Someone was after me. But who, and why? 

I looked back to the garbage and realised that whoever it was, they had been in the house. They’d broken into my sanctuary, my safety net. The boundary had been crossed and I suddenly felt very isolated. Very alone.

What if they are still here?

I spun around, looking everywhere as if they would be standing somewhere, waiting for me to realise. But the kitchen was empty, as was the dining and lounge beyond. I pulled a knife from the knife block, grabbed my phone and called the police.

Day 3

The police found nothing but I made a report, explaining the events of the last two days and they said they would investigate. Based on what they asked me, it was clear they thought it was a prank and I had no expectation they would do any sort of investigation.

I hardly slept last night and spent the work day filling up on coffee, grateful for the end of the day and I was back at the elevator.

“You look like shit,” Matt said by way of greeting 

“I feel like it too,” I said.

“Get your car cleaned up?”

“Kinda.” I wasn’t in the mood to tit-for-tat with him tonight. I just wanted to get home and get some sleep.

We parted ways at our cars and I drove home, eagerly anticipating climbing into bed and forgetting about everything. Every kilometre forward was one kilometre closer and it was all I could do not to floor it.

Finally I pulled into the driveway and slowly made my way to the front door, shuffling up the path like a zombie. Inside, I tossed my keys in the bowl and locked the door behind me.

I paused in the entranceway, my breath held as I waited, listening. 

The house was dark and quiet. The silence was deafening and I heard a quiet buzzing that I wasn’t sure if was real or tinnitus.

Most importantly there was nothing else. Not a sound was made and I let out the breath in a loud whoosh. As I made my way to the bedroom I thought about the craziness of all that had happened and let out a chuckle. Maybe it was all I prank.

Entering my bedroom I turned on the light and my heart froze.

My room had been ransacked. My drawers and cupboards pulled open, clothes strewn everywhere. The side tables on their sides with smashed lamps laying next to them.

“What...the…?” I started moving into the bedroom, reaching for my phone in my pocket, and then I saw the writing on the wall. Written above the bed head was: “I AM COMING.”

The words were written in dark red paint, trailing down the wall. No, not paint. I leaned in closer and caught a metallic whiff.

Blood!

I jerked back and fumbled for my phone in my pocket. I grabbed at it with shaky hands and pulled it out but I lost grip and it fell to the floor. I bent down to pick it up.

THUD!

My breath caught and my head shot up. Something had banged against the bedroom window. I looked at it wide-eyed, my heart pumping. Phone in hand, I slowly moved around the bed towards the window. It was pitch black outside and I could only see myself and my messed up bedroom in the reflection from the bedroom light. 

As I got closer to the window I realised I was shaking. I tried to unlock my phone with trembling fingers but I couldn’t input the code. I stopped before the window, focusing on my phone and finally unlocked it. I started to dial the number for the police when-

THUD!

“Shit!” I cried out and dropped my phone. I didn’t know what to do. Do I grab my phone? Do I run? Ultimately I didn’t do either. Instead I leaned forward and peered out into the dark backyard. My yard wasn’t very big. Only a small square of grass with plants surrounding it. Beyond it all was a fence that I shared with my neighbour. Pale moonlight lit the yard and everything was still. Silent. 

I scanned the area, looking.

Waiting. 

Then my heart skipped a beat as a shadowy figure scampered across my yard. They were wearing dark clothing with a hood pulled up, and as they passed I caught a glimpse of a white mask. 

As quick as a flash they were there and gone and part of my mind was wondering if it was just my fear-stricken mind playing tricks on me. 

I kept looking but nothing moved and I breathed long deep breaths. 

Just my imagination.

I was just about to turn around when the shadowy figure popped up in front of me. They were dressed in black and wore a white mask with creepy red lips, crazy wide eyes with a red nose and sharp teeth.

I screamed and as I did the lights in my room went out. I had a clear view of the mask wearer and they waved at me before slowly descending below the window. 

Without a second thought I picked up my phone and ran. I ran for the door but tripped over a fallen side table and cried out in pain. 

Turning my phone torch on, I got up and zig-zagged my way out of my room and down the hall. All the lights were out and my light bounced off the walls as I ran. Behind me I heard more thudding sounds and the breaking of glass. 

My heart beat faster, my breaths coming out loud and fast, like I was hyperventilating. 

I emerged into the living room and hurried across it to the front door. I fumbled with the lock, glancing behind me expecting to see my stalker, but it was clear. I whimpered as I worked and finally, after three attempts, I turned the bolt and pulled open the door.. 

I was about to race out when I saw someone standing at the door. I cried out but my torch caught the face of Matt.

“Matt! He’s here!” I shrieked. “We have to go!”

But Matt just stood there, unmoving.

“Matt?” I said, shining my light on his face.

He stared back at me, unblinking in the light and I reached out for him. But just as I did his head fell off.

I screamed as his head bounced with a sickening squelch on my front porch and rolled over my foot. 

Slamming the door shut I ran back into the empty living room. I didn’t know where I was going, just letting instinct take me and I headed to the opposite side, away from my bedroom and down another hall. I stopped at a door halfway down, my heart pounding and my body shaking violently. I had tears in my eyes as I grabbed the handle trying to turn it but I couldn’t grip it. My hands were too sweaty.

I heard more glass shattering and I glanced down the hall. 

Nothing. 

But I knew they were coming. 

Finally I pulled the door open and headed down the stairs, my feet thudding on the bare wooden steps and I emerged into the basement. 

The basement was dark with moonlight shining through a tiny square window. It was covered with boxes I never unpacked, old furniture and the water heater at the back. I hurried across the floor to the water heater and hid behind it. 

I sat down, wiping the tears from my eyes. 

The basement was silent except for the sounds of my ragged, panicked breathing.

Then I heard footsteps. 

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Down the steps they came. 

I closed my eyes.

Scrap.

Scrap.

Scrap.

His boots scuffed against the concrete floor.

Then silence. 

Only the beating of my heart. 

I waited. 

Hopeful.

Was it over? Was he gone? 

Then a whisper right next to my ear. The breath sour, the voice harsh behind the mask. 

“I was number 42.”