“Two young men were found dead yesterday, apparently murdered. They have recently been identified as John Calvin and Richard Markson. Their pictures are shown at the right. If you will notice---"

Alex turned the TV off and threw down the remote. Moth men had blond hair and blue eyes. The sandwich he was eating found a new home in the trashcan. He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

The sun shone brilliantly through the window, beating down on Alex’s neck as he washed his lunch dishes. The day was calm outside, leaving plenty of room for Alex’s jumbled thoughts. When he had finished the dishes, he sat down in front of the TV, mindlessly staring at the blank screen.

Then the phone rang. It was Amiee. He hesitated, but decided to pick it up. At least then he could give her a piece of his mind. When he picked up, Amiee started speaking before he could get a sound out.

“Oh good. You picked up. I had hoped you would. I just wanted to tell you that it’s not over Alex; not even close.”

And then she hung up. Alex didn’t even get a chance to talk. He sat down again on the couch, trying to shake the brief, one-way conversation from his mind. For some reason, it struck a deep chord inside of him.

The phone rang again. This time, when he picked up, a sultry voice spoke into the phone.

“It’s not over, Alex. It’s not over.”

Then the woman hung up.

Only moments later, the phone rang gain. As soon as Alex plucked the phone from the receiver, a different woman spoke.

“It’s just not over yet.”

The third time the phone rang, Alex didn’t even bother picking up.

The phone rang. Again. Again. Again.

About the seventh time the phone screamed at him, he picked it up and started talking. “Look. I don’t know who you are, but I’m not afraid of you. Stop calling me.”

The only thing he heard was a third voice in the background, speaking.

“It’s still not over Alex.”

He slammed the phone down.

The calls stopped, but the sound of the women’s threats echoed, repeating themselves over and over, reverberating against the empty barges of fear. It’s not over, Alex. It’s just not over yet. It’s not over.

Alex drank himself into oblivion. He still refused to admit that the calls had worried him. Just a little bit. Just a little.