Grabbed by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beacon Press

CRANK CALLER

NIKKI MOUSTAKI

In 1982, the most advanced piece of communication technology in my house was a clunky beige 1970s princess phone. I was twelve years old, an only child and latchkey kid, and the phone was my primary source of amusement. I was on it a lot, though my parents had warned me not to monopolize the line. We didn’t have call waiting then because no one did—it wouldn’t be available for several years—and my parents liked to call me from their jobs as car salespeople to ensure that I hadn’t burned the house down and that I was doing my homework. If I was on the phone, they’d get a busy signal.

I had a small black-and-white TV set in my room, but it only received eight channels, two of which featured evangelical preachers. To change the channel, I had to get up and use a pair of needle-nose pliers because the knob had broken off. I was watching General Hospital one day after school, inches from the screen, pulsing with an unbridled love for John Stamos, when the phone rang.

A man was panting at the other end of the line, a moist, breathy voice, practically a gurgle. At my age, I knew all the “dirty” words the crank caller was breathing into the phone, but I hadn’t heard them all in one run-on sentence before, and never directed at me.

The crank caller whispered all the pornographic things he wanted to do to me. “I’m going to get you,” he groaned. “I’m going to get you.”

He sounded like an adult and had obviously dialed the wrong number. I hung up, shuddered, and turned back to watch John Stamos with his silky feathered hair and tight pants.

The phone rang again.

“I’m going to suck your cunt,” the caller breathed. “I’m going to lick your pussy I’m going to fuck you I’m going to bend you over and do your ass I’m going to get you.”

“You have the wrong number,” I said before slamming the receiver into its cradle.

The phone rang again. It was him, panting, breathless. “I’m going to get you, Nicole.”

He’d said my name. This call was for me.

I sprung up and ran around the house, making sure that the doors and windows were locked. The phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. I felt clammy and scared. We didn’t have an answering machine. The phone insisted to be answered. I picked it up. Maybe it was my parents or grandfather, who often called me in the afternoons. I couldn’t ignore it.

A long, hissing breath filled the other end of the line. “I’m going to lick your sweet cunt,” the crank caller said.

I pressed the hang up button and called my mom at the Subaru dealership.

“What time are you coming home?” I asked her, trying to calm my quavering voice.

“The usual,” she said. “Everything okay?”

I looked at the clock. It would be hours before either of my parents walked through the door. I wanted to tell her about the crank caller, but I couldn’t say his words out loud.

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