Connie was at Stan’s Place again, sitting at the bar trying to make her beer last. This was getting to be a bad habit, she thought. She downed the last of her brackish brew and walked to the back of the bar to use the bathroom. When she finished, she headed back to the bar, but something caught her eye. There was an old silver payphone against the wall in the back. For no reason, she picked up the handset and put it to her ear but heard nothing, no dial tone.

At the bar, she ordered another beer and stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She raised her glass to herself and was getting ready to drink when she saw a man standing behind her in the glass. Connie turned, and looked at a well dressed man in his fifties, his eyes smiling at her. “Hello. Are you going to stand there or sit and have a drink?” she asked him. He motioned to the bar stool next to her and she said, “It’s all yours.”

The man sat and ordered a beer. “I noticed you saw the pay phone in back. You think its broken, but it works just fine, for certain people.” Connie laughed and shook her head.

“Whatever you say, man. I don’t care.”

“Oh, but you will,” the man said and placed a hand on her forearm. Connie jumped at the coldness of his hand and pulled her arm away. “If you lift that receiver again, someone you want to talk to will be on the line. Someone you thought you would never talk to again.” The man drained his beer and stood. “You do not believe me, but what I’m telling you is true. I am the messenger.”

“You are stone cold crazy is what you are,” Connie said and turned to the man, but he was gone. She spun around, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Great, just great.” she mumbled to herself, “The first time anyone in this dive ever talks to me and, just my luck, he’s a psycho.” She finished her drink, but couldn’t stop thinking about what the man had said. She felt trepidation but was curious.

Finally, she walked to the back and approached the payphone. Slowly, she reached for the handset and raised it to her ear. For a moment, there was nothing, and she almost sighed with relief when she heard a sound on the other end, “Hello, Connie mahonnie, hello little one,” in a hideous, sing song voice. She gasped and dropped the handset, but could hear sounds still coming from it. Her mind raced back to her childhood, to the old two story farmhouse she lived in with her family. Something awful had happened in that house, and, as a five year old, she had been especially attuned to the feeling of evil and darkness that pervaded the home. Her parents seemed to be able to ignore it, but she was afraid, and the nights were the worst. One night she had been certain someone was in her closet, and she called to her parents, but when they inspected the closet there was nothing there. She tried to go to sleep, but then heard her closet door open. Her heart pounding, she tried to scream, but no sound would come out. She stared into the inky blackness and slowly, a figure took shape. It was tall, taller than her father, and was dressed in black. She saw its arms reach out, and the arms were beast like, but the hands were ghostly white with razor sharp nails. She was shaking so badly the bed was moving. Then its head emerged from the closet, and she saw the monster in full. It had the head of a pig with red eyes and sharp teeth that poked out of its mouth and its body was like a wraith, long and thin except for strong, hairy arms. At last she drew in a breath and screamed, then everything had gone black.

With that memory let loose in her brain, she raised the handset back to her ear, and listened. “There’s my Connie, my treat. You thought you were rid of me but no! I’ll be seeing you tonight. I know where you live, I’ll be in your closet-” Connie screamed and slammed the handset down. She was crying. What was happening to her?

She ordered a bourbon and downed it. What could she do? Was this some elaborate prank? No, she knew it wasn’t a prank. No one knew about the monster but her parents, and they never really believed her. She couldn’t go home until she had a plan, a way to kill that demon once and for all. She got it to leave her alone once before, and she could do it again.

Copyright ©2025 Lisa Paul

Written in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #FFFC

Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #333