THE GIG

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE GIG

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

In the fall of 1999, my mom hooked me up with this babysitting gig. I was sixteen years old and I needed the money for college. My parents were willing to help with tuition and expenses, but they told me not to expect a free ride. They expected me to work and contribute any money I saved. It seemed fair to me, especially since this was my college education we were talking about. I was desperate for money and working the register at the local supermarket every day after school. And when my mom told me the neighbors needed a babysitter on the weekends, I jumped at the offer.

It was for this young married couple that lived at the end of the block, last house on the left. They had a girl and a boy, ages five and seven. Lisa and Billy. They were absolutely adorable. The girl was so young, but she was the spitting image of her mother.

The job paid six bucks an hour, which was pretty generous for 1999. And of course, there was the usual babysitting perks, like free rein of the television. The parents said I could watch anything I wanted to, even while the kids were awake. And they said I could help myself to any food in the fridge or use the phone if the calls were local.

The kids were a pleasure. So well mannered and well behaved for their age. I made sure they brushed their teeth and were in their pajamas by eight o’clock. They needed a good brushing after the ice pops they had after dinner. And I might’ve helped myself to one, too. You remember those ice pops that used to come in those clear plastic tubes? You used to have to cut the top off with a scissor just to get it open? I loved the blue and the purple flavors. But I digress…

I let them watch a little TV and had them tucked in by nine o’clock. Parents orders. Then I went downstairs and parked my butt on the couch and grabbed the remote. Around nine-thirty, I used the landline to call my friend, Jennifer.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Piece of cake,” I said. “They’re little angels. I’ve already got them tucked away in bed, no fuss at all. But, I don’t know, something just feels…off. This house is so dark, so quiet. I feel like this is the set up for a horror movie.”

Jennifer laughed. “You’re so dramatic, Kat.” Everyone knows how much I hate Katherine. People have been calling me Kat since I learned how to walk and talk.

“I’m serious. It’s too quiet. Like eerily quiet.”

“Too quiet?” Jennifer said. “Sounds like Heaven to me.”

There was a slight break in our conversation where neither of us said anything for a few moments, and in those few moments, I heard a ruckus from upstairs, which I assumed was just the kids.

“Jennifer, I’ve got to call you back.”

I hung up the phone and walked to the bottom of the stairs. It was pitch black at the top.

“Kids?” I called out. No answer.

“Are you awake?” I asked. No response.

No more noise, either. No ruckus. No footsteps. No sounds at all. Quiet again.

“It’s okay if you can’t sleep. I can’t sleep either, sometimes.”

Still no response. So I started walking up the stairs. I made it to the landing, and looked to the left and right of the top of the stairs. The hallway was clear, but a dim light emanated from the upstairs bathroom. The door was slightly ajar so I tapped on it.

“Hello? Billy? Lisa? Are you in there?”

I nudged the door open. The bathroom was empty. But there was a message…

Scrawled on the mirror in black lipstick were three bloodcurdling words.

You Die Tonight

Billy and Lisa were sound asleep. And the house appeared to be empty. But I was petrified. I called my dad up and made him come sit with me until their parents got home. The mom claimed she didn’t even own a tube of black lipstick. And obviously, the kids never admitted guilt. But they searched the whole house. Nobody was in there. There were no signs of a break in.

They even called the cops, just to be on the safe side. They searched the whole house and didn’t find a thing. And the mother was adamant about not owning any black lipstick. ‘She didn’t like it, it wasn’t her style, she only owned a few different shades of lipstick…’ I still refused to babysit for them ever again.

Katherine Martell, or Kat, sipped her drink and shuddered at the thought of that night.

“That was just north of twenty years ago,” Kat said, almost wishing she hadn’t remembered that night. But in reality, she had never really forgotten it.

Paige LaGreca filled Kat’s wine glass and topped herself off, too.

“That reminds me of this one babysitting gig I had upstate…” Paige started.

I was in college and I was living off cheap beer and Ramen noodles. I needed money for real food and textbooks, so I responded to an ad in the local paper.

The couple claimed to have a newborn baby that needed to be looked after twice a week.

They seemed nice, but every time I babysat, they told me the baby was sleeping and not to disturb him. They just told me to listen in on the baby monitor and to check only if I heard him making a fuss. Otherwise, I wasn’t to wake him for any reason.

And let me tell you, that baby never cried. Not once. Not a cry, or a moan, or a gurgle. Nothing. It never woke up, never made a sound.

Finally, I got so creeped out I just stopped returning their phone calls and answering their messages.

But an old college roomie of mine wound up babysitting for them a few months later. She was far braver than I and decided to go upstairs one night and check on the baby.

“And?” Kat said, waiting in suspense.

“The room was empty,” Paige told them. “Just a dusty old crib and a baby monitor in its cradle, turned on. Turns out the couple lost their first child and never quite recovered. They turned out to be harmless, just a little batty.”

Angelina Ortiz drained her glass and refilled it. The bottle was feeling light and she offered Kat and Paige one last chance before she polished the rest off.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but my story takes the cake,” Angelina said. “This was the early 2000’s, and I was babysitting these two adorable angels one night in Eden Harbor.

I kept getting these weird phone calls all night and nothing was coming up on the caller ID. Half of them were weird or obscene, just heavy breathing and moaning into the phone. But eventually, he started talking.

‘I am The Python,’ he said, his voice all deep and rusty. I hung up. But he kept calling back.

‘I am The Python. I am going to wrap myself around your throat and squeeze the life out of you.’

It reminded me of those books from the 90’s, the collection of scary stories to tell in the dark. One of those stories is about a woman who keeps getting harassing phones calls from The Viper.”

“Didn’t it turn out to just be a window washer in that story?” Kat asked.

“Yes,” Angelina chuckled. “I am the viper, I come to vipe your vindows.” They all laughed before Angelina resumed her story.

“I thought it was my boyfriend playing a prank on me at the time. But then I remembered he was in the Hamptons with his parents, having dinner with some rich friends of theirs. And like I said, this was early 2000’s, before everyone always had a cell phone in their pocket. And his parents wouldn’t have excused him to make all those calls on their friend’s phone.

I called my parents and they instructed me to lock all doors and windows and call the police. The police wound up tracing the calls to a nearby payphone. It turned out to be an escaped mental patient who grew up in the house I was babysitting in. He got the number right out of the phone book. You know, they never did catch the creep. I always wondered what happened to the dreaded Python. Did he die? Did he flee to another state, another country? Is he still out there?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Paige shrugged.

“I think we’re better off not knowing,” Kat said. Ang concurred.

Angelina’s cell phone rang. Unknown caller. They all froze and exchanged terrified glances.

“Don’t answer it,” Paige said. But Angelina couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the phone.

“Hello?” Angelina said, a tremor in her voice.

“I am The Python,” a frighteningly familiar voice said, gravelly and deep. “I’m coming to squeeze the life out of you.”