DEVIL’S NIGHT
By Randy Romero
Five haunting words
echoed through the phone and chilled Michelle Albright to her core.
“You’re going to die
tonight.”
The caller’s voice was
garbled and distorted, but she could still make out the words. And what scared
her the most was their tone. There was no urgency in their voice. No hysteria.
They were calm, cool, collected. And that’s what truly unnerved her.
Though they did seem in a
bit of a rush to get off the phone once the message was delivered.
Michelle never even had a
chance to respond. The phone rang twice, she answered, heard heavy breathing,
followed by that ominous threat, and then the line went dead.
She didn’t try *69, as
the number had come up blocked on her caller ID. Instead, she called the
Suffolk County Sheriff's Office, but had little luck.
It was October 30, after
all. All Hallows Eve, otherwise known as Mischief Night or Devil’s Night. And
the police were receiving an influx of complaints about prank calls, spray
painting, acts of petty vandalism and destruction of property. Tracing one
particular phone call that was most likely a prank was seen as a waste of their
time and resources.
She thanked them for
their service and hung up the phone.
Her mind raced. She
thought about if she had wronged anybody in the recent past. But Michelle had
no enemies, no crazed stalkers or creepy admirers. She kept to herself and her
family. She was happily married with a son and daughter, both in college. She
managed a department store and all her employees adored and respected her. How
many managers can honestly say that?
Her husband, Shane, worked
in an office and his free time revolved around football, hockey, model trains,
and most importantly, family.
Devout Catholics, the
Albright’s attended Mass every Sunday, with or without their children present.
And Shane was always the most generous when it came time to donate to the
collection plate.
Why would anyone want to
hurt me? Michelle wondered. Not just hurt me but KILL me.
As soon as she finished
speaking with the police, she called Shane. His cell went straight to
voicemail. She tried two or three more times and got the same result.
Then she bravely did a
full sweep of the house; she checked every closet, made sure every door and
window were locked. The door leading to the basement didn’t have a lock on the
outside and could not be locked by key. But there were windows in the basement
that a person could easily smash and crawl inside if they so desired. So Michelle
grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and wedged it firmly under the knob.
If she heard the glass
shatter, she could be out the front door in five seconds before an intruder
even had time to realize the basement door was jammed.
She remembered the Snub
.38 that Shane kept loaded in a shoebox under the bed. She was cursing herself
for never learning how to use it. Shane had offered multiple times to take her
down to the shooting range, but Michelle just couldn’t bring herself to try it.
Guns terrified her. Just the thought of holding a loaded gun in her hand was
enough to make her entire body quiver.
After she conducted her
search of the house, Michelle sat in the living room for hours, her back
against the wall as she watched television at low volume. Every light in the
house was on. The place was lit up like Yankee Stadium. She had taken a butcher
knife from the knife block on the countertop and was clutching onto handle like
it was a new appendage.
Her mind was racing, her
heart pulsing. Where the hell are you, Shane? I need you here.
Michelle knew of Shane’s
after-work ritual. Every evening after he punched out at work, he’d swing by
the BBQ Shack with his co-workers for a pulled pork sandwich. And if they
twisted his arm enough, he’d follow them over to a local bar and knock back a
few beers before returning home.
It was one of the few
things Shane Albright did that irritated his wife, but she was always willing
to look past his minor imperfections. And at that moment, all she wanted was
for Shane to be at her side, to assure her everything was going to be all right.
The front door of the
house sometimes sticks when you try to open it from the outside. You have to
give it a hard push every once in a while to pry it open. When she heard that
hard push, followed by the door bouncing off the inside wall and swinging back,
she screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
“Jesus,” Shane exclaimed,
wiping rain off the shoulders of his jacket as he stepped inside. He walked
over to the living room where Michelle was cowering in the corner. “You scared
the hell out of me. What’d you see a spider crawl under the couch or
something?”
“Shane!” She exclaimed.
“That’s my name, Michelle
my belle,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Are you okay, babe? You
look really pale. And are you holding a knife behind your back?”
“Why was your cell phone
off? I tried calling you so many times.”
“My battery died on the
ride home from work. Sorry I took so long. I didn’t want to, but Louis insisted
on stopping for a beer. Now what the heck is going on here?”
“I got this weird phone
call a few hours ago. Someone threatened me.”
“What’d they say?”
“I don’t even want to
repeat it,” she sighed. “I’m just so happy you’re home.”
“Oh come on,” Shane
shrugged again. “How bad could it be?”
“They said, ‘you’re going
to die tonight’. Then the line went dead.”
“It’s probably just some
punk teenager trying to scare you. It is the night before Halloween, after all.
Devil’s Night. People love to play pranks around this time of year. Someone did
that to my aunt once. Scared the daylights out of her. You’ve got nothing to
worry about now. You’re safe with me. So put that knife away before you hurt me
accidently.” He chuckled as she lowered the knife and placed it on the glass
coffee table. Then she wrapped her arms around him like it was the first time
she had seen him in years.
“I’m so glad you’re home,”
Michelle reiterated.
“Me too,” Shane said as
she released her grip around his waist, and he removed his wet jacket. “I hope
you didn’t make too much for dinner,” he said as he stepped out into the hallway
and headed for the staircase. “I’m all filled up on barbequed pulled pork.”
When Shane removed his
jacket, he had tossed it aside on the floor; an unbreakable habit that irked Michelle
every time he did it.
As Michelle unwrinkled
and neatly folded Shane’s jacket, his phone slid out from the pocket. But it
wasn’t Shane’s iPhone that landed on the beige rug. It was a cheap flip-cover
phone; a brand she didn’t even recognize. A burner phone. One of those drug
dealer phones you’d buy at a pharmacy or a convenience store.
She should’ve stopped
right there, turned around, and ran straight for the front door. But Michelle
had to know for sure.
She dug her hand into the
pocket that the phone had fallen from, and her fingers brushed a thin slab of
rectangular-shaped plastic. She drew her hand from the pocket and held the
phone card up to the light of the ceiling fixture. The card had been recently
activated, as the spot where you obtain the code to activate the card had been
scratched away with a coin.
“Tell me if this sounds
familiar,” Shane crowed from the hallway. Michelle turned and froze at the
sight of the Snub .38 in his hand. “You’re going to die tonight.”
While the rest of her
body remained frozen, her lip was quivering involuntarily and her hands were
tremoring at her sides.
Shane lowered the gun
almost instantly, when he saw all the color drain from face. It looked as if
she was about to keel over.
“Oh, honey,” Shane said,
lowering the gun gently to the floor. “It was just a joke. I’m so sorry. I
guess I went a little overboard.”
“You sick bastard!” she
screamed, running over to bat his chest with her tiny fists. “You scared me
half to death! Why on Earth would you do this to me?”
“I’m sorry. I’m an
asshole. You have every right to be mad. Don’t worry. It’s not even loaded. I
promise. I would never point a loaded gun at you. I just wanted to, you know,
give you a little scare.”
“The phone call was more
than enough.”
“Honey, I didn’t make
that call,” Shane insisted. “I swear. I just saw how jumpy you were and I
thought I’d have a little fun at your expense. Did you really think I was going
to shoot you?”
“I found the phone card,
Shane,” Michelle said, pointing towards the jacket he carelessly discarded on
the rug. “And I found the phone. You’re not fooling me.”
“Oh…I’m so sorry, Michelle.
I never meant for you to find that. I honestly didn’t make that call. The
phone…I use it to call my supervisor.”
“Why can’t you just call
him on your regular…” Michelle trailed off when she remembered meeting Shane’s
supervisor once at a company Christmas party. His supervisor was a woman, not a
man. And that’s when it dawned on her what Shane was trying to convey.
Before Michelle could
blow a gasket and go off on a profanity-laced tirade that Shane certainly had
coming to him, a noise grabbed her attention. It was faint and unclear, but it
almost sounded like glass crunching underfoot.
“Did you hear that?” she
asked.
“I didn’t hear anything,”
Shane responded. Then he added, “Oh, I moved that chair away from the basement
door. I guess you did that when you got that phone call. Well, there’s nothing
to worry about now.”
“Shane,” Michelle gasped,
her body suddenly quaking again. Her throat was dry and she was on the edge of
shock, but she ultimately managed to utter the words, “Behind you.”
The stranger towered over
her husband. Long dark hair obscured most of his face as he looked down, which
was actually a good thing to Michelle, because his face was a roadmap of scars.
Shane was speechless, couldn’t utter a word. And neither could Michelle.
The stranger looked down
at Shane. Didn't speak. Didn't take a breath or make a sound.
“It’s about time you got
here,” Shane finally said. “You were supposed to be here before I got home. What the
hell am I paying you for?”
He wrapped his enormous
hands around Shane’s throat and squeezed.
“What are you doing?” he
coughed out the words. “We had a deal.”
“You’re going to die
tonight,” the stranger whispered.
The stranger squeezed
hard enough to crush his windpipe. Shane’s body crumbled to the floor beneath
Michelle’s feet.
“Your husband paid me to
break in here and kill you,” he spoke. “He just made the mistake of paying me
everything upfront. He wanted it to look like a robbery gone wrong. The way I
see it, he got what he deserved. I propose I keep the money and you forget that
you ever saw me.”
He brushed his dark hair
back to reveal his scarred face as if to intimidate her and force her into
agreeing. His face told the story of a man who’d already been to hell and back.
A man who didn’t fear life in prison. A man who didn’t fear anyone or anything.
“He got what he
deserved,” Michelle agreed. “Keep his money and go. I never saw you. I wasn’t
even here. I was out at the time. I came home and found him like this.”
“Good story,” the
stranger nodded. “Stick to it.” Then he disappeared into the night.
