Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Voicemail
by Pout
Yanagi picked up the phone as he nodded to his co-worker, affirming that he was going to be staying to work overtime. Sighing at the prospect of another long night, he dialed home to check his messages.
“Hello?”
Yanagi was startled. He lived alone. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number,” he said apologetically.
“That’s all right.”
Massaging his temples – really, he had been working too much these past few days – he tried again, dialing slowly and precisely.
“Hello?” the voice was perhaps a little annoyed now.
“Ah, I’m sorry to bother you. Can I ask, is this –”
“Stop calling.” The line went dead.
Yanagi was perplexed.
#####
That night, Yanagi finally rolled himself into bed after a long overtime shift. He was just on the brink of sleep when the phone rang. He picked it up, annoyed. “Hello?”
“What the-? Oh, shit, sorry. I guess I dialed the wrong number.”
“Fine.”
Yanagi clicked off the phone and rolled over. The phone rang again and Yanagi wondered if he should bother.
“Hello?” he said, voicing his annoyance openly.
“What the hell are you doing with my number?!” was the belligerent reply.
“Look, I think you have the wrong number, okay?”
“No, you’re the guy from this morning!” the voice shouted.
“What?”
“Get out of my house!”
“What?” Yanagi was sitting up now, trying to properly comprehend the conversation he was having with this obviously inebriated person over the phone. “Don’t call here again,” Yanagi warned. He clicked off the phone and stared at it, just waiting for it to ring again. But it didn’t and Yanagi went to sleep.
#####
It was the early hours, just before sunup when it happened. Yanagi heard his door being unlocked.
Not one to panic, he grabbed the closest weapon he could find, which turned out to be an old racket, and tiptoed down the hall.
“What the hell?!”
“Who are you?!”
“Didn’t I tell you to get out of my house?!”
“What?! Get out of here, before I call the police!”
“This is my house!”
“You don’t live here anymore! Get out!”
“This is MY house!!”
Yanagi dropped his racket to the ground as the intruder turned on the lights.
“So then which one of us is dead?”
#####
“Hey, look, he’s got twenty-seven messages,” the detective said as he pressed play on the machine.
The men turned sheet white as they heard the raspy, angry voice of a madman repeat the message ‘Don’t call home’ twenty-seven times.
“Find out who that is,” the detective ordered.
“Don’t bother,” the neighbor said. “It’s him. It’s Yanagi.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
If you would like to provide feedback on this story, please feel free to e-mail me at: poutonly@gmail.com.