The shrill of the phone ringing startles me out of sleep. I wake up with a gasp, my chest heaving in and out, and reach for the phone on my bedside table, accidentally tumbling over my glass of water. It shatters against the floor. The water spills out, picking up the deep molasses color of the hard oak wood.

For just an instant, it reminds me of blood.

“Hello?” I mumble into the receiver, only half asleep now.

No one answers, but there’s definitely someone there. I can hear static on the other end, like maybe someone has a bad connection.

“Hello?” I repeat, almost detecting the sound of a voice, a soft, faraway giggle that cuts right through the fuzz.

“Macy?” I ask, wondering if it’s my friend from next door.

The static sound gets louder and so does the laughter, a high-pitched menacing giggle that sends chills straight down my back.

The phone pressed up against my ear, I exit my room and move down the hallway. The sign on Macy’s door reads MACY GREY: THE STYLIN’ SOPHOMORE; NOT THE SOULFUL SINGER. I knock, and she answers not two seconds later, a wide and cheeky grin across her heart-shaped face.

“What’s up?” she asks, super-size bags of Sun Chips and Cheez Doodles gripped in each hand. “I was just coming over.”

I feel my face scrunch, still listening to the giggle on the other end of the phone.

“Who is it?” I insist, turning the volume up higher on the receiver.

The buzzing sound gets louder and changes pitch, almost like someone’s trying to talk. “Can you hear me?” I ask, covering my opposite ear.

“I can’t wait until you leave her alone,” a female voice whispers. It buzzes out and cuts through the static, nearly making me drop the receiver.

A second later, the phone clicks off, followed by a dial tone, making my heart beat fast.