For two straight weeks at nine a.m. sharp, the protagonist has been recieving a phone call with the same, raspy voice uttering a single line before hanging up. 

The calls had begun around the same time a girl went missing, her body soon found in an open field. 

Do they have a connection? Is the caller going to get revenge?

I know what you did.

The same voice with the same message called me for two weeks straight. Each time a different number. My hands shook as I set down my phone after the most recent one. The distorted voice was menacing, and I had no idea who it was. A prank call maybe? No, it couldn't be. They wouldn't have gone this far by doing it for two weeks in a row. Unless they're dedicated on taking out some of their time to call a stranger on a different phone every time. I had just come home from work when the second call came.

Always first at nine in the morning. Always at 9 A.M. on the dot. My first instinct was to contact the police since I couldn't block the ever changing numbers. I am baffled myself on why I never did call the police. I should have and I knew it each time my phone rang. The ringtone instilled itself into my ears. I could hear it everywhere even when no one was calling. In the shower, in my sleep, at work...it was as if I was expecting, hoping, an unidentified number to call again. The calls somehow became my guilty pleasure that I didn't have relish in hearing.

The calls started after someone called about a body by a creek, buried in the dirt. Coincidence, right? No, I'm not the murderer...or at least I don't think I am. I was home all that week, relaxing, doing house work, and going to bed early. Not once did I go outside of the house except for when I had to get gas during the day. besides, I had no one to kill anyways.

But that question did linger in my thoughts. The calls. The murder. Are they connected? Maybe someone saw the killing and thought the killer looked like me. Yeah, maybe that's it...

The phone rang again, vibrating against the glass of the coffee table. I looked down at it from my perch on the couch. An unknown number.

I know what you did.

Every nerve in my body warned me not to press the answer button. I wanted to listen and leave my phone alone, but once the ringing stopped, it started back up five minutes later. On the dot. The caller was persistent, trying to get in my head. On the third try, on the third ring, I picked the phone up, feeling the vibration of it in my bones. My thumb pressed down on the screen and slid it over to the green dot. I answered.

"Hello?" My voice, small and weak, asked. Static echoed back on the other end with the same message, distorted and raspy.

"I know what you did."

My jaw clenched. "What is it that you know I did?" I refrained from saying anything like "I didn't do it," or, "Hell yeah I did the thing." Maybe I could have said the second one just to mess with them, but I don't think it would help the situation.

"I know what you did and you will pay for it," The voice answered back. On a normal basis, the caller would hang up after the first message, but they didn't this time.

"What did I do that angers you?"

" I know you did it. You have blood on your hands, soaked in it, spilling all over the ground."

That sentence could have meant anything. The gruesome details left uncomfortable images flashing across my vision. Either literal or metaphorical. Which one was it? I couldn't believe I was going to say it, but I was. "Prove it."

The line went dead. I dropped my phone on the cushion and sprinted to my bathroom, splashing water on my face. Fear trembled in my body. My hands shook, my legs felt like jello, and I couldn't breathe. The caller could track my phone and show up at my apartment in the dead of the night. They could sneak in and tower over me with a weapon while I slept. What did I get myself into?

I know what you did.

The voice clung to me like gum on the bottom of a shoe. No tears welled up in my dry eyes. I was in too much shock.

The day passed on with no more calls, which didn't calm my nerves. I called it the calm before the storm. My gut told me that. I stayed up all night, waiting for something to happen. My fingers wrapped around a bottle of pepper spray as I sat on the couch, staring at the door to my apartment. I stayed up until five in the morning, falling asleep on the couch.

What a mistake that was.

When I woke, dirt wrapped around me like a blanket. A hand grasped my ankle as I moved along the earth on my back, dragged over ant hills and patches of mud. My pajama shirt slid up my back and I could feel the mud and grass stick to my skin. The sky was waking up. Orange and yellow streaks burst through the clouds, lighting the world blue.

I looked down at my foot to see my kidnapper. The person was tall and wore black clothing head to toe, no skin exposed. I rolled myself around, an attempt to break from from their grasp. My hands caught patches of tall grass and a few branches. They pulled me along a field. There were no trees around.

Twisting, I screamed. My finger nails dug into the dirt, creating a path as my kidnapper continued pulling me along, speeding up their pace. Was the person my caller? With one last pull, my ankle dropped and I was motionless, face flopped over in the dirt on my side. The same hand pulled my head up by my hair. I could feel the person's breath in my ear as they leaned in.

"I know what you did."

My blood ran cold. It was the caller. It was the caller and I was going to get payback for something I had no knowledge of doing. This was a mistake. These two weeks were nothing but a mistake on identities. My scalp was on fire, but I turned to face the person anyways. "What did I do?"

A plain dark mask covered their face, their eyes, and their mouth. The voice was light and raspy. Could've been either a man or woman. "You killed that little girl here by the creek." They sounded pained, mournful. The murder must have hit close to home. A family member or loved one?

"What proof that you have? I haven't been anywhere near here in months," I growled, biting back any foul retorts.

"I saw you with my own eyes. You took her from her home and dragged her here. I am a witness!"

"Tell the cops that! Not drag me out of my home!"

The person laughed. "Oh, I tried, but they didn't listen. I needed my revenge anyways. This is for Emily Sathers."

Emily Sathers. She was a young girl, in her early twenties, who lived in the building next to mine. Two weeks ago, a couple of days before the police uncovered the body, her body, I helped her move in new furniture into her apartment. I stayed over for dinner afterward and haven't seen her since.

Oh god. That doesn't mean-

Blood, blonde hair, grass, water... they filled my dreams like tidal waves from a tsunami. They stopped when the calls began.

My kidnapper rolled my paralyzed body onto my back. A knife pressed against my neck and I swallowed, ready for my confession. "I killed her," I whispered empty, shocked. "I killed her."

"There you go." By the tone of voice, they could have smiled under their mask. "Now will you keep still?" The knife dug deeper against my neck and the first blood spilled. A few tears rolled down my cheeks as the pain increased. I should have screamed. I should have tried to defend myself and run away. But I didn't. I just kept still.

It is the only one but if I get some responses of people wanting to know more, I will happily continue it.