"Clarisse..."
There it was again. Yup, she certainly did NOT imagine that. The static was buckling and pushing through the receiver, getting louder and more frantic-- as if it wanted to swallow her in its hazardly chaos.
With a spike of terror, Clarisse hit the red button.
The static did not stop.
She tapped, double tapped, and pounded the button with her thumb. Static. Pressed the home button, closed the app. Static. Pressed the power button. Static.
Clarisse flung her phone across her bed in fright and exasperation, with the sizzling overbearing and reaching a decibel that her smartphone scientifically couldn't.
Then, it all stopped.
An even ring of silence filled the room. Or perhaps it was her ears that were hurting. Clarisse could no longer tell if this silence was ominous or celebratory, and she no longer trusted any sound, familiar or not.
"Clarisse..."
With the static gone, it was crisp and unmistakable. Instinct told her to spin around and eye her surroundings, but her limbs were frozen. Every nerve was as stiff as it could possibly be, as if any slight movement would acknowledge that she had in fact heard it and would alert whatever that was trying to communicate with her.
"Clarisse."
It spoke right into her ear. That was her breaking point. Nope, too close. Way too close.
Clarisse inhaled sharply and swivelled around. Her dark shadow in the tinted TV screen stood before her, unmoving, and equally as shocked. She recognised the outline of her hair, her shoulders, her waist, and her arms. Behind her stood the silouettes of a study table to her left, a floor-to-ceiling height wardrobe to her right, and a rectangular queen-sized bed that extended all the way to the back, its headboard touching the wall. The fan churned above, sending gusts of wind down to play with the wisps of her hair.
Without blinking, she watched the right parting of her hair be lifted up and let down with the coming and going of the wind. Her oversized shirt shifted and wrapped the left side of her waist. She breathed in, and out. In, and out.
Her hair flicked up and down, but the strands seemed to be getting longer now. The ends extended more and more to the side, stretching, reaching, clawing.
It was not long before the shadowy outline of a head emerged from behind Clarisse's, her hair trailing in the same direction. The round curves of their skulls became increasingly distinguishable, long hair tangled with short, features contorted.
Clarisse could see the full head of hair suspended right beside hers, staring into the screen. Worst of all: there was nothing beneath. No limbs nor body. The bottom end of the figure was marked by the edge of her long hair whipping in the wind, and she had a clear view of the headboard of her bed right under it.
She shrieked, and her flight response kicked in. She scrambled off the bed, knees buckling and hands clawing at the floor. Get. Out. She pushed with her feet and pulled herself up with her hands, ignoring the sting and heat from the friction. With adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream, she dashed past the toilet, through the living room and threw open the door. Blood rushed to her brain, spurring her to run so fast that her feet barely touched the ground.
She ran along the corridors, her feet slapping against the cold concrete floor, panting hot breath into the chills of the night.