Devil Phone

You won’t find Eric Randolph’s phone number in any directories. Well, that’s not entirely true. Eric Randolph is a relatively common name. So if you Googled “Eric Randolph phone number” you’d probably find a bunch of different phone numbers for a bunch of different Eric Randolphs. It’s just that none of those numbers belong to the specific Eric Randolph that this story is about. Well, maybe one or two of those numbers belong to him. He might have a different phone for business or making prank calls. I really don’t know him that well. Let’s start over.

You won’t find the specific number I have in my phone that I can use to contact my casual acquaintance Eric Randolph in any directories. He’s done everything he can to keep it as secret as possible. He requests that the few people who have the number only use it in cases of dire emergency. I’m sure you’re all thinking, “Oh, how prudent. I wish I had done that. Then maybe I wouldn’t be getting all these spam calls. I once put my number in an online order form so I could get text updates about the swim trunks I ordered from the Old Navy website. I did that one single time and now I get hundreds of spam calls.” I’m completely sure you’re all thinking that. But Eric doesn’t keep his number secret for data privacy reasons. Oh no. He keeps it secret because his phone is haunted. 

Eric thought it was a mistake when he was assigned the phone number 666-666-6666. 

“The numbers are assigned at random,” the disinterested teenage phone store employee had said.

“But 666 isn’t even the area code here. I don’t think it’s an area code anywhere,” replied Eric.

“It’s not an area code here, but it is an area code…in HELL!” said the employee. 

A loud clap of thunder accompanied that pronouncement and Eric shuddered. The employee laughed. “Wow, crazy timing. I was joking. They don’t have phones in hell. Let’s see if it happens again.” He dramatically yelled “In HELL!” again towards the ceiling, but that time nothing happened. He looked disappointed when he directed his attention back towards Eric and said, “Please step aside, sir, there’s a line behind you.” 

Eric thought about asking to speak with a manager, but he had other errands to run so he decided to let it go. Besides, it could be a fun number to have. It’s a conversation starter at the very least. 

At first everything was going great with the new phone. He spent the first few days just going crazy downloading apps. He downloaded a huge amount of apps just because he felt like it and it made him feel powerful. Most of them would never even be useful to him. He got the Hilton Honors Rewards app and he’s not even a Hilton Honors Rewards member and he has no plans to become one. He’s weirdly smug about stuff like that. He’ll walk past Hiltons with a sly smile on his face and you can just tell he's thinking about how he'll never go inside but they can't stop him from having the app.

Things didn’t start to go awry until about a week after he got the phone. He was propped up on one elbow in bed, scrolling through the app store, when blood began to pour out of the charging port. What the hell? Eric thought as he instinctively pressed his thumb over the opening, trying to stem the flow. Any amount of blood coming out of a phone is unusual, but this was an absurd amount. Much more than a phone of that size should be able to hold. Eric jumped up, leaving his phone gushing blood onto his blanket, and ran to the kitchen for some paper towels. 

When he returned to the bedroom and turned all the lights on, there was no blood anywhere to be found. The phone sat where he’d left it, dry as a bone. Eric pulled all the blankets and sheets off the bed and even checked underneath the mattress, but no trace remained. He didn’t sleep much that night and he resolved to go back to the phone store first thing in the morning. This time he would demand to speak to a manager. Giving a man a phone that is also a supernatural blood fountain is poor customer service and he felt someone should be held accountable. 

He drove to the store first thing in the morning, but when he got there the store was gone. In its place there was a grove of mature pine trees. Eric walked into the grove on the off chance that the store was still in there somewhere and the trees had grown remarkably quickly. But there was nothing in the shade of the towering pines but a blanket of fallen needles bisected by a small stream. 

Eric hates when stuff like this happens. He told me that when he realized the store had vanished, he immediately pulled out his phone to send me a text message to vent. He wanted the message to say “Terrible morning. Phone store vanished.😡” But when he tried to add the angry face emoji he saw that the only emoji available to him was the devil one that looks like this: 😈.  You would think he would at least have the option of the frowny face devil, but no. He only had the smiling devil and that conveyed a far flirtier tone than he was going for at that moment. His frustration boiled over at that point and he threw the phone into the stream and watched it sink out of sight.

He drove home with plans to look for a different phone store on his very non-evil laptop. He opened the front door of the apartment and his eyes were immediately drawn to a black rectangular shape on his kitchen counter. The phone was there and it was ringing. Eric slowly raised the phone to his ear. 

“H-hello?” Eric stammered. The voice on the other end of the line said:

“Y̸̨̙̩̦͉̒̋̏̌̚o̴̦͑̿̊̚͝u̴̞̓͐̍̅́ ̵̯̫̮̈́̊͐͐͜c̸̖͖̃͊ͅå̴̡̛͎̉̿̈n̷͉͉̉'̴̛̩̂̂̈́͝t̶̤̩͐̆̾̍ ̵͎͐̈́̎̅ġ̴̘̓̄̊͝ȩ̵͋̉̀̈́t̵͚͎́̎ ̴̧̀̈́r̸̪̟͎͋͑̋̅ͅḯ̴̛̝̅̎͌ḍ̸̈́̊̈́ ̴̢̫͈̟̟͌̽̃͊o̴̠̩̯͐̈́͑̿f̶͇͆̽̍͐̓ ̵̨̠̪̺̌̉̃͠m̴͉͋̅̆̆͘ͅͅẹ̵̣̞̉̒́̓̾ ̴̡͎̇̃̅̏̍t̴͚̄͆̆̍̃h̷̟͌̈́̄̚ͅâ̵̼̈́͌̓͝t̵̹̱͕̮̀̿̊̃ ̷̛͉̊̎̂̈ȩ̴̛̳̺̈́̌̍͌ạ̵̱͖̮̊̾͑̚ṣ̴̄͝y̴̧͕͑̈́.̶̧̣̓̈́̏̄͑ ̵̹͉̽̃͐̅͘Ŕ̸̡̛̉̄̂é̷̟̀̓̓͝a̸͎͐̄̄͝d̵͉̊͐͝ ̴̤̅͂̅̚t̴̖̊͝h̸̪̉̒ë̶̯̬́̉̏͆͊ͅ ̴̻̄͂͝ť̸̢̳̫̀̀̈e̴͉̊̋͌̚͠r̷̯͑̌̑͝͝m̴̹̝̽̈͑̆͝ͅŝ̵̛͖̥̺̿̅̈ ̴̤͓̙̉̄̚͠ả̴̞̑̀̉̃n̷̛͓̽̇̊͠d̴̯͓͌͠ ̷̹̟͙̋͌̌̉c̴͌͌͑́͜ö̴̩̈́̉́́ṇ̵́̈́͊̑͝d̸͇͐̏̄̆͠i̵̧̯͈̽̈͘͘t̷͚̃̈́̆i̵̡̞͂̽̉̉̚ͅö̷͖͗͒̽͠n̶͓͊̎͑͠s̵̙̃̈́̃͐̉ ̷̞̱̂̽͑͂͘ö̵͉́͂͂̂n̵̛̼̽͗̾̋ ̶̞͕̈́̂̈̈́͘t̷̩̿̈́̌̇̚h̸͆̀̀́͂ͅë̷͚̅̅̉̒ ̷͚͚̹̎͝ĉ̵͙͇̀͘ō̸͇̯̝̂̄̽̈n̸͓̂̈́̋͝ͅţ̵̌̄r̸̛̹͖̃͊̒͆ȁ̴̯͖͐̀͠c̸̛͕̙̱̫̠̄͝͠͝t̴͙̮̽̽͐̀̇ ̶͎͎͎̽̈̍ŷ̵̳̦̈́̓̈́͒o̸̧̊̅̀͝u̸̪͚͑͜͠ͅ ̶̞̊͂̈̓s̸̫̙̈́̄̀̂̏i̷͙̪̺̓̉ḡ̶̹̌̿͝ņ̸̂̄͝e̸̹͖͉̿͋̾͝͝d̷̫̈́̀͆̄̃.̷̪̌́̅͘͠ ̸̣̏͋̍̒Y̸͖̱̊̌̆̌͜͠ò̶͉̝͙̓͝ǘ̶̹̺̌̈́͠'̵̨̛̘̣̿̏̄͑͜l̶̠̱̫̙̅͜ľ̶̪́̆̅͘ ̴̛̤̆͑̉͝b̸̬̓̌͒̊e̴̢͖͂̅̈́̓̾ ̸̹̽̈́͘ẽ̸̲̭͋̌̂l̵̛̹̈̀͝͝ḯ̶̻̽͠g̷̯̫̤̮̮̈́͒̈́̆i̴̠͍̞̭͂̇̂͘b̶̄̄̂̚͜l̵͙̠̋̈́̚è̵͐͊́͜͝ ̵̦̌̈́́̈̅f̵͇̈́̈́͋͂̈ơ̸̝̣̑̓͘r̴͚̃̀͝ ̵̲̼̝͋͂͘a̶̩͌̈͗̇͝ñ̵͉̠́̌̚ ̴͙͙̰̅̾̏͝ú̴͎̲̳̈́͋̈p̵̹̈́͠͝g̵̞̈́̈͂̏͂͜r̸̤̂̾̅͊a̴̲̺͑̊͌̏̚d̷̃͌̓̌ͅe̷͖͂͐̽͒̏ ̵̧̥̥̳̄̓͋̚ḯ̷̢̤͚͒̂͜n̶̳̄̿̀̽̎ ̶͚̙̑̆͗͝1̴̳͊͒́͆͑0̸̹͈͙͐̃̄̑,̶̪̇̉̌̎͝0̷̥̦̈́0̵͓̿̋̾̈́̚ͅ0̴̈́̈́͜͝ ̵̛̠̉͌̇͘ý̶̲̽̊͠e̴͚̯̬̫̓̌ă̵̛̪̯͋͊͋r̴̬̿͋́͠͝s̴̺͌̌̓.̴ 

“What?” replied Eric, but the voice just hung up on him.

Over the next few weeks Eric tried many ways to destroy the phone. He ran it over with his car. He threw it in an incinerator. He fed it to a seal down by the docks. But no matter what he does, the phone will always be back on his kitchen counter when he gets home. The phone itself works regularly most of the time, with only the occasional hiccup. The blood thing happens often enough that Eric has gotten used to it, but it’s definitely ruined a few dates. The phone also has a tendency to burst into flames at midnight on an equinox, but that’s easy to plan around. Overall, I’d prefer his phone to mine. The battery on mine drains way too quickly. 

THE END