The Blood Bracelet

“Delivery for you.”

The delivery man thrust a clipboard at Sarah when she opened the door.

“I’m not expecting any deliveries,” she told him.

He shrugged, waggling the clipboard.

“Ma’am, I just make the deliveries.”

“I don’t accept deliveries from people I don’t know.”

He sighed and glanced down at the small, brown paper wrapped package in his hand.

“There’s no return name or address. Are you Sarah Brenner, apartment A4?”

“Yes, that’s me, but-”

“Then you just need to sign here.” Again, he thrust the clipboard at her.

Sarah stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“I’m not signing anything because I’m not accepting delivery.”

“Ma’am,” he stepped forward like he was going to follow her in and she tightened her grip on the doorjamb. “Send it back if it’s not for you but it’s got your name on it and everything.”

“I don’t care if it’s from the president,” she said. “If it doesn’t have the sender’s name and address, and I’m not expecting anything, I’m not taking that.” She gestured to the package in his hand. It was small, about the size a coffee cup would come in.

“C’mon,” he whined, “I get in trouble when there’s undelivered packages.”

“Not my problem.”

He thought about it.

“Will you sign something that says you’re refusing delivery?”

She sighed. “Yeah, ok.”

He pulled a scanner from his pocket, scanned the tag on the package, hit a few buttons, then handed it to her. The screen showed “refused delivery”, so she used the stylus to sign her name and handed it back to him.

“Have a nice day,” she said and closed the door.

“So pushy.”

Walking back to her living room, her landline rang just before she sat down. She paused, listening for the answering machine. She only had the landline for emergencies and most of the calls were from telemarketers.

The answering machine picked up and the silence of an open line filled the room. For some reason, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered.

“Wrong number,” she muttered when the machine clicked, signaling the end of the call. She sat down and picked up her book just as the phone rang a second time. Again, there was silence once the machine clicked on and again, she got chills.

The third time it rang, she stomped over and grabbed the receiver off the hook.

“What?” she barked.

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

“Why didn’t you accept my package?”

The voice was a woman’s and was muffled like she was covering her end of the phone.

“Excuse me?” Sarah demanded. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the woman replied. “You need to accept the package. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Sarah stated, “and I certainly don’t have to do something a stranger tells me to do. Who is this?”

“Oh god, oh god.” The woman on the other end sounded close to panic. “It’s not too late. We can fix this. I’ll have it re-sent and-“

“I’m still not going to accept something from a stranger,” Sarah interrupted her. “Who are you? What’s in the package?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the woman repeated, voice desperate and pleading. “Please, you don’t understand. I have to get rid of it. My daughter- “

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Sarah cut her off. “Unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Whimpers like cornered prey sounded in her ears.

“It can’t be too late,” the woman spoke softly, almost to herself. “It can’t be. I’ll take care of this.”

The line went dead, the silence startling Sarah. She stared at the receiver in her hand.

“That was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” she murmured as she replaced the phone and replayed the conversation in her head. She was certain she didn’t recognize the woman’s voice but why would a stranger send her something? And what was that about it not being too late?

“Weird.” She shook her head and stepped away.

She’d taken two steps when the phone rang again.

She picked it up.

“Hello?”

Static filled the line and then a man’s voice, deep and almost sibilant.

“You should have accepted the package. It won’t stop until it’s passed on.”

“What are you-“ The call ended. She slowly replaced the phone and stepped backwards, eyeing it warily.

“I’m leaving” she told the empty room and, grabbing her keys and cellphone, she fled her apartment.

* * *

“It was the strangest phone call,” Sarah told her friend Tori as they sat down with their coffees. She’d called her after she’d calmed down, asking her to meet. “I mean seriously, how bizarre is that?”

“People are crazy,” Tori agreed. “I’d change my number if I was you.”

Sarah thought about that as she took a sip.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “But still, that woman knows where I live.”

Tori nodded.

“True. You might wanna move.”

Sarah almost choked on her coffee.

“I’m not gonna move,” she laughed. “If the calls continue, I’ll call the police.”

“Ok,” Tori replied, “But if you wanna come stay with me, I have a guest room.”

“I appreciate that, hun, and I might take you- Shit!” she cried as she spilled coffee down the front of her shirt. “Be right back.”

In the bathroom, she wet paper towels and blotted her t-shirt. Seeing something out of the corner of her eye, she glanced over. In the corner of the bathroom by the door, thick shadows seemed to swirl. She blinked and suddenly, the temperature plummeted, her breath fogging the air.

“What the hell?”

The lights went out. Phantom hands touched her ankles, the cold seeping through her jeans. She jerked back a step and a brush across her lower back had her spinning around even though she couldn’t see anything. A tug on her hair made her gasp and then she was shoved forward. With no sense of direction, she put her hands out as she careened into the stall door. Hissing filled the air, like static on an open phone line. She spun around, fear like she’d never felt before filling her. She felt her way out of the stall, moving towards where she thought the door was. The invasive cold made her teeth chatter and something grabbed her ankles and jerked. Falling forward, her knees hit the tile so she crawled across the floor. A feeling like a fingertip trailed up her spine as she crawled and by the time she made it to the door and found the handle, her breaths were sobs. Pulling the door open, she fell out of the bathroom into the light of the café.

“Sarah, what the hell?” Tori rushed over to where she huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around herself and shivering.

“There’s something in the bathroom,” Sarah mumbled, eyes squeezed shut.

“Huh? Honey, there’s nothing there.”

Sarah cracked open her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. The bathroom was lit, nothing amiss except for a wad of wet paper towels on the floor.

“Something was in there,” she whispered and glanced at her friends’ concerned face. “I’m not imagining it. There was something there.”

Tori stared at her a moment and then nodded.

“Ok honey, let’s get you home.” She helped her stand. “Unless you wanna come home with me?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

* * *

At Tori’s apartment, she laid down in the guest room.

“I’m right next door if you need me,” Tori told her. “Just holler.”

She left the lights on, not wanting darkness. Closing her eyes, she snuggled down into the sheets and started to drift off. A tug on her foot jerked her awake. The room was dark.

“Tori?” she whispered.

Static filled the air and her heart started pounding. There was another tug on her foot and she whimpered, pulling both knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Slowly, the sheet began to get pulled down and with a cry, she grabbed it. A thump sounded next to the bed, and then a soft dragging noise, moving up towards her head.

“Tori.” She tried to yell through a throat closed with fear.

Pressure on her throat, like someone’s hand covering it. Her tears made hot tracks down her cheeks.

“It won’t stop.” The words were soft and taunting. She recognized the voice from the second phone call. “It has to be passed on.”

“What does?” Sarah whispered.

“The package,” was the reply. “You have to follow the instructions or it will never stop.”

“Ok,” she nodded. “Ok, I’ll do it.”

Mocking laughter and the hand on her throat tightened. She gasped in a breath, grabbing at the hand but there was nothing there. Still, the pressure increased until her heartbeat was thudding in her ears.

“Of course you will,” the voice said and she felt cool wetness, like a tongue, lick her earlobe. “Everyone does.”

Suddenly the pressure on her throat released and Sarah drew in a gasping breath. Light flooded the room and she sat up, hugging the sheet to her and trying to breathe through a bruised throat.

* * *

The next day Sarah called the delivery store and had them re-deliver the package. She paced, waiting for them to drop it off, and nearly tore the door off the frame when the doorbell rang.

Without even greeting the delivery man, she grabbed his clipboard, scribbled her name, and snatched the box before slamming the door.

In her kitchen, she tore open the brown paper. Inside the box lay a beautiful black gold bracelet. She lifted it out and studied it. Glass beads dangled, some red, others clear. The piece was heavier than it looked, the links thick. It looked like a piece of gothic costume jewelry, except Sarah knew the feel of real gold.

She looked inside the box for a clue to what she was supposed to do and saw a folded piece of paper taped to the lid. Tearing it off, she read the hastily written words.

“You have to cut your finger and bloody the clear beads. Mail it to a stranger to pass it on. It won’t stop until you do. Believe me, I’ve tried. The longer you wait, the more often and worse it gets. My daughter received this. She’s in psychiatric care now. She won’t stop crying and she can’t sleep at night. She’s only fifteen. I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

Sarah shivered as she read the words. They must’ve been written by the woman who’d called her.

She glanced at the bracelet, looking so harmless. How could something like that be the cause of what was going on? She didn’t understand but knew it was true. Somehow, something had been sent to her and until she passed it on, she’d continue to be harassed by what, she didn’t know. It had been less than a day and already she couldn’t stand darkness, the smallest sounds making her flinch. Tori probably thought she was crazy when she’d jumped into her bed last night, crying about phantom hands choking her. How much more before her friend had her admitted to a psych hospital?

But could she subject another person to what she was going through? The person before her had sent it to a child! Where had this started and how could it end?

Even as she thought this, the lights flickered, the room dimming even though her curtains were wide open and it was early morning. Hissing static sounded and she whimpered.

“Ok,” she whispered as she reached for a knife. “Ok.”

With shaking hands, she cut her finger and dragged the bleeding digit across one of the clear glass beads. Impossibly, the blood seemed to soak in, the bead turning crimson. Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, she went to search for the phone book to find the next victim.