Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Don’t Play That Tune

Steven grips the phone tightly in his hands, staring with wide, weary eyes at the flickering screen. 

“C-C-C-COME ON!” he spits through dry, cracked lips. “I-I-I, I DARE YOU!” 

The screen dims and falls dark. Steven’s face contorts, twisting in ways flesh was not designed to move. He leaps to his feet and hurls the phone across the room. It sticks into the adjacent wall like a dart into its target. 

The phone’s screen flickers to life once again, a sea of colours illuminating it as it sings a MIDI variation of an iconic eighties song. Steven sprints across the room, grips the phone desperately, and tries to pull it from the wall, but it does not budge. 

The anger painted so freely across his face is now soaked in desperation. Rivers of sweat pour from his brow; his chin quivers and his lips shake. 

“D-DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” he hisses. He grabs at the phone, but it continually slips through his fingers as if coated in oil. 

He thrusts a hand on his hip and drags the other across his brow, wiping sweat dirtily over his face. He hisses and grunts, then sighs deeply as his chest heaves upwards and then drops. He closes his eyes and puckers his trembling lips tightly together. 

The phone’s screen once again lights up proudly, and another recognisable MIDI tune from decades ago begins to play. 

“What the actual FUCK!” he grunts as his eyes spring back open, and his face contorts once more. He punches the wall at first, then sends a second punch into the phone. A few seconds pass before he punches the wall again, and again. His punches have little impact on the wall and the loosening of the phone, so he takes a cautious glance around him, steps back, and then drives several thrusting donkey kicks into the wall, only to drive the phone deeper into it. 

He screams unintelligible words while gripping imaginary things from the air. He picks up a chair and thrusts it through the air at the wall. It bounces off it and strikes him in the face, knocking him to the ground. For several long moments, he sits there, blinking with surprise, while a thick stream of red runs from a deep gash that now hides somewhere in his hairline. 

Uneasily, he slowly lifts himself to his feet, swaying from side to side as he grips his head and hisses. He pulls his hand back and stares at the vibrant red that paints his hand. 

The phone dances in multicolours as it breaks out into a new song. He stumbles forward, gripping the wall for stability. 

“W-WHY?” he hisses as he cracks his neck and rolls his eyes. “WHY DO YOU TAUNT ME!” he screams, as he bites down on the phone and tears it from the wall. Triumphantly, he punches the air and spits the phone to the floor. It lies there, blankly staring up at him, its screen cold and dark. His hands wind tightly into fists, while his lips quiver. 

“Y-Y-You better fucking not,” he hisses under his breath, just before the screen lights up again. He begins to stomp on the phone wildly, smashing it into a handful of pieces. He lets out several exhausted breaths as he laughs proudly. “G-Got you, you fuc…” but he doesn’t get to finish his words, as the shattered screen lights up and another familiar eighties song MIDI begins to play.