• There was a crescendo of noise as the music began playing, the silence of the crowd began to go into a murmur, to a collaboration of chatter and laughter, and many other sounds of festivity, and the figure disappeared into the crowd, as if it was only a phantom that had visited for only a moment, and that was the only time I had seen it, and I cannot exaggerate my joy in saying this. I simply did my best to forget the moment, I danced to the music, and I joined the chatter of other family members, avoided any conversations having to deal with that man, and gorged myself on the food, till it was finally time to go home.
    When I had arrived at my house, a bit dizzy from light drinking and being so tired, I couldn’t even remember what had been chewing at my mind in the party, all I knew was I wanted to get into bed. I was woken up the next morning by a raucous ringing of the telephone next to my bed, feeling angered to have been woken up by the boorish device.
    “What!?” I had shrewdly snapped into the phone, not caring who it was I was talking to, still slightly dizzy.
    “Hello,” I heard a chilled, lonely voice whisper over the phone. My body froze, how did it get my number? “I was wondering if you could come over?” it wheezed, sounding as though speaking was just as natural to it as movement. “I’ve prepared an exquisite meal to eat,” it squealed with quiet delight, “and I was wondering if you wanted to partake in eating with me, we- we never got to know each other better, it was quite a brief meeting,” it whispered even more, attempting not to stutter as if it were too eager to meet me as to where it could hardly contain it’s excitement. “I don’t get much company up here, so I-”
    I instantly slammed the phone down, not letting it finish, then unplugged the phone in a scared rage, and threw it to the other side of my room, as if it had spontaneously burst into flames. In a cold sweat, I looked at the phone as it lay there in front of my bedroom door, laying there, suddenly having a dark, sinister, cold feeling to it, making me want to avoid it all the more, feeling as though it would ring as if haunted, or that creature would crawl out of the receiver, hands outstretched to try and kill me, with that hideous expression, as though pained but not allowed to show it.
    Feeling shaken, I had gotten out of bed and lightly kicked the phone aside to allow my nerves to calm, and to wait out that thing from calling me ever again. I had allowed a few hours to pass, letting a few hours pass until I would plug it in again. It was ‘round 9 PM when I had decided to plug it in, much to my reluctance, though luckily, I had received no calls, in fact, the phone had stayed silent for months, not producing even a second of its startling tone, till about 5 months later, quite a gap of time, even to someone with as much solitude as me, had rung.
    “You won’t believe it,” chuckled the cheerful tone of none other than Ivan Tiller, a boisterous, yet funny family member who was often the entertainer of parties, though a bit vulgar and offensive, “that man, Forrest Krauser, seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” he chuckled even more to where he was starting to have problems breathing.
    “What are you implying?” I had asked, curious if I had heard him right, or if he had heard right, for that matter.
    “So many artworks he had been making seem to be somewhat based on you,” he laughed, as I heard him stuff a piece of food in his face, making it sound all the more astute and lacking in seriousness. “Paintings,” I heard a gulp between more laughter until he continued, “poetry, drawings, figures, statues, even a few songs,” as he continued down the list of things that it had done in its practical worship of me, my mind went into a dazed blur. What did it find so special in me!?