What is my name?

On a rainy, sticky Christmas Eve, laughs and chuckles could be heard from the town, all full of joy. Merrymaking in bad weather didn’t put out the energy and excitement of people celebrating the holiday after a long and tiresome year.

        In a police department, located in the heart of the little town, policemen drank and cheered, when an arrogant ringing sound erupted from a white telephone on a small round table and intervened with the lovely music and the sound of laughter. Quite agitated and annoyed, they just shrugged it off and continued on. Once they were back into their relishes, the phone started vibrating and buzzing again. This time, everyone stopped, and someone went and answered the phone, hiding his anger.

        “Hello? How can I help you?” the policeman answered.

        Nothing answered back except the sound of rain splattering against hard glass. Not even a person’s breathing could be heard.

        “Hello? Hello? Anyone there?” There was no answer.

        Very confused and puzzled, he hung up the phone and divined that it was a prank, and explained what happened to the rest of the people. They assumed that it I was just a Christmas prank for fun and went about their celebration.

        “Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring—”

        With absolutely zero hesitation, a guy halted the music and laughter and, in a flash, snapped up the phone and turned it to speaker mode.

        “Hello? Kingsville Police Department, how can I help you?”

        Everyone was quiet and stalled in place for the response from this anonymous phone call which seemed to come from a telephone booth.

        Once again, only the bland sound of the cold rain knocking on thin glass.

        Ticked off, everyone decided to track the location the call was coming from and decided to give the pranker a lesson.

        Eight policemen turned off the lights and headed for the parking lot. The soft rain created numerous ripples across small puddles with “plops” and “splats” with each single drop.

        Looking at the tracking device in hand, they saw that strangely, a coincidence, the phone booth was actually located near the station. As a matter of fact, just a ninety degree turn to the left off the street. So instead, the gang exited their cars and walked towards the red dot on the tracker and turned to face the source of the call. Before them was an old telephone booth, lonely, all by itself in the rain. It was attired in bright red paint, as if it was coated just the. Some splatters of the scarlet were on the pavement, beckoning them to proceed. Behind the booth was the woods, the dark forest that separated the town from the city. The wet leaves frowned at them and drooped in the silver moonlight, sending drips of water down on the already wet ground. A tall street lamp glared down at the booth, boring its petty shade of damp yellow onto and around the telephone. The door was pulled open and inside, the phone itself was dangling in mid-air. The policemen approached it, and discovered that on the phone, was a yellow Post-it Note written in blazing red ink: Look Around.

        Wheeling around, everyone gaped in horror.

        On the three floored building, a teenage girl, upside down, was tied by her ankles to the roof of a balcony. Dangling like a spider, they saw what was the raw flesh of the girl, clean but wet, with her skin peeled off, revealing her rough, meaty body. The dead girl had long hair and was naked. Her face was also gone. There was absolutely no skin left on her body. Her eyeballs, ears, and nose had been removed, leaving a three-dimensional oval attached to the body as the head. Lowering their gaze, on the slick marble sidewalk, splotches of blood was sprayed, impeccably portraying a divine piece of art, only the material was a darkened shade of red, dry and virgin. On the ground letters were arranged and spelled out the words: “What is my name?”

        The policemen screamed.