Richard Matheson - Ride the Nightmare

In the hall, the telephone rang.

Now whos that at this hour? Helen said, straightening up from the dishwasher.

Ill bitewho? asked Chris.

Helen made a face at him. You, she said, are just the funniest.

I try

Sure you do.

Smiling, Helen left the kitchen and walked across the living room, her slippers making a muffled sound on the rug. In the hall, the telephone jangled stridently. They should have had it installed in the kitchen, she thought. It was an old thought; one which recurred every time the telephone rang after Connie had been put to bed.

Helens fingers closed over the coolness of the phone and cut off its ringing. Pushing back a lock of hair with the receiver, she held it to her ear.

Hello, she said.

I want to talk to Chris Phillips, said a mans voice.

Helen felt herself bristle. The voice was so sharp, so demanding.

Im sorry, she said. You have the wrong number.

Was that a laugh? It sounded more like a viscid clearing of the throat.

I dont think so. said the man.

A look of irritation tightened Helens face.

Im sorry but our name is Martin, she said.

Never mind that, the man said, and Helen got a vision of teeth clenching, of lips drawn back. Put Chris on the phone I said.

Helen shivered. Im afraid she started.

I said put Chris on!

Helen stared blankly at the receiver.

You his wife? the man asked.

Yes. Now would you?

So old Chris is married, said the man.

You have the wrong number, said Helen.

You just put Chris on. said the man. You just put him on.

Impulsively, Helen clumped the receiver onto the table and headed back toward the kitchen, wondering why she hadnt hung up. Obviously, the man had a wrong number. It was just that he sounded so certain of himself. Hed intimidated her with his rude assurance.

Who was it? asked Chris

Some man, she told him, frowning. He wants to talk to Chris.

So whats the mystery? he asked. Im Chris.

Chris Phillips. she said before hed finished.

He made a scoffing sound. So what are we talking about?

Hesstill on the line, she told him.

Chris looked surprised How come? Didnt you tell him he had a wrong number?

Yes, but She shrugged and looked exasperated. He wouldnt listen. He just saidput Chris on.

He looked at her, a faint smile edging up the corners of his mouth.

Im sorry, she said.

Whats our name, lady?

She shrugged. So all right. she said. You tell him.

Yes, my love. Chris got up and walked out of the kitchen. Helen Stood motionless beside the dishwasher listening to his stockinged feet thud across the living room. For some reason her heartbeat was unnaturally fast.

In the hall, Chris said: Hello.

Helen found herself straining to hear the mans reply as if his voice were audible.

Im sorry. she heard Chris say. Youve made a mistake. My name is

There was a pause.

Im sorry, said Chris. My name is Martin. His voice was louder now. Helen moved toward the living room.

Now, listen. said Chris. Im telling you youre making a mistake.

Helen stood in the doorway looking toward the shadowy figure of her husband in the hall.

My name is Martin, I tell you!

Helen took an involuntary step into the living room, her heart beating even faster. She could feel it pummeling beneath her breast.

Chris shouted: What?!

When she reached him, he was trembling in the semi-darkness of the hall, staring into the receiver. She could hear the sharp buzzing of the dial tone.

Chris, what is it? she asked

His face was blank as he turned to her. Slowly, he lowered the receiver, feeling for its cradle The dial tone stopped.

Who was it? Did you know him?

He shook his head.

What did he say?

He said he was going to kill me, he told her.

He said She couldnt finish. A vacuum of dread swept across her and. for a moment, she thought she was going to faint. Chris, she murmured, clutching his arm.

He looked at her dazedly. Chris, it was a wrong number.

Of course it was, he said, hollowly.

Well who was he? Why should he

I dont know.

But that doesnt make She broke off, hearing a shrill quality in her voice. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. What did he say, Chris? Just that

Just that he was going to kill me.

But that doesnt make sense!

I know, he muttered.

Maybe its a joke, she said.

Chris didnt answer.

You know how your friends at the club are always

No. He shook his head. Its not a joke.

Call the police, she said.

But what if

What?

What if it is ajoke?

You just said it wasnt.

I know but

Honey, whether it is or not Abruptly, she turned for the hall. Ill call them, she said.

No, Ill do it, he told her. Go finish the dishes. He walked past her into the hall, then turned and looked back. Go on, he said.

Call them, Chris, she said.

He turned to the table and lifted the receiver from its cradle. After a moment, she heard the clicking of the dial as he spun it once. There was a pause.

Give me the police. he said

He glanced across his shoulder at her, then looked away. Its all right. he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

Why dont they answer? she asked.

Hello, he said. She heard him swallow dryly. Could yousend a patrol car to my house right away? IIve been threatened.

He stood silent for a moment

Yes, he said. My name isChristopher Martin I live at 1204 Twelfth Street He repeated the address. Yes, he said. He threatened me and II need protection. Or

He stood quietly for several seconds, then said Thank you and put down the receiver,

What did they say? she asked

Theyll come over.

Why didnt you tell them what the man said? she asked. All you told them was that he threatened you. You didnt say he said he was going to kill you.

Honey, theyre coming. he said.

Helen walked over to him and put her hand on his arm

Im sorry. she said. Itll be all right. But, even as she spoke, she knew she was doing it more to comfort herself than him; hoping that hed put his arms around her and verify her words, tell her: Yes, of course it will be all right.

He didnt. He stood beside her, wordless.

How long did they say it would take them to get here? she asked.

Honey, I dont know.

All right. she said. Im sure it will be

Her voice choked off abruptly as, beneath her fingers, she felt his arm go rigid.

What is it? she gasped.

What if he was phoning from the drugstore at the corner?

He turned and hurried to the front door, locked it. He lowered the Venetian blinds across the casement windows and drew them. Then, whirling, he turned off the floor lamp, a pocket of shadows enveloping him. In an instant, he emerged from it and half ran across the room to the table lamp beside the sofa.

Lock the kitchen door, he told her.

She hesitated, watching him crank the front windows shut.

Helen, move! he snapped. Twitching, she turned and hurried across the rug.

And turn out the light! he called as she pushed at the kitchen door to make certain that the latch caught.

All right, she answered. She turned the lock on the knob and tested the door with shaking fingers. It held. Hurriedly, she pulled the shade down over the window on the door, then, almost lurching for the wall switch, pushed it down.

The house was now completely dark. Helen stood restively in the kitchen doorway, watching Chris draw the blinds and drapes across the picture window that faced the backyard. The living room grew even darker, blocked from the faint illumination of the moon and the street light on the next block. Chriss body became a formless shadow.