The Social Media Murders Read online

  Teeth chattering, he stuttered, “I–I can't... I can't move my toes. Oh, shit... What... What the fuck did you do?!”

  His eyes widened as his attacker stood in front of the stall. He recognized his black raincoat—Tiffany's killer.

  The killer's mask was different, though. He wore a white paper-mâché plague doctor mask. The eyes were surrounded with eye-shadow. There were streams of red paints under the mask's eyes—trails of bloody tears. Newspaper articles appeared to be purposely wrapped around the beak. The headlines were illegible, but an image of the school was blatant.

  The masked killer still held the bloody knife in his right hand. He held a cell phone in his other hand. He aimed the camera at Kyle, as if he were recording him.

  Eyes welling with tears, Kyle stuttered, “Wh–Who... Who the hell are you?” As the masked person took one step forward, Kyle shouted, “Help! Help me! Please, someone–”

  The killer thrust his knife into Kyle's neck, immediately muffling his screams. He tried to twist the knife, causing the wound to widen. The blade was jammed in his thick flesh, though. It was difficult to cut through the muscle and cartilage—it wasn't like the movies. That didn't stop the masked killer from trying, though.

  Wide-eyed, Kyle grabbed the killer's wrist and stared at his attacker in disbelief. A squelching sound, bubbling and crackling, emerged from his neck as blood leaked from the wound. He grunted and groaned, but to no avail—he could hardly breathe. Blood spewed from his neck like oil from a blowout as the killer pulled the knife out.

  Kyle tightly gripped his neck. It looked as if he were trying to strangle himself. He tried to stop the excessive bleeding, but the blood just spilled from the slits between his fingers. His t-shirt and chest were drenched in blood, too. He glanced every which way, searching for an exit, but the vicious killer cornered him.

  His eyes stopped upon spotting the gap under the neighboring stall. Crawl away, he thought, I have to get out of here. He slipped on the puddle of blood on the floor as he tried to crawl into the neighboring stall.

  Before he could escape, the masked person grabbed a fistful of Kyle's wavy hair. He dragged him back into the stall and pulled him closer to the toilet. He dunked his head into the toilet, causing Kyle to kick and squirm as he slowly drowned. His blood quickly turned the water red. The water swirled around his head as the killer pushed down on the lever. He gave him an old fashioned swirlie.

  Out of breath and exhausted, Kyle lifted his head out of the toilet—bloody water dripping from his sopping hair. He croaked and groaned, but he couldn't utter a word. It didn't matter anyway. His attacker wasn't planning on giving him a platform.

  The masked man grabbed another fistful of his hair, then he thrust Kyle's head towards the rim of the toilet with all of his might. Kyle's nose was crushed upon impact. His face was slammed on the edge of the toilet again, causing the rim to crack. A gash formed on the bridge of his nose. Yet, the young man still clung to life.

  So, the killer dunked Kyle's head into the water again. He disregarded his flailing limbs and the bubbling water. In fact, he pushed his head deeper into the bowl. He held his head under the water even after he stopped moving. He had to make sure he was dead. He counted the seconds and analyzed each involuntary twitch.

  One, two, three... fifteen seconds—Kyle passed away. He was drowned in a toilet and his death was recorded on a cell phone.

  The masked killer stopped the recording, then he shoved his phone into his coat pocket. He removed his gloves and mask, but he still hid his face under the hood of his raincoat. He casually exited the restroom, leaving Kyle in the toilet to be found by an unsuspecting classmate.

  Chapter Seven

  Evacuate

  The students stared up at the ceiling as the fire alarm echoed through the school. Charlene glanced over at the neighboring group—Kyle had not yet returned. Michael stared back at Charlene and shrugged. The teacher approached the door and peeked into the hallway. Faculty members and students calmly exited their classrooms and followed the evacuation procedure.

  The teacher returned to the classroom and said, “Okay. It looks like we'll be evacuating the campus. You know the drill. Stay calm, walk in a single-file line, and head to the field. Grab your stuff. Come on, let's go. I'll be right behind you.”

  As the students gathered their belongings and chattered, Charlene asked, “Is this a drill? Is it... Is it a real emergency?”

  “I wasn't told about any drills before class, so treat it like the real deal. Go on, Charlene. I'm watching you.”

  Charlene grabbed her bag and followed her peers out of the classroom. She rushed to Michael's side, refusing to walk in a single-file line during the spontaneous evacuation. She watched as the students from the other classes filled the halls and marched to the emergency exits.

  Charlene tugged on Michael's arm and asked, “What do you think happened?”

  Michael pulled away from her grip and said, “It's probably nothing.”

  “You heard her back there. She said it wasn't a drill.”

  “If it's not a drill, then it's probably a kitchen fire. We wouldn't be walking out of here if it was a school shooter or a bomb threat. I think we'd be rushed out a lot faster than this if that was happening, right?”

  Charlene stood on her tiptoes and examined the students ahead of her, then she glanced over her shoulder and did the same. The evacuation felt like a drill—there wasn't a sense of urgency or danger in the school. However, she was still suspicious of Kyle's absence.

  Charlene said, “I don't know. It just doesn't feel right. Kyle leaves class for ten minutes, the alarm goes off, and now everyone's evacuating from the school... Something's wrong.”

  “You're over-thinking it, Charles. Something's always going to be wrong when you're never looking for what's right. Just move on.”

  Charlene was bothered by Michael's nonchalant attitude during the aftermath of seemingly endless tragedy. She tried her best to convince him of the dangers lurking in the city, but she needed irrefutable evidence to persuade him—solid proof.

  And, they found that proof around the corner.

  Charlene and Michael stopped at a fork in the road. The pair stared down the hallway to the left. To their utter surprise, the corridor was cordoned off by the police. Two cops stood at one end of the hall while two officers stood at the other end. The corridor appeared vacant. Students and faculty were not allowed to walk down that specific hallway.

  While the other doors were closed, the boys' bathroom door remained opened. A police officer leaned on the doorway with his arms crossed. Booming voices could be heard from the bathroom, but the words were muffled.

  Charlene asked, “Do you still think it's nothing?”

  Michael responded, “No. I think it could be anything. An accident, a fight, a water leak... Come on, let's go.”

  He grabbed Charlene's wrist and pulled her away from the corridor. Charlene shambled forward, her eyes locked on the bathroom door. Kyle went to the bathroom and now the bathroom is blocked, she thought, what other proof do you need? She couldn't pull away from Michael's grip, though. The pair moved forward and followed the line.

  The students found themselves outside. They formed several lines on the football field, each line representing a different classroom. Their teachers stood in front of the lines, counting heads and taking roll. A few police officers surrounded the field, too, trying to inconspicuously blend with the crowds. Of course, they stuck out like a billionaire reality star at a presidential debate.

  As their teacher took roll, Charlene said, “Michael, I think it's serious. We wouldn't evacuate the school because of a fight or a flood in the bathroom.”

  “You're still over-thinking it,” Michael responded.

  “I'm not. I'm thinking logically. The police wouldn't be here if it wasn't something serious. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt and the killer might be on campus. Hell, the killer might be Kyle and he–”

  “Stop it. J
ust stop it, Charlene. I care about you, okay? I don't want you to worry about this because it's not that serious. This isn't a movie, alright? There isn't a big twist waiting around every corner. A killer isn't watching you from behind the hedges. Whatever happened... It didn't happen to us. That's all that matters. So, try to relax. Please.”

  Charlene sighed in disappointment. She was stunned by Michael's selfish attitude, but she didn't attack him for it. Her relationship with Adam was already strained and she refused to burn another bridge. She stepped back and withdrew from the conversation. She glanced over to her right. Three classes down, she could see Britney in another line.

  With half-a-smile, she stood on her tiptoes and waved at her close friend, trying her best to get her attention—and it worked. Her friend waved back at her. The pair were like twin sisters. They shared a very special connection. They could also read each other's lips and attitudes. They were both frustrated and hungry for information.

  Charlene mouthed, “What happened?”

  Britney shrugged and mouthed, “I don't know.” She pointed at Charlene's teacher and mouthed, “Did she say anything?”

  Charlene frowned and shook her head—nope. She glanced over at her teacher. She already finished taking roll, so she was talking with the other faculty members—presumably about the incident. She couldn't read their lips. She slinked away from her class and approached Britney.

  She asked, “You haven't heard anything?”

  Britney shook her head and said, “No. Why? Did you hear something?”

  “No. I... I saw something, though.”

  “What?”

  “It's probably nothing, but... I saw Kyle leave our class. He went to the bathroom.”

  “So?” Britney responded, confused.

  Charlene explained, “Well, he went to the bathroom, but he didn't come back. When we were evacuating from the school, I noticed one of the bathrooms in a hallway was blocked by the police. There were more of them inside the bathroom, too. I know it.”

  Britney furrowed her brow and nodded as she lowered her head and stared at the grass. She quickly connected the pieces.

  She asked, “You think something happened to Kyle? Or... Or do you think Kyle did something?”

  Charlene didn't have an answer for Britney. There were dozens of possible conclusions to the scenario. She didn't believe Kyle killed Tiffany since it was physically impossible according to the rumors she heard, but she believed he was hiding something. She needed information from a trusted source in order to formulate a plausible theory.

  Fortunately, Wilson walked across the field with a clipboard in his hands. He finished his roll-call, so he was going to mingle with the other teachers.

  Charlene said, “Come on. Let's ask Wilson.” The pair hurriedly walked between the students and approached the front of the line. Charlene shouted, “Mr. Wilson!”

  Wilson stopped and glanced back at the girls. He appeared distraught, hollow-eyed and pale-faced as if he had just seen a ghost. He glanced back at the other teachers. For a moment, he thought about ignoring his students. He couldn't muster the courage to walk away from them, though. He respected them and they respected him.

  Wilson asked, “How can I help you, ladies?”

  Charlene asked, “What are we doing out here? Huh? What the hell happened in there? Is someone hurt?”

  “I don't know all of the details. I–”

  “What do you know?” Charlene interrupted.

  Wilson stared at Charlene with a set of worried eyes, trying to dissuade her from pursuing the subject. To his dismay, the student was persistent. He stared down at the grass and rubbed the nape of his neck as he contemplated his response.

  He said, “I... I can't tell you anything, Charlene. I know you're curious and scared, but I can't run my mouth about this. You're just going to have to wait out here until your parents pick you up.”

  Britney asked, “Does that mean school is over? I mean, do we have practice today for cheerleading, baseball, football... anything?”

  “School is over... for now,” Wilson responded, disappointed. As he walked away, he said, “Go back to your lines and wait for your parents. Everything's going to be okay.”

  Charlene and Britney glanced over at each other, baffled and terrified. A significant reason would be required to close the school—and it could be anything. Without any other useful options, they returned to their lines and waited for their guardians.

  Chapter Eight

  Home Sweet Home

  Charlene lay on her bed, sunset sunshine pouring through the neighboring window. She vacantly stared at the dusty ceiling as she thought about the incident at school. Kyle was attacked by the killer, she thought, or Kyle killed someone in the bathroom. She created several scenarios in her mind, but she couldn't find a reasonable conclusion without all of the pieces to the puzzle.

  She coughed and turned on her bed, kicking and squirming like a child throwing a temper tantrum at the mall. She stared at her dresser across the room. Photos of her friends clung to the mirror on the dresser. The images—from school events, local fairs, and group trips—brought a tear to her eye. She felt as if they were all in danger and she couldn't do anything to stop it. Helplessness was the most debilitating sensation.

  A buzzing sound emerged in the room.

  Charlene glanced at the nightstand next to her bed. Under the lamp, her cell phone moved an inch with each vibration. The caller ID read: Anonymous. She sat up in bed and answered the phone, hesitant.

  She said, “Hello. Hello?” There was no response. She asked, “Adam, did you get a new number? Are you messing with me? Michael? Stephen?”

  Yet again, no one answered.

  Charlene glanced over her shoulder. She leaned back on her bed and stared out her window. She could see the neighboring house and the street. A few kids wandered the street, oblivious of the murderer lurking in the city. She didn't see a masked killer in a raincoat watching her from afar, though.

  Charlene said, “I'm going to call the police. Anonymous calling doesn't mean shit. They'll track it and–”

  She paused upon hearing hoarse breathing on the line. The croaky breathing continued for twenty seconds, as if the caller were having trouble breathing.

  In a deep synthesized voice, the caller said, “You didn't help him... No, you didn't hurt him, but you didn't help him. It's the same thing, isn't it? It's the same damn thing.”

  “What are you–”

  “Shut up! Shut your slutty little mouth!” the caller barked. He cackled deliriously, causing his voice synthesizer to malfunction. As he recomposed himself, the caller said, “I... I know about the pain. A child shouldn't have to feel that pain. You kids... You fucking kids... It seems harmless on the surface, just games and words, but it burns and it burns until there's nothing left to burn. Oh, God, if you only knew that pain...”

  Charlene furrowed her brow as the caller whimpered. His shifts in mood were eerie. Yet, she allowed the call to continue.

  The caller said, “Well, I'm going to show the world what the world showed him.”

  Charlene asked, “What are you talking about?”

  The caller remained silent. Only his raspy breathing emerged on the phone. A crackling sound accompanied the breathing.

  Before Charlene could say another word, a group of overlapping synthesized voices shouted: Loser! Loner! Punk! Snitch! Bitch! Asshole! Freak! Cocksucker! Faggot! Kill yourself!

  Charlene pulled the phone away from her ear, shocked. She stared at the screen as the overlapping voices continued to play through the speakers. The raspy, crackling voices sounded as if they were in pain, like animals in a slaughterhouse. She recognized the harsh words, though. The call disconnected before she could respond.

  She lowered the phone and stared at her lap, awed. The creepy phone call sent her into a tailspin of doubt. She thought: it was just a prank, right? She grimaced in disgust and her stomach turned as she thought about it. The message was ominous, the
words were hurtful. The insults didn't appear to be targeting her, but it still made her feel uncomfortable.

  She sent a text message to Britney. The message read: I just got the WEIRDEST call, Brit. I'm scared.

  Britney quickly responded: Call the cops!! Before Charlene could type a response, Britney sent another message that read: Or maybe it was just a prank? Did you ask the boys?

  Charlene responded: I can't ask Adam. He doesn't have service. I don't know if it was the others. What should I do?

  The young woman sighed, then she pouted as she waited for her friend's response. She didn't expect Britney to respond immediately anyway. She presented her best friend with a complicated problem, so she didn't expect her to form a thorough solution within seconds. Her phone buzzed as she received another message.

  Britney responded: Tell your parents?

  Charlene sighed as she composed her response. The message read: Mom is at the school meeting. Dad is sleeping. I don't wanna wake him before his night shift.

  Britney responded: Shit. I don't know what to tell you. (Her text message was followed by a sad emoji.)

  Charlene responded: Don't worry about it. I'll tell them later. I guess I'm just really nervous.

  She lowered her cell phone and stared at the doorway. She could see the hallway from her bed. The home was quiet—a creaky floorboard here, a groaning pipe there. She could hear her father's snoring down the hall. The man was knocked out, but she still felt safe around him. His presence was reassuring.

  As she thought about the call, Charlene whispered, “Adam, Michael, Stephen... Kyle. It could be any one of them. Shit, it could even be a girl.” She stared at her phone and said, “You didn't hurt him, but you didn't help him... What does it mean?”

  She gasped and hopped as a clacking sound emerged from over her shoulder. She quickly staggered off of her bed and glanced back at the window. She sighed in relief upon spotting Adam standing on her father's ladder outside of her bedroom.