BEEP BEEP BEEP nosleep

It all started a few months ago. The receptionist at our office had to take medical leave so instead of hiring a temp, my boss thought he'd cut corners and save money but making the rest of us answer the telephones throughout the day from our desks while we were working.

Paul, Ted and Kevin refused to answer the phones. Paul said it was beneath his seniority and then Ted and Kevin followed suit stating it was "woman's work" which meant the duties were up to me and Tricia. I tried speaking to our manager about it but he brushed us off like it was no big deal even though it was blatantly sexist. This kind of thing happened all the time. Our boss still asked us to make him coffee every morning.

I started noticing every morning around 10:00 the phone would ring and if I happened to answer it, "Lynn and Associates" there was a serious of beeps and tones. It was similar to a fax machine but not quite. It was really annoying.

Then it picked up to two times a day.

Upon hanging up one afternoon, I peered over at Tricia's desk and made the comment, "I wish people would stop faxing our office line."

"Yeah," she said. "It's very annoying. The other day I picked up the phone and it sounded like old school dial up on the other end. It reminded me of using AOL when I was in junior high school." We both giggled.

Eventually the calls were coming in between four and six times a day.

By the third call, Tricia would start complaining about a headache. I did not see the correlation between the beeping her headache until I started answering the multiple calls in a row. After the third or fourth call, I'd get this screaming headache.

"It's really weird," She told me. "I feel like right after I hear the damn fax machine my head starts pounding. It lasts the rest of the day."

"Do you have migraines?" I asked her.

She sighed, "Never before. If this keeps up I may see a doctor. They seem to be getting worse."

And my headaches were worsening too. But then for several days I noticed the calls had ended. "Wow, two days in a row with no fax machine. I guess the genius figured out it was not working."

Tricia laughed, "Yeah I noticed that myself. No headaches for two days! Win!"

Four days with no faxing on the phone line. I had almost forgotten it had even been a problem until Friday. They started pouring in 2-3 calls per hour. Tricia and I were tag teaming the calls. She'd pick up the phone, "Lynn and Associates" then hang up immediately. She'd shoot me a look and roll her eyes. I would do the same. This time neither of us complained about a headache.

The following Monday, the same thing happened. We were filtering 2-3 calls per hour. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

It was so annoying. I would be in the middle of important research on this project I was trying to finish but I'd have to stop in the middle and answer the call. Beep. Beep. Beep. Then the next call would sound like internet dial up.

By noon, Tricia was very ill with a headache. She had to depart work early. She didn't call into work the next day nor did she show up. We didn't really have any kind of no call, no show policy because it just wasn't a common occurrence.

I overheard Paul in the break room saying, "Yeah I guess she got her period and can't work," mockingly.

"Ouch my head hurts!" said Ted slapping his knee.

"These women," Paul said rolling his eyes. "They're useless. All they are good for is answering the phones and they can't even do that because they've got a headache..."

This infuriated me. I don't know what happened but I snapped and the next thing I know the coffee mug in my hand was on the ground with coffee all over the floor. There was a brown splatter mark against the white wall. Paul was standing there looking white as a sheet.

"What the hell, Morgan?" He shouted.

Paul was speechless.

"I guess it was my period!" I shouted and stormed out of the break room.

What had come over me? I had no idea. I was normally not that aggressive and was able to let the chauvinistic remarks roll off my back but it seemed I had lost my cool. I was completely unaware of my actions other than feeling incredibly angry and then almost like fading in after I had reacted by throwing the mug.

I sat at my desk and waited for our boss to call me into his office. He never did. I had no beeps for the rest of the day on the phone line.

The next day, Tricia did not show up at work. Instead a detective showed up and asked to speak to Mr. Lynn. A few minutes later, he walked over and started rummaging through her desk drawers.

Later that day, Kevin walked over to my desk and whispered, "Did you hear what happened?"

"No," I said.

He leaned in, "Apparently, Tricia had some kind of psychotic break yesterday. She tried to kill her husband. She's at a mental hospital right now for evaluation. She's probably going to jail."

"What?" I asked, shocked.

He nodded, "Yeah she's over at Saint Mary's. Her husband got sliced up pretty good. She tried to filet him."

I called St. Mary's but obviously Tricia was not allowed to have any visitors and was being sedated. An armed officer was positioned outside her door.

The beeping continued. I'd go home everyday with a horrible headache.

On a Wednesday evening, I came home to find my cat had made a horrible mess in my apartment. I got really angry and the next thing I know I was standing at the window. It was wide open and the cold wind was blowing in my face. When I snapped back into reality, I looked down and saw my cat lying 8 floors below. Dead. I had thrown her out the window. What the fuck?

My cell phone rang. I started to panic. It was a number I didn't recognize but maybe someone had seen what I did. I was shaking. I felt a knot in my stomach and tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't believe what I had done to Sophie cat.

"Hello?" I said meekly.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

WHAT the fuck? Now someone was trying to fax to my cell phone? You've got to be kidding me.

I started searching on the Internet for things relating to killing my cat. Everything was telling me what an awful sicko psychopath I was and how I should just kill myself if I hurt an animal. I really don't know what happened. I've never been a violent person in my life. I loved my cat. I didn't mean to kill her.

Cell phone rings. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I did a quick search of the phone number calling me. Nothing listed. I tried calling it back but when it clicked all I heard was the sound of Internet dial up.

I'm losing my mind.

I made an appointment first thing Thursday morning with my family doctor.

He seemed incredibly concerned over my behavior. "I am ordering a CT Scan and some other tests."

A few days later, his office called to tell me I was being referred to a specialist.

The specialist showed me images of my brain and explained that I had brain damage to my hypothalamus specifically some part called the ventro medial and another part called the lateral septum.

"We're going to want to do some more tests," he told me. "We need to figure out what has caused this. Your medical history shows nothing to suggest a problem or cause for this. We've got to get to the bottom of what is happening."

I went back to the office. I had decided to work late because I had missed the morning with my appointment. All afternoon, I heard beep. Beep. Beep.

I went into my boss's office and asked him if he had any info on the condition of Tricia. He said he did not. I asked what exactly was going on with our former receptionist, Miss Brenda.

"All I know is she has something going on with her head," He told me. "Probably a brain tumor," He whispered as he covered the phone receiver.

"Hi, Larry, I'm going to need those QS reports," He said which was my cue to leave his office. He was done talking to me.

The office had almost cleared out. It was a Friday and hardly anyone worked past 4:00 on Fridays.

Paul and Kevin walked by my desk discussing how they were going to go to Hoolihans for a drink.

A few hours later, I noticed it was getting dark outside. I should probably wrap things up and head home for the weekend when the phone rang. It was after hours and I really didn't need to answer it but old habits are hard to break so I lifted the receiver. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Oh my fucking God!" I shouted and slammed down the phone.

My head immediately started aching. It was quick, lightening type of bursts of the worst pain. It lasted about five minutes then stopped.

I had gathered up my belongings and made my way to the back door. I heard a noise down the hallway.

It was Paul. He was walking toward me.

"Working late?" He slurred.

"Yep," I said.

He got closer, I could smell liquor on his breathe. "On a Friday night?"

I nodded and pushed into the break room where the back entrance was located.

He followed behind me.

"I guess a gal like you can work late on a Friday night since she has no husband or boyfriend at home. You have no one waiting on his dinner," He said then burst into laughter.

"You know Paul, you're a real piece of shit. In case you didn't know that."

He laughed, "I'm a piece of shit? Well at least I don't skip work when I get a cramp."

I could feel the rage building. I blacked out. And when I came back to reality I was standing over Paul with a knife in my hand. He was lying on the white tile floor bleeding. A chair was busted up next to me. His head was nearly cut off.

Oh fuck.

It's the weekend so nobody will know what happened.

I started freaking out. I ran to the supply closet. Garbage bags. Bleach. Cleaning products.

What was I going to do?

It was nearing midnight when I finally got to the junkyard out on Ridge Road. When I was in high school I remember coming out here to smoke dope and drink with friends. The old man who owned it had died and now his son owned it. The property was abandoned. I pulled in with my headlights off so no one would see me. I got out with a flash light and walked around the cars and junk, rusted out refrigerators and washing machines. This was a ghost town. In the middle rows, tucked away, I found an old car with a broken out window. I jimmied the trunk open.

It took me several trips to carry the garbage bags. Cutting up a man had not been easy and I had made a mess. Thankfully letting some of the blood drain down the break room sink had helped. I had changed into my gym clothes and planned to burn the outfit I was wearing.

After all was said and done I sat in my car staring out into the darkness of the junkyard. My cell phone rang. I should not answer. It's the early morning hours. Who would be calling me? But I picked up.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I hung up the phone and drove away as fast as I could.

That was nearly two weeks ago and I'm still not a suspect. Paul's car was found at Hoolihans Bar. No one saw him leave. No one knows what happened to him. No one saw him enter the office after hours. I'm not sure how long this streak of good luck will last. My doctor says the hypothalamus is responsible for controlling aggressive behaviors. The beeping is getting worse. Now the calls come in on both my cell phone and work line at least 10 times an hour.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Submitted January 12, 2018 at 10:23PM by hell-vira http://ift.tt/2qXJQ10 nosleep