Firstnet (standard:horror, 1762 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Apr 17 2012	Views/Reads: 2980/1977	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
There’s a new phone available. DO NOT BUY IT.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

it not only his voice, but subliminal soundwaves that meant that 
whatever he heard through his earpiece, he must perform, because it 
also directed that area of the brain that controlled what a person 
wanted to do next. Paul wanted to get off the train. Wanted to draw out 
money. Wanted to give it to the people who had sold him the phone, and 
that's exactly what he did. 

He walked from the cash machine, under his hypnotic spell, with all the
money it would give him, and without saying anything, handed it over. 
Les took it, smiled, and put it away in his pocket. The younger man, 
who was stood at the side of the desk looked impressed. They both 
watched as Paul walked back towards his train. "And he's not going to 
remember a thing about it?" said Anthony, "Not a thing. Depending on 
what you told him". "I told him to forget everything from the minute he 
bought his ticket". "Well, there you go. Basically anybody who we speak 
to over the phone will do anything we want. Even kill". "Kill?” 
“Anybody can be ordered to murder, and they can't help themselves, they 
want to do it. It all depends on what you say. If it's kill, then you 
have to tell them to forget they did after returning to normal, to 
cover tracks. If they remembered murdering somebody then they would 
wonder why they did it, and it would probably be worked out back to the 
phone, remembering what was said to them. So what you say is very 
important. You can even make them commit suicide afterwards". "This is 
going to make us rich". "Well, I invented it", said Les with a grin. 

Paul had walked through onto the platform, showing his ticket again, and
found that his train had gone. There was a vast empty space where it 
had been, the steel tracks barely reflecting the surrounding light. 
They spanned away beyond a curve, out of sight. 

Paul had not been programmed for this. The voice had said to get back on
the train, but it wasn't there. It was on its way to Chester. He didn't 
know what to do, for his mind was still not his own. He had to get back 
on the train but he could not, and because this action could not be 
performed, the parts of his brain responsible for his current actions 
began to heat, like a kettle switched on without any water. He began to 
tremble slightly as the temperature grew and started to tamper with his 
nervous system. All the time his mind was repeating the same words, 
words spoken to him over the phone: 'Get back on the train. Get back on 
the train'. 

Soon, the heating had spread throughout his brain, affecting every nerve
and every cell. His mind then, in the state that it was, reversed back 
to his previous action. That meant going back to the table, and to the 
men who had sold him the mobile. 

Slowly, he turned, dropped his briefcase and made his way back. He had
no idea what to when he got there. He just had to reverse his actions. 
His brain though, grew more and more hot, like a knife left in a fire, 
its blade glowing orange and yellow. 

The two men were discussing what to say to another person who had
recently bought a phone when they saw Paul, and they knew something had 
gone wrong. Lesley looked at Anthony and said: "What did you say to 
him?". Paul shuffled across, almost zombie-like, and a few people were 
staring. His brain was now melting, and melting everything beneath it, 
including his eyes, which oozed down his face. He fell forward, his 
hands slamming down on the desk. “Get back on the train," he rasped, as 
blood spilled from his mouth, splattering the table. People screamed 
and ran, and the two men staggered back, the hording crashing over. 
“Get back....on the train”. Liquified brain and scarlet fluid poured 
over his melting jaw, and his head could be heard to crackle like an 
egg in a frying pan. 

Lesley turned and ran, Anthony still staring at Paul, whose very skull,
hair and teeth had melted into the multicoloured glistening fluid which 
pooled around him and covered the table. Still though, the man slowly 
collapsed forwards onto the desk as his neck, his shoulders, the tattoo 
of a cartoon fish on his forearm, all melted away into a spreading pool 
of thick liquid on the floor. 

As people still screamed and ran around him, he watched as Paul
vanished, his shoes melting away into the reflecting fluid. He joined 
them, turning and running for the exit, where outside a few taxi 
drivers were looking curious at the people who were hurrying outside 
and shouting and looking panicked. 

He calmly got into a cab, and quickly thought of somewhere to go.
“Knowsley please”, he said, sitting back. “What's going on in there 
lad?” the driver asked. “Something to do with a bomb scare. Chemicals I 
think” As he pulled away, and headed from the scene, Anthony simply 
relaxed, and took from his pocket a mobile phone. 

From his inside pocket he took out a list. A list of telephone numbers
of all the phones they had for sale. They had sold approximately three 
quarters of them, so he knew he could control some people out there. He 
smiled, and looked out of the window. 


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