"Scaredy Cat" by Neil Vayne

Scaredy Cat 

by Neil Vayne

Waiting, I’m always waiting. Why would this be any different? The tracking app said it should have arrived at least an hour ago, but here I am, glancing out the window every other minute hoping to see a delivery guy walk up my driveway. I wonder if anyone else in the group has gotten theirs yet and if they resisted the temptation to open in on stream later.

After pacing between my living room, kitchen, and my office for the last two hours, I finally collapsed in my chair. The moment I hit the seat, I feel an already vibrating cat nestle herself on my lap. Ever since I moved out, this has been Nesty and I’s routine and I wouldn't change it for the world. Nesty has been with me since high school and ever since, if I am in here, she’s here with me. Every stream I've ever done, she’s been there and I would be lying if I said my growing follower count didn’t owe some percentage to Nesty’s antics. 

The door chime echoes through my apartment and I aggressively disturb Nesty’s comfort to get to the door. There was no clear address of the sender on the package and it was drawn all over with permanent marker in a frantic claw mark-pattern. As I examined it, the chat started to blow up, it seemed everyone had their packages delivered and sent photos of what ended up at our doors. Soon, we discovered that even though we all lived in different states, we all seemed to receive the packages at the same time. While mine dawned the claw mark-pattern, others had some variations of markings on their boxes. We took a vote on which of the six boxes were the best, this would decide which we open first. Lynn’s box was the unanimous winner; it reminded me of an “edgy” notebook that a crazed thirteen-year-old would make because its scribbles were a constellation of hearts and various sizes of hearts made of two upside down nines.

Night was creeping closer and Nesty took her spot on my lap, the perfect setting to start the stream. Lynn placed her unopened box in the frame and began her introduction, “Hey there, weirdos and weirdetts! We heard your voices and the crew is doing the mystery box challenge for you all tonight!” 

 A casacade of shocked faces and thumbs up emojis in rapid sequence fluttered the screen. “Before we start, we would like to thank our number one donor for requesting this challenge,” she read off a notecard that she placed on top of the box, “‘Mr. Price!”’ 

Mr. Price’s icon appeared and noted a fifty-dollar tip right after the mention of his name along with a green heart sticker in the chat. She rips open the box, fumbling the Styrofoam and bubble wrap out of frame. The chat froze and the girls all leaned in closer to their monitors. Lynn stares at this black, round ball for a full minute before turning it to the camera. 

“It’s… a magic nine ball?” the confusion in her tone rose and she rotated it around. The toy looked no different than a dollar store magic eight ball, except for the crude looking “9” written with red marker where the eight would be. “Well, gang, I guess I will be your fortune teller tonight!” Lynn plays it off well, but those of us who knew her could tell she felt uneasy.

“Why don’t you tell me my future, all knowing Lynn,” said Becky looking anxious, but wanting to keep her persona as the badass one of the group.

“Will Becky ever become famous?  OH magic nine ball tell us!” Lynn gave the ball a shake and when she did, her stream box feed flickered and lagged.

“Don’t forget to lock the door,” Lynn’s voice comes through the static in a distorted tone. Nesty hissed at the sudden spike in noise then fled to the living room. Lynn’s feed returned to normal. We sat there and looked blankly at Lynn, who didn’t seem to notice a change. Questions and donations follow with requests to ask it another question. Becky's panel shows her pale face; her eyes scan the room around her. I could see her goosebumps as she turned away from the camera and cautiously walked out of her room in short steps. 

“Wonder what that's all about,” Lynn gave a smirk and began shaking it up again, “Next up, Heather and Nesty.”

“Hold on a minute!” I shout, still feeling my stomach on the floor.                          

“Why are you being a scaredy cat?” Lynn looked down at her hands and shook the ball. “Who thinks that we should keep going with Heather?”

The votes tally up; Mr. Green donates a hundred dollars and replies in the chat.

“Ask ‘Should Heather look outside?’” 

“Anything you say, Mr. Price!” Lynn repeated the question and looked under the ball for the response. 

The screen glitched and her voice contorted again, “DON’T LOOK OUTSIDE AFTER DARK.” My computer shut completely and Nesty started furiously growling from across the apartment. Shooting up out of the chair, Iran to her, the flickering light from the computer filled the hallway. Nesty sat shaking in the living room surrounded by styrofoam peanuts and mangled bubble wrap. Shreds of bloody fur trailed to the opened window. I picked up Nesty to calm her, I glanced at the window, then walked away. I heard a faint voice, rough like gravel, it was Becky. I turn and look closer. I could have sworn I saw her face in the woods outside my window. Outfit wise, it was the same as she had on stream. Her blonde hair looked matted, and I could have sworn I saw a dark number nine on her face. The hallway lit up with the light from the computer booting back up. Sitting back down, I thought how ridiculous that was. Becky lived like six states away.