It’s late afternoon, edging into evening, when my mobile rings.
I answer: “Yes, hello?”.
A young woman’s thin voice says coldly: “Will you give me your number?”
Her tone annoys me, and then I think, “But you called me, so why the hell are you asking for my number?”.
Assuming it’s a prank, I look at the phone and hang up without saying anything.
About ten minutes later, the home phone rings.
I answer.
On the other end, the same voice again: “Will you give me your number?”.
But firmer and more aggressive.
This time I get scared and instinctively hang up.
A little later, the intercom buzzes.
I’m not expecting anyone.
I have a fear, but it seems absurd, so I answer, and from the street the same girl says: “Give me your number!”.
More a statement than a question.
“Nooo!” I scream into the intercom.
And I rush to lock myself in my panic room, which is nothing more than a room with a reinforced door.
But before I can close it, they’re already inside, because the girl isn’t alone.
She’s with two others, as always.
I start running away, racing down the street.
And they chase me.
The tallest of the three throws petrol at me from a can.
He wants to set me on fire.
But I think, “To do that, he has to catch me first! He’s slow and heavy, I’m faster and fitter. Besides, petrol evaporates, oil doesn’t!”
So I steal a bottle I spot on one of the little tables at the restaurant along the street and throw its contents over him just as he is lighting a torch meant for me.
The man starts burning, letting out terrible screams.
At last I wake up and think... honestly, I could have just given her that number!