The Biggest Fan

Connor fumbled in his pocket to retrieve what he knew was the last cigarette in the pack. It was going to be a tortuous few hours until he could get to the gas station to buy more, but he’d held out as long as he could. It had all become too much too handle. He managed just one drag before a voice interrupted him.

“You’re Connor Phillips, right?” asked a woman’s voice, “I can’t believe I’m getting to meet you! My dad and I used to watch all your games on TV — 2005, when y’all made it to the Sweet 16. I’m telling you, you guys were robbed. That ref …”

“Thanks for making me feel old,” he responded brusquely, taking another long drag. All day he’d been shaking the hands of dudes in their 60s and signing old programs, having them recount their time at school or tell him about their best basketball game. Connor didn’t know why he had signed up for this meet-and-greet at the county fair. Well, that’s a lie. He signed up for it because they were giving him $75 a day, plus food — and that was about what he was worth these days.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!” she responded sweetly. “You’re only a couple of years older than I am. I’m Annie.”

A hand shot in his direction like a rocket, which caught him off guard, but he had to admit the enthusiasm was cute, especially after hearing about some old man’s game-winning free throws in a 1974 high school game.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Not here, obviously, but when you’re done. It’ll make up for making you feel ancient,” she said, laughing.

Connor smiled. It wasn’t a fake smile. He’d been manufacturing them for so long at boat shows, car dealerships, and gatherings that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually really smiled.

“Coffee works. It’ll help pass the time while I patiently await the sweet release of death,” Connor said, immediately regretting showing his dry, dark humor this quickly.

“That’s the spirit, dude” Annie said, playfully punching his shoulder. “Meet you at the north exit at six?”

“So … did you make any new friends today?” Annie asked, keeping eye contact with him while taking a sip out of a mug almost as big as her head.

“Tons,” Connor replied. “Did you know that Corey from the hardware store has very serious feelings about the lack of point guards in the NBA who are ‘like us’ and thinks it’s all a conspiracy?”

“This fucking town, man,” she said. Connor had subconsciously floated the sarcasm like a test, and it dawned on him quickly — he liked her.

“Think we should kill him?” Annie asked, eyes locked on him.

“Definitely. The real question is how.”

“Pigs. Definitely pigs. Ever seen that movie Snatch? Pigs are the answer,” Annie said stone-faced. “They’ll eat anything. Perfect way to make a body disappear. One second there’s Corey, the lumbering idiot, the next — just pig shit.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Connor said.

“You’ve got to. Always have a plan.”

The two talked for what felt like hours. It was so unusual to find someone even vaguely interesting in this town. How hadn’t they met sooner? Conversation came easy, which never happened for him. Connor rarely told people about his job selling cars, which turned into selling insurance. How he’d been routinely downgrading jobs since graduation, with every year his name becoming less and less recognizable, and therefore he became less useful. This was the most real moment for him in what felt like ages, and he wanted to never leave. He assumed Annie felt the same way, because she kept playing with her hair, almost endlessly, brushing it back over her ears, and he’d heard that was a good sign.

“Thanks for the cup of pity coffee,” Connor said, “I needed that.”

“No problem. Hanging out with washed-up athletes is a lot easier than volunteering at the animal shelter,” Annie said. “At least you can walk yourself.”

Connor barely had time to process just how mean that was before Annie grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in deeply for a kiss. She pushed him away just as swiftly before turning her back and walking away.

“I put my number in your phone while you were taking a leak!” she yelled while walking away, never turning back to look at him. “Call me the next time you’re feeling sad and lonely!”

Reaching for his phone he saw that Annie had indeed entered her details: “Annie — super cute girl from fair, hates Corey” was now in his contacts.

The following month was incredible, as the beginning of most new relationships tend to be. Everything was fresh and exciting, each meeting an opportunity to unearth something about the person and fall for them a little more. Annie was amazing. She had no filter, always spoke her mind and detested small talk. Connor learned about her borderline-creepy love of Dawson’s Creek, and how broccoli was her favorite vegetable, but she hated broccolini. She was double-jointed and took delight in freaking people out with it. She’d traveled a lot after leaving high school, but came back when her dad got sick and couldn’t look after the farm alone anymore; as an only child, Annie couldn’t bear the thought of it just crumbling to dust. She collected bad movies, took her coffee black, and would lose it if anyone tried to touch her hair.

They would text endlessly throughout the day, random crap — “Would you rather?” questions or bad dad jokes. She was typically the only person he really spoke to throughout the day, but all of the sudden, he started getting regular messages from an unknown number, too.

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO,” one read.

“ANNIE NO,” said another.

Connor would reply, but he never got an answer. He’d block the number and then another dozen would come in, all from different unknown numbers.

“NO”
“NO”
“NO”
“STAY AWAY FROM MY ANNIE”
“ANNIE IS MINE”

Annie had never mentioned a jealous ex-boyfriend or anything, but she mentioned her last relationship ended badly — part of the reason she returned home to the farm. Any time he mentioned past relationships she got uncomfortable and wanted to change the subject, so he didn’t push it.

“Wait a second …” Connor thought. Now it was all starting to make sense. Nobody would have his number except Annie, and Halloween was right around the corner. This was 100 percent a chance for her to fuck with him. He smirked to himself and couldn’t believe he had actually been spooked for a second. It was time to play along.

“I can’t stay away from Annie. She’s too smart and pretty and kind. And she hates Corey ; )”

In an instant his phone lit up, buzzing so uncontrollably that people around him at the bar he was at began to wonder what was up.

“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T WANT YOU.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T NEED YOU.”
“LEAVE HER ALONE.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”

On one hand he had to give Annie credit — this was definitely creepy. But it was also getting annoying. Maybe it wasn’t Annie and he should be worried, but this was totally something she’d do. He grabbed his keys and decided to head to her place, torn whether or not to bring it up as he knocked on her front door.

“Sorry, I didn’t order an old point guard,” Annie said through the crack in the door — the latch still on — “unless it’s Steve Nash. He has soccer skills and kind Canadian eyes. If Steve Nash is with you then you can come in.”

The door shut and Connor could hear the latch being unshackled, then the door swung open.

Connor took one step forward and kissed Annie. She paused with their lips locked to say, “For real though, if you know Steve Nash, don’t bring him here because I’ll dump you in a second for him.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. Dude was an MVP.” Connor replied.

“Two-time MVP,” Annie quickly retorted, “put some respect on his name. You’re going to be so proud of me, dude … I’m making dinner.”

“You, cook? What is happening?”

“Yeah, I’m getting all fancy for you. Downloaded a recipe and everything. Shit, I guess this means I must really like you,” Annie said, taking a healthy gulp from a beer bottle next to the stove.

Still debating whether or not to say something, Connor just blurted it out.

“So, those text messages today … a little creepy.”

“What messages?” Annie replied.

“Very funny. STAY AWAY. KEEP OUT. OOOOOH AAAH!”

The color vanished from Annie’s face. Her face went pale instantly, and her smile was replaced with a look of melancholy.

“Show me the messages now,” Annie said frantically.

Connor swore he saw a tear in the corner of Annie’s eye as she thumbed through his phone. He never should have said anything, he thought.

“We need to talk,” Annie said quietly, refusing to make eye contact.

“I lied to you. I’m not an only child. Well, I kind of am and kind of not. I have a sister, and I don’t see her much — but she’s a total psycho and does this with some of the guys I go out with. I thought coming back here might put a stop to it, but… I guess not.”

Annie never looked up, still running her finger around the lip of her beer bottle to distract herself.

“So … I really like you, but we should stop hanging out,” Annie said quietly.

“Over your weird sister?” Connor replied. “Don’t give her that much power. If you don’t want to see me any more that’s honestly OK, but don’t tell me it’s because your sister texted me.”

“You don’t understand. I hate it, but you don’t want to stay in this thing.”

“What if I want to? See what happens?”

“You really shouldn’t.”

Days passed, then weeks. The messages never stopped. He thought he could win over Annie’s sister, so he’d say stuff like, “You don’t know me, but I’m actually not a terrible guy.”

“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T WANT YOU.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T NEED YOU.”
“LEAVE HER ALONE.”
“GET OUT.”
“NO”
“NO”
“NO”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”

“You and I should meet. Talk this all out.”

“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T WANT YOU.”
“GET OUT.”
“WE DON’T NEED YOU.”
“LEAVE HER ALONE.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”
“GET OUT.”

“If we talk and you’re still convinced I’m awful then I’ll leave forever, OK?”

His phone buzzed.

“TOMORROW. ANNIE’S. 8 P.M.”

Connor walked up the path to the front door of the slightly run down, but charming farmhouse that Annie lived in. Climbing the stairs he noticed the door was ajar, which was unusual, but there was no sign it’d been forced open.

“Annie!” he yelled. “You home?”

All he heard was the sound of faint sobbing, coming from the basement. It sounded a little like Annie, but he had to admit he’d never seen seen her cry before. Connor kept yelling out, trying to locate her, but never got a response. He descended the stairs into the dark basement and found Annie standing, back to him, looking through an old stack of sports memorabilia.

“This was dad’s stuff,” she said, “He kept all of it. I even found a program with you on it,” Annie said softly.

“You shouldn’t have messaged her.”

Annie reached a hand to the base of her neck, as if she was relieving tension. Then slowly, she lifted her hair up. A gnarled, blood-soaked face existed where her scalp should have been. It vaguely resembled Annie, but it looked so … wrong. Connor stumbled a few steps backward and stared into onyx-black eyes that didn’t reflect the light, and caught sight of distended, teeth-like fangs that glistened ever-so-slightly in the ambient light.

Long, claw-like fingernails sprouted from Annie’s hands, and before he could process what he was seeing, he felt an icy-cold jab. He looked down to a hand plunged into his chest, scraping his ribs as his breath left his body, knowing his lung had collapsed.

“GOODBYE.”
“GOODBYE.”
“WE DIDN’T WANT YOU.”
“GOODBYE.”
“WE DIDN’T NEED YOU.”
“GOODBYE.”
“GOODBYE.”
“GOODBYE.”
“GOODBYE.”
“GOODBYE.”

The voice boomed, ringing in Connor’s ears as his senses began feeling more muted. Then, he heard Annie’s voice, the real Annie, his Annie.

“I really liked him, Sis,” she said quietly. “Like really, really liked him. Dad liked him too.”

“IT’S OVER NOW,” the voice replied coldly.

“Yes, I know. I’ll go wake the pigs.”