That Damn Phone Psychic
by Ray Prew
I sit on a chair in my cell, feeling ridiculous, wearing a
ratty blond wig. I scratched my head at the lice it probably gave me. I
know better than to take it off. The last time I did, my cellmate beat
the crap out of me. All because of that phone psychic, that damn phone
psychic. I shift my weight in my chair, my butt still hurt from being
raped by my cellmate. He thinks the blond wig, at least a little bit,
makes me look like a woman, and it seems to help him pretend, though I
don’t understand why I had to squeal like a pig while he did it.
Maybe if I tell you my story it will help me to feel better.
My name is Rick O’Brian. I used to steal cars and sell drugs for a
living but not anymore, nowadays my room and board is provided by the
state. I was caught and sentenced to five years in the Franklyn N
Furder Denton Correctional Center. At first, I thought I was safe from
harm. On my very first day I struck a bargain with my new roommate. In
exchange for him protecting me from the other prisoners, my family
would pay his mom’s electric bill. A fair exchange, or so I thought,
until my wife lost her job and my dad refused to help me. After a
couple of weeks his mom got a shut off notice from the power company
and she in turn called the psychics to find out when we were going to
pay her bill, and that was my undoing.
Whomever it was she spoke with on the psychic hotline told her
my family was never going to pay her bill and I knew it when I made the
deal. That was a lie. I was convinced they would help me, my wife
certainly wanted to, but she got laid off. Then the bastard told her
that I deserved to wear a dress. Sure enough, since my wife was unable
to pay her bill, the lady got her electricity shut off, and I looked
like a liar to a very angry and very large hard timer in prison. There
was no reasoning with the man, all he knew was his mother was sitting
in a dark apartment with spoiled food in her fridge.
First, he beat the tar out of me, and then he had his way with
me. I never had sex with another man before that and he wasn’t very
attractive at all. That and he had poor hygiene. When he was finished,
I was given this ratty wig and a stained sundress to wear. I tried to
fight back again but only got my nose broken for that. Now I have a
daily quota of six cigarettes to get for him. In addition to the
cigarettes I must get I am required to clean the cell and wash his
clothes. In the morning, I must get his coffee for him.
Of course, I could take a sharpened spoon or fork and jab it
into his neck, but I only have five years to serve, there is no need to
turn it into thirty years as well as be a target for his friends. His
friends, he loves to rent me out to his friends. He gets cigarettes
from them for my sexual services; this is on top of the other
cigarettes I must get for him by renting myself out. It appears that
the next five years will be life changing. All of this because of that
damn phone psychic. Why did he have to do that to me? This wouldn’t be
happening if not for that guy. I never called the psychics myself I
always considered it to be a crock.
Ironically, I’ve made a friend or two in here. The guy across
from our cell also has to wear a dress. His story was his wife thought
he was cheating on her and he wasn’t. She called the psychics also and
the man she spoke with told her the best thing she could do to stop his
cheating was to put hair remover in his shampoo to make his hair fall
out, and put salt peter in his coffee to make him impotent, that way he
couldn’t cheat. His hair fell out in clumps and he couldn’t attain a
hard on. He found out what she did and in a blind rage, he beat her
badly. Now he also must serve five years for assault with intent. I
wonder if they both spoke with the same guy.
He has it a bit worse than I do. My cellmate just smells bad,
his cellmate has the crabs, which is why his nickname is crabby. I will
survive these next five years, but I can’t speak to what my life will
be like when I get out.
Perhaps when I get out of this place I will sell this story to
a horror magazine. Most horror magazines deal with stories of vampires
and zombies and serial killers. This horror I’m living is quite real. I
just wish there was some way to track down that damn phone psychic. I’d
make him very sorry for all of this. I just hope the dress doesn’t
become a lifelong habit. I told my wife what became of me and she filed
for a divorce, again at the suggestion of a phone psychic.
You know what the worst of all this is? The worst of it is the
phone psychic got paid to turn me into a divorced beeyoch. If this
happened to someone else I’d laugh, but it didn’t, it happened to me. I
have to stop writing now; I’ve got to go earn my new friend his
© 2017 Ray Prew
Ray Prew claims to have been a telephone psychic in
his previous life.
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