Starsky. Star-skyyyyy.
Daaaaaavid.
This time it was the whispering of his name that pulled him from sleep. He lay quietly for a few seconds, certain it was all a figment of his imagination.
Daaavid Star-skyyy.
Starsky realized that he really was hearing the whispering, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. He rolled over and switched on the lamp sitting on the nightstand next to his bed, suffusing the room in a soft citrine glow.
The frantic whispering stopped.
After a few tense minutes, Dave turned out the light, rolled over, and got comfortable. But before he could even close his eyes, the agitated susurration began again. Only now it was louder.
Dave felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
Turning on the light, he reached for the phone.
" 'lo?" a sleepy voice responded after a few rings.
"Hutch, it's me."
"Starsky," Ken Hutchinson paused to yawn, "it's 12:20 in the morning! Whaddya want?"
"I know, I know. Listen, weird stuff is happening over here in my apartment."
"Weird stuff? Like what?"
"Someone was knocking, but when I looked no one was there."
"It's probably just some kids goofing off. You know—Halloween and all that."
"I thought of that. But then there's the whispering."
"Whispering?"
"Yeah, these really creepy voices whispering my name over and over again."
"Starsk, you were probably just dreaming. What'd you eat before going to bed?"
"Uh . . . a fried bologna sandwich."
"And what'd you have to drink with it—a beer?"
"No, actually I had a Yoo-hoo, but . . ."
"Well, there you go," Hutch chuckled, "the combination brought on the crazy dream."
Starsky looked around his perfectly normal looking bedroom and felt a little silly.
"Yeah, yeah—maybe you're right."
"So shut off the lights and try to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, you too. G'night."
Dave hung up the receiver and threw back the covers, intent on getting something to drink.
TBC . . .