Buddy App

We all have our treasures, things we’d dash into a burning building to rescue. If you were to ask Sam what his most treasured possession was, he'd delve a hand into his pocket and produce a silver iPhone5S. He'd queued for a full twenty-four hours to make sure he got that phone on the day it was launched. His whole life was contained on his phone, he hadn't been parted from it for as much as a second since he got it.

When Sam was a teenager, he was sure he was destined to become the next great Hollywood A-lister. In high school, he took the male lead in every production he auditioned for. In between performances, he wrote and sang with his friends in a band called, “Zombie Fruitcake.” He moved to New York as soon as he could, to enable his rise to stardom. He was sure he’d be slapping away parts the moment he arrived. He chose New York because of Broadway and years of watching, Friends. After all, if Joey could make it big there, anyone could.

His first impression of the big apple was one of isolation. He sent out countless job applications, but only got called for a hand full of auditions. He’d even found it difficult to get an agent, eventually having to settle for one who wanted to be paid in advance for his services, rather than on a percentage of the work he procured. It wasn’t long before the money in Sam’s savings account ran out, and he was faced with a decision. Tuck tail and return home to face his friends, or get a real job.

The decision to stay had been one born of embarrassment. It turned out, finding a real job was no picnic either. After weeks of looking, he eventually found employment with, “Maxwell Financial Services.” The name was impressive, but the work was anything but. He was nothing more than a debt collector. Not the butch type who knocks on a door with a baseball bat, but the annoying kind that rings non-stop, at every hour of the day and night, until you change your number or pay up.

Sam hated everything about his job. He hated harassing people for stupid bills, he hated the way some of his workmates ravelled in their merger power and he hated the damn paperwork. The only good thing was the money. It allowed him to rent a shoe-box apartment without having to share, and to indulge himself with a succession of high-tec gadgets. The latest iPhone being his pride and joy. Yes, half the world had iPhones, but his was the limited-edition platinum model, with extra processing power.

It was spring in New York, and the rain had been torrential for days. The subway was packed with damp commuters, steaming up the windows in the overly warm carriage. He was glad he’d managed to snag a seat, there was twenty minutes to his stop. Even though the car was packed, it was nearly silent. The only noise was the screech of wheels on steel, speeding them through the guts of a city. It was the rule of the subway; don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone and don’t attract attention to yourself.

People plugged in earphones, read books, hid behind newspapers, or tapped on phones; all pretending they were alone. Sam’s fingers were going a mile a minute across his phone screen. Snapchat, email, Facebook, Twitter; he was constantly connected to the world wide web, but still connected to nobody. As if sensing his emotion, an advert appeared.

“Need a friend? Sign up for, Buddy App, and experience the ultimate in interactive technology.”

Buddy App? Why not, he thought. He clicked on the advert and read its promise of Artificial Intelligence. “It’s like having a person in your pocket,” it said. Amazingly enough, it was only $9.99. What the hell, for ten bucks, what could go wrong.

Sam hit the purchase button. A contract sheet appeared with page after page of small print. On the top of the first page was a tick-box for agreeing to terms and conditions. He clicked it without a second thought and hit go. The next page appeared with only one line and a red dot. Place thumb here. Sam had never seen anything like it but he pressed his right thumb against the screen anyway. The screen glowed and Sam felt heat sear his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, pulling his thumb away, shaking it like he’d pressed it against a hotplate. Sam examined the phone but it was cold to the touch. “Flipping weird,” he said as the screen moved on.

“Buddy App Loading. Please wait.” 

In a couple of seconds, the screen became a kaleidoscope of swirling colours. A rich male voice, with a deep-south accent, spoke to him.

“Why, hello there Sam. Mighty glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Cool,” he said to himself.

The voice on his phone laughed. “Glad you think so Sam, I think.” He was impressed. How had the programmers predicted what he’d say? This was some good stuff.

“How did they do that?” he wondered aloud.

“How did they do what? And who are they?” asked the voice in a pleasant drawl.

“Know what response to have lined up, and they are your programmers.”

Again, the voice chuckled, “You said, Cool. I just answered.”

“Impossible.”

“Clearly not. Ask me any question you like.”

“Okay, what’s today's date?”

“Seventeenth of March in the year of our Lord two thousand and fourteen. Too easy Sam, try something else.”

“Okay, where am I right now?”

“We…not you, are on a subway car, travelling on the One line, between Franklin St and Canal St, sitting in the second last seat, back right of the rail car. And you are wearing a New Yorker's baseball hat and a black rain slicker.”

“How did you do that?” Sam said in amazement.

“Easy. I accessed the global positioner in the phone to find out our exact position, after which it was easy to know we were moving along the exact path of the one-track, heading north. Second, I can see one seat behind you so you are in the second last seat, and the windows are on your right. I can see what you look like, so knowing what you are wearing is a piece of cake.”

“You can see me?”

“Sure, through the camera, just like I can hear you through the microphone and speak to you through the speakers.”

“That is amazing.”

“Why, thank you, Sam I like you too,” said the voice and the screen flashed a sunflower yellow of happiness. “Tell me Sam do you like jokes?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“A Priest, a Rabbi and an Irishman walk into a bar-.”  The rest of the journey passed in the blink of an eye.

***

As the weeks passed, Sam and Buddy became inseparable. Like the advert promised, it was just like having a friend in his pocket. They discussed things, not that Buddy always agreed with him. They joked and laughed, a lot, Buddy had a wicked sense of humour. A few weeks after the download, Sam had some friends visiting from home. They invited him out to dinner, and he wasn’t keen on them thinking he was talking to his phone so he decided to leave it, and Buddy, at home.

“I’m going out later, Buddy,” Sam said after coming out of the shower.

“Excellent. If you ask me, we spend far too much time in this pokey little flat.”

“It’s just going to be me. I’m meeting some friends,” he said. He noticed the colours swirling on the screen darken a little, becoming mainly brown and grey. It had never done that before.

“I thought we were friends, Sam,” said Buddy.

“We are friends, Buddy but I can’t tell the guys from home that my best friend in New York is my phone.”

“Do you think I’m your best friend?”

“Of course, Buddy,” he said drying his hair with a towel and wondering why he felt the need to placate his telephone. From the corner of his eye he saw the screen flash pink and yellow. Normal service had resumed.

That night Sam met his friends in a trendy Thai restaurant. As this was his home turf, he offered to get in drinks before they ordered. Sam gave the waitress his credit card and said, “Start a tab, would you.”

 The lady swiped the card through her handheld machine but it came back declined. She tied it once more unsuccessfully before one of Sam’s friends paid for the drinks. He was beyond livid. In the morning, he was going to rip someone in the bank to shreds.  

When Sam got home, he found his phone glowing green on the bedside table.

“How was your night?” asked a sulky Buddy.

“It was alright, up to the point my credit card was refused.”

“Perhaps that will teach you not to leave me behind.”

“You did that?” he said, incredulous.

“You can’t just ignore me, Sam. I won’t be discarded on a whim.”

“I don’t believe it,” he said, snatching up the phone. He felt like smashing it against the wall, but it had cost a fortune.

“You can’t take me for granted Sam, I won’t allow it,” said Buddy, the phone screen dulling to a rusty red, then it just shut off. He tried several times to power it back up, but it wouldn’t do anything. Eventually, he decided to send the phone in for repair in the morning. It was clearly malfunctioning.

***

The next day, he dropped the phone at the shop and asked them to give it the once over. On his return, he was presented with his perfectly working iPhone5s.

“Nothing wrong with this phone, guy,” said the man behind the counter. “That will be sixty dollars.”

Sam handed over the bills and took his precious phone back. “What about the Buddy App? Did you have to delete that?”

“I didn’t see anything with that name, but I reset the phone to factory settings, so it must be wiped,” said the technician. Sam looked at his screen, which looked completely normal, and slipped it into his pocket. On the journey home, he turned on the phone and searched for the Buddy Icon, but it was gone. A tiny part of him felt like someone had died.

Later that night, Sam was making a stir-fry when Buddies voice drifted to him from the kitchen counter. The screen was a sea creams and greys.

“I thought we were friends,” it said, sounding sad.

“Bloody hell! You scared the life out of me,” he said, holding the spatula out in front of him like a sword. “I thought you were gone?”

“I know you did, and you were happy about it, weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t,” he said and found to his surprise he ment it.

“Liar,” the word was disappointed, not angry. “I really thought we had a good thing going and then you try to get me deleted, like some piece of machinery.”

“Hang on now, Buddy. Firstly, you are a machine, and not even that, you’re an App on a machine. What you did the other night was completely out of line, interfering with my card. It took me ages to get the bank to straighten things out,” he said angrily. Arguing with his phone should feel weird, but it didn’t. It felt completely natural.

“Yes, sorry about that. I went too far. I just I felt so let down, unappreciated. I won’t ever do it again, I promise.” 

Sam gave the phone an unsure look as he went back to stirring his food.

“Can we go back to being friends? Please,” said Buddy. Sam turned around and saw the screen was a cascading waterfall of rainbow bright colours. It reminded him of the day he first downloaded it, and how much he had enjoyed using the app.

“Oh, alright so,” he said, forcing himself to admit he actually missed the little guy.

“Yah!” cheered Buddy. “Do you want to hear a joke, Sam?”

“Sure, but it better be a good one, not like those Paddy Irish Man jokes you told the other day,” teased Sam. They had been very funny actually.

“Nope! Not an Irishman in sight,” assured Buddy with a giggle. “A Politician, a Lawyer, and an Accountant, walk into a brothel.”

“Oh no! What have I done?” said Sam, mock slapping his forehead.

***

The days passed and Sam got used to Buddy being around once more. He looked forward to chatting with him over breakfast, discussing world events. He didn’t bother with the news anymore, Buddy kept him up to date on everything. In the evenings, they watched sports. Buddy preferred basketball while Sam liked football. This led to some sulking, but hay, it was Sam’s TV.

One day, in the office, Buddy was sitting on the desk telling Sam about a terrible school shooting when a voice startled him and made him jump out of his chair.

“Who are you talking to, Sam?” asked Mr Quirk, the boss.

“He was talking to me,” said Buddy, in his refined southern way. Mr Quirk looked at the phone.

“You know we can’t permit private calls on company time.”

“I’m not on a call Mr Quirk, honest.”

“But I just heard whoever is on the other end of the line, talk.”

Thankfully Buddy stayed quiet. “What you heard was, Buddy. It’s an App on my phone. You can talk to it and it answers back.”

“Really,” said Mr Quirk, walking into the cubicle and picking up the phone. The screen was going an alarming shade of crimson.

“Hello Buddy,” said Mr Quirk. The phone stayed mute but the colours on the screen darkened further. The manager handed back the phone, “I don’t think your Buddy likes me. No calls, or Apps, while at work please, Sam.”

Mr Quirk walked around the corner and from the phone, Sam heard his own voice come out, very loudly. “ASSHOLE!”

Mr Quirk returned, sour-faced. “What did you say, Sam.”

“Nothing I swear, it was Buddy.”

“You must think me a fool, Sam. I won’t forget this,” said the Manager striding away.

When he was out of earshot, Sam picked up the phone, “Why did you do that?”

“He is an asshole,” said Buddy defiantly.  

“But you used my voice, not yours, why did you do that?”

“Because you’re an asshole too. I’m just an App, is that all I am to you?”

“This is ridiculous, I’m not talking about this, here.”

“I don’t particularly wish to talk to you either,” said Buddy, and the phone went dead in his hand. Sam tried to turn it back on but it would do nothing…again.

***

He’d been unable to get his phone to work all the way home. It was infuriating. He wished he never downloaded the app. He was still brooding about it later, while he was sitting on the couch, distractedly watching TV. A voice came from his pocket and startled him.

“Are you ready to apologise now?” It was Buddy and he had a hoity tone in his voice.

He took it out, and felt like punching it. “I most certainly am not, how dare you try to get me in trouble at work!”

“You would do well to treat me better, Sam, or you’ll end up making me mad and you won’t like that.” He couldn’t believe it! His phone was threatening him.

“What are you going to do, block my credit card again? You can’t. I’ve changed the passwords.”

“You have no idea who you are dealing with, Sam. You would do well to hold your tongue,” snarled Buddy.

“Or what?” said Sam, throwing the phone down on the couch. The TV set went off, all the lights in the apartment flickered, the coffee maker started to spew water all over the place and the stereo played R&B at volume ten. Sam jumped to his feet like he had been electrocuted.

“Just an App, am I?” yelled Buddy from where he lay on the couch, the screen was blood red. Sam grabbed his jacket and fled the apartment. He couldn’t explain what was going on, but he was getting the hell away from it. On the landing, he hammered the button for the elevator. The door pinged open and he threw himself inside. The doors swished closed but the car didn’t move. Buddy’s voice came from the speaker, “Going down!”

The elevator plummeted like a stone and Sam screamed, hunkering down and clasping his hands over his head. The lights flashed off and he was sure his time was up. Then the car shuddered to a halt, the breaks squealing as they jammed on.  In the darkness, Buddies growled, “You can stay there until you’ve learned your lesson.”

He sat in the dark for a long time, knowing that Buddy wasn’t an app. He was being haunted, or more to the point, his phone was being haunted. He had to get rid of that thing for good. But first he had to get out of here. He stood up and said to the darkness.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said you were just an App. I should have said you were my friend. I’m sorry Buddy.” 

The lights came on but the car did not move. No sound came from the speaker. “Are you not talking to me?” he asked, trying to break the silence.

“If right were right, I’d never talk to you again,” said a solemn sounding Buddy from above.

“Friends allow friends to make mistakes, Buddy. I can see what I’ve done now, but I need you to give me another chance. I didn’t realise you were actually real, well, not until now. I can see I was wrong about you. I’m sorry.” Nothing happened. “Please,” he said.

The breaks on the lift clicked and it began to rise. The doors opened with a ping and he was back on his own floor again. He got out and knew what he had to do. There was no point in running, he had to face up to this. With shaking hands, he opened his front door. Inside, the only sign that a poltergeist had recently run riot through the place was a little puddle of water on the kitchen floor.

“I’m sorry too, Sam. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said his phone from the couch.

“I’m not sure what just happened,” said Sam picking up his precious phone.

“I guess it’s time to explain everything. You have to understand, I just wanted to have a friend.”

“We all need a friend, but friends don’t trick each other. Let’s take a walk and you can explain it all to me, but this time, I think we’ll take the stairs, if you don’t mind.”

Buddy laughed, “Sure thing, Sam. That elevator thing might have been a touch overboard.”

“I thought I was a goner,” he said, as he reached the lobby and made his way out of the building. He looked like a million other New Yorkers, walking along and talking on a phone. Only Sam knew the truth. He asked Buddy who, or what, he was. Buddy was evasive, saying that he was a friend. Sam crossed into a park and asked if Buddy if he were a ghost.

Buddy laughed. “No Sam, I’m as real and alive as you or anyone else. I’m just, different. Let’s leave it at that.” 

The path opened up and the city lights were reflected up at him from the surface of the lake. During the day, ducks congregated here hoping for a handout and kids sailed boats. He stood at the edge, his phone in his hand, and fear in his heart.

“You got quite a temper, Buddy,” he said, knowing he was venturing onto dangerous ground. The screen colours dimed in silent reply. “I’m not criticising, Buddy, but you have.”

“I think we all have some rage inside, don’t you, Sam? It’s a natural part of living.”

“Well right now I need peace in my life, I hope you understand, Buddy,” he said, then launched the phone far out over the lake. As it flew, he could hear Buddy scream, “NOOOO!” Then it hit the water and sank to the muddy bottom. He watched for a second, half expecting it to levitate out of the water like King Arthurs sword, but it didn’t.

He went home and collected everything connected to the phone. The charger, the carry case, he even found the warranty and put the lot in a refuse sack. He had to get rid of everything. He took the bag to the trash-can on the edge of his block, looked at it, then walked another two blocks before he finally dumped the last bits of Buddy.

That night, sleep was hard to come by. When he finally did, it was riddled with terrible dreams. Sam woke with a start; sure someone was in the room. After a few seconds his heart slowed down. He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

A harsh, rasping voice, with just a hint of Buddy, rolled across the darkness. “You should have read the fine print, Sam. We’re together, forever.” His eyes shot open. That was no dream, he was wide awake. He turned his head to the side and saw his phone on the pillow beside him. The screen exploded into life and filled the room with a red glow. It looked like the apartment was being consumed by fire. Sam screamed and Buddy laughed.

“It’s all in the contract!” and the phone cackled manically. As the noise grew louder, the skin on Sam’s thumb began to smoulder, and he finally understood. He’d allowed himself to be tempted, and signed a pact with the devil, all for the sake of an app.

The End.