[I’ve been reading Writer’s Digest Magazine since its inception; there is an absolute menagerie of information there related to the Art of Writing.  I particularly enjoy tackling their writing prompts where they give you either a beginning line or a photo and ask you to “Write the Story”. This piece was born from Prompt #28, published back in August 2010.]

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The Prompt: During your weekly housecleaning, you find an unfamiliar cell phone in the cushions of your couch — but can’t recall having any recent visitors. It rings.

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Just as I was deciding whether to answer it, it stopped.

‘Huh, I wonder who it belongs to? Perhaps I should call one of the pre-programmed numbers, explain the situation, and return it.‘

While deep in thought, I hadn’t noticed the summer evening skies blackening, nor had I registered the rumble of thunder in the distance. The winds kicked up. A flash of light and a boom of thunder erupted so close it rattled the windows of my tiny pink trailer. I quickly ran through the place, closing and securing all the windows against the impending rain.

The lights flickered, and suddenly, I was plunged into total darkness.

Damn. I still had oodles of work to do before my friend’s visit tomorrow. ‘As usual, that’s what you get for waiting until the last possible moment to get something done.’

Stumbling toward the kitchen for the lighter, then back to the living room for one of the Yankee candles which line a shelf in my bookcase for just these occasions, the cell started to ring again. ‘Huh, must be important.’ Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped again.

No matter. ‘Now, what can I do in the dark? Not much, really. Read, maybe, if I had enough light.’

Eerie Shadows

I headed back to the living room for the tapered candles and the tall candlesticks. Suddenly, the phone rang again. With nothing better to do, I answered it. All I heard was heavy breathing.

“Great, typical male,” I snapped, and hung up!

Of course, at this point, I really got to wondering how the phone ended up in my house, embedded in my couch. What if someone had been watching me, waiting for just the right moment? After all, I was in the throes of a nasty divorce. I did pull $10K from our account on my way out the door. He definitely had the cash to hire someone to scare the dickens outta’ me, and personally, at this point, I wouldn’t put anything past him. He was angry — but more importantly, I broke his heart.

In the scantily lit room, the flickering candlelight danced across the paneling, casting eerie shadows upon the walls and ceiling. Wildly whipped winds caused the branches of the Rose of Sharon bush to scrape aggressively against the glass. ‘Oh yes, it’s weather like this that reminds me I’ve got to trim those back.’

Wait! Listen . . . Is it really the branches scratching the window, or…

Nah… I’m just imagining things, working myself up into a frenzy in the darkness of my tiny abode. I hated being on the ground level, but with the divorce and only a part-time position after being forced to close my shoppe, I couldn’t afford much more than this place. Three hundred dollars a month; you couldn’t beat that.

Again, the incessant phone rang. Obviously, it was no one I wanted to talk to, so I let it ring. It almost reminded me of that old black-and-white movie—oh, what’s the name of it? It’s right on the tip of my tongue.

The lights flickered again. On, off, on, and then off again. Darn. The entire evening wouldn’t be a total loss if they’d only come on and stay on. Then I could finish cleaning, get a good night’s sleep, and be totally refreshed for the long weekend ahead.

“I Can Touch You”

With thoughts of spending some quality time with the friend I’d lost touch with, the phone rang yet again. Totally annoyed and angry, I snatched it up.

“What do you want?”

In a barely audible whisper, a voice replied, “I’ve been watching you.”

I hung up instantly. It rang again. I picked up but didn’t say a word. I waited.

“If I wanted to, I could touch you,” the voice whispered.

As the words registered in my brain, a chill ran down my spine. “Wait… you’re saying you’re inside? You’re inside my house? Right now?”

“I could touch you right now. Does that frighten you?”

I dropped the phone. Panic mode.

‘No. That’s exactly what he’s counting on. Okay, woman, think. Fast. Call 911, but not with this phone’. Earlier, I had noticed it was a Nextel—a walkie-talkie type phone that could be rigged to anywhere.

Scrambling down the hall in the pitch black to retrieve my own cell phone where I left it plugged in, a terrifying thought crossed my mind: ‘It sure would be nice if the lights came back on right about now… but then he’d surely have to kill me, because I’d see his face.’

Okay, good. I found the cord . . . I’ve got my phone . . . and just as I was flipping it open, something brushed against my arm.

Ah geez!

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