For Whom the Phone Rings

Haunted Objects: Paranormal, Flash Fiction

The smell of aged paper and varnish hit me when I opened the door, mingling with the scent of cedar, the inside of an old Hope chest. Crossing the threshold, it may have been the dim light or the way the bulbs flickered triggering a feeling as if I’d entered another era. A gramophone in the far corner played a 1920s jazz tune from a warped record, enhancing the effect. The distorted saxophone music continued as I eyed glass display cases filled with delicate teacups, pocket watches frozen in time, and dolls with hand-painted smiles and eyes that looked too real.

I remember running my fingers over a stack of faded postcards, feeling the ragged edges brush against my skin, and listening to the warbled Whaaa, Whaaa, Whaaaaaaaa of a sax. After a few minutes, the music stopped. I heard the needle lift from the vinyl and a sharp SNAP as it returned to the start position.

Then I saw it.

The rotary phone sat alone on an antique mahogany end table, the kind made specifically to hold a phone, with a place for a phone book and a desk lamp. It had an attached chair. I sat down. It was a perfect fit.

Sitting there conjured a flood of childhood memories. Everything had seemed so much bigger back then. I remembered how heavy the phone’s dial felt with tiny fingers. I noted the familiar curve of the receiver. This phone’s black casing had dulled with time. Still, the brass dial gleamed faintly under the weak light. Everything about it reminded me of my grandmother’s phone. The feelings lingered like a childhood lullaby.

I had to have it.

Not so much as decoration as for the feeling of home it gave me. The shopkeeper looked up when I placed it on the counter. He didn’t say a word while I dragged the table over.

“That’s thirty dollars with the table. No returns,” he said, “so make sure you want it.”

I smiled, “I certainly do. It reminds me of.”

“Great. Can’t help you carry it out. Bad back.”

He wasn’t the friendliest guy in the world, but I didn’t care. I scored my treasures.

That night, I woke up to a ringing phone. Instinctively, I grabbed my cell off the nightstand and answered,

"Hello?"

Silence.

The phone rang again. It wasn't the one I was holding. Stunned, heart hammering, I could feel a cold prickle crawl up my spine. Without moving, I could see the rotary phone resting on its table in the hall.

It rang a third time, the sound swelling, filling the house. I gathered my courage and slid out of bed. The closer I got, the louder the phone wailed until it wasn’t just sound but pressure, a ringing resonating through my skull. My hand trembled as I reached out to lift the receiver.

"Hello?"

I heard a whisper almost drowned beneath the static.

“Melody?” It sounded like my grandmother’s voice.

I tried to answer but choked. The room spun, and the world melted away. The next thing I knew, I was in bed, opening my eyes to rays of sunlight sneaking through the blinds.

Just a dream.

I thought it must have been a dream.

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