Dialed-in


The black rotary telephone rang and Agnes picked it up, “Hello?”

On the other end was a female in hysterics. She was screaming something about “get him to the hospital now, before he dies.”

Then the line went dead.

“Who was that?” her husband, Bill asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “But she sounded really panicked. I think I should call the police and see if they might be able to find her.”

“It could also be a prank call,” he said. “But you do what you think is best.”

After half-an-hour with the police, a report filed, but no answers, it was nearly dinner time. Bill offered to take Agnes to her favorite restaurant and she accepted.

“I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that fish,” Bill said, as he drove them home. “I’ve got a nasty stomach ache.”

“Well, when we get home, we’ll get you straight to bed,” Agnes said.

“Okay,” he agreed.

It was around three in the morning when the phone rang again. The wife answered it and listened as a woman, angry now, asked through gritted teeth, “You didn’t take him to the hospital like I told you, did you?”

“Who is this?” Agnes asked.

“What? You don’t recognize your own voice?” the female growled in disgust before the line went dead.

Agnes hung up the phone and reached over to the still sleeping Bill. He was cold to the touch, stiff and lividity had already begun to set in.

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