LiterArty
2008-02-18 07:39:01 UTC
Thoughts / comments welcomed on the following. Begun last summer but,
as yet, unfinished.
Copyright protected 2007 Gary McArthur writing as Mark Arthur.
"Who is this?" asked Richard.
There was a brief pause. He could hear breathing.
"Your wife's here with us"
"Yes, you've said that already, but where's here, and who
are you?" responded Richard, increasingly agitated.
"You don't need to know that."
"Yes I do, tell me now!"
"Your wife's here with us." repeated the voice on the line.
"For Christ's sake, tell me who you are. What do you want?"
"You don't need to know that."
Richard clenched his fist tight around the receiver. The plastic
creaked under the pressure.
"Now listen here, you either tell..."
"No, Mr Moran, you listen to me. Your wife is here, she
is safe with us. She does not want you to be alarmed. You will not
see
her again."
"My wife..." a barely audible click indicated that the caller had
hung
up.
It was the third time this week that Richard Moran had been woken by
the
telephone in the early hours. It was always the same adult male
caller, always the same conversation, always the same ending. He
replaced the receiver quietly, switched off the bedside lamp and
turned to go back to sleep.
"Was it him again?" asked Barbara sleepily.
"Uh, huh" mumbled Richard.
"What did he say this time?"
"Same thing."
"Do you think we should call the police?"
"No point. It's just a crank. You're here aren't you?"
"Mmm! Did you check for the number?"
"It won't be stored, it never is."
"I'd check anyway, he might've forgotten to withhold it."
"I doubt it. Go back to sleep."
"I'll check it." said Barbara reaching over her husband for the
telephone,
trailing the wire across his face she tapped in the number retrieval
code.
"No, it's withheld." she said, disappointed. She returned the phone
to
the
nightstand and laid back onto the pillows.
Richard removed the trailing phone line from his face and stretched
his arm
over her, pulled her closer to him, relishing her warmth as he began
to drift back to sleep.
Barbara Moran, sighed and, in the darkness, smiled.
#
Spikes of warming sunlight danced across Richard's face causing him
to
squint. He shifted his head on the pillow so that he could safely
open
his eyes. He glanced at the clock, it was eight thirty.
"Barbara?"
His mind raced back to the phone call. Had he dreamt it? He swung his
legs over the edge of the bed and stepped into his slippers.
"Barbara!"
Throwing his dressing gown on he made for the bedroom door then
stepped onto the galleried landing, listening. After taking a swift
walk around the three sides of the landing he descended the central
staircase.
"Barbara?" he shouted, making no attempt to hide the unease in his
voice.
The caller had said she was with them, that he'd never see her again.
But
she'd been by his side in bed at the time, on each of the last three
nights she'd been with him, asleep. He'd only mentioned it to her
after the second call and last night she'd woken up with him, spoken
to him, even dialled the retrieval code.
And now she wasn't here.
He made his way to the kitchen where Benji greeted him in his usual
way, jumping up into his groin, tail wagging furiously, his excited
snuffle turned to full blown snort, then sneeze.
"Hiya Benji, you seen your mum?"
Benji trotted over to his bowls and sat, expectantly, his tail
picking
up speed
then slowing as Richard walked past him and over to the counter. He
felt the kettle. It was cold. The phone rang.
"Hello"
"White or brown?"
"Barbara! Where are you? What?" relief spread through him.
"I'm at the shop. White or brown bread for your toast?
"Erm, white, but we've got bread in."
"No, Benji must've got into the cupboard during the night."
Richard glanced at the other side of the kitchen, noticed the pile of
mashed
up waxed paper and breadcrumbs. He shot the dog a frown. Benji's tail
stopped as guilt forced him back to his basket.
"Put the kettle on, I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Okay. Bye." he said to a disconnected line.
"Benji? Look what you did. You don't even like bread. Bad boy!" he
was
unwilling to be angry with him for long as his relief that Barbara
was
safe far outweighed his anger.
***
as yet, unfinished.
Copyright protected 2007 Gary McArthur writing as Mark Arthur.
"Who is this?" asked Richard.
There was a brief pause. He could hear breathing.
"Your wife's here with us"
"Yes, you've said that already, but where's here, and who
are you?" responded Richard, increasingly agitated.
"You don't need to know that."
"Yes I do, tell me now!"
"Your wife's here with us." repeated the voice on the line.
"For Christ's sake, tell me who you are. What do you want?"
"You don't need to know that."
Richard clenched his fist tight around the receiver. The plastic
creaked under the pressure.
"Now listen here, you either tell..."
"No, Mr Moran, you listen to me. Your wife is here, she
is safe with us. She does not want you to be alarmed. You will not
see
her again."
"My wife..." a barely audible click indicated that the caller had
hung
up.
It was the third time this week that Richard Moran had been woken by
the
telephone in the early hours. It was always the same adult male
caller, always the same conversation, always the same ending. He
replaced the receiver quietly, switched off the bedside lamp and
turned to go back to sleep.
"Was it him again?" asked Barbara sleepily.
"Uh, huh" mumbled Richard.
"What did he say this time?"
"Same thing."
"Do you think we should call the police?"
"No point. It's just a crank. You're here aren't you?"
"Mmm! Did you check for the number?"
"It won't be stored, it never is."
"I'd check anyway, he might've forgotten to withhold it."
"I doubt it. Go back to sleep."
"I'll check it." said Barbara reaching over her husband for the
telephone,
trailing the wire across his face she tapped in the number retrieval
code.
"No, it's withheld." she said, disappointed. She returned the phone
to
the
nightstand and laid back onto the pillows.
Richard removed the trailing phone line from his face and stretched
his arm
over her, pulled her closer to him, relishing her warmth as he began
to drift back to sleep.
Barbara Moran, sighed and, in the darkness, smiled.
#
Spikes of warming sunlight danced across Richard's face causing him
to
squint. He shifted his head on the pillow so that he could safely
open
his eyes. He glanced at the clock, it was eight thirty.
"Barbara?"
His mind raced back to the phone call. Had he dreamt it? He swung his
legs over the edge of the bed and stepped into his slippers.
"Barbara!"
Throwing his dressing gown on he made for the bedroom door then
stepped onto the galleried landing, listening. After taking a swift
walk around the three sides of the landing he descended the central
staircase.
"Barbara?" he shouted, making no attempt to hide the unease in his
voice.
The caller had said she was with them, that he'd never see her again.
But
she'd been by his side in bed at the time, on each of the last three
nights she'd been with him, asleep. He'd only mentioned it to her
after the second call and last night she'd woken up with him, spoken
to him, even dialled the retrieval code.
And now she wasn't here.
He made his way to the kitchen where Benji greeted him in his usual
way, jumping up into his groin, tail wagging furiously, his excited
snuffle turned to full blown snort, then sneeze.
"Hiya Benji, you seen your mum?"
Benji trotted over to his bowls and sat, expectantly, his tail
picking
up speed
then slowing as Richard walked past him and over to the counter. He
felt the kettle. It was cold. The phone rang.
"Hello"
"White or brown?"
"Barbara! Where are you? What?" relief spread through him.
"I'm at the shop. White or brown bread for your toast?
"Erm, white, but we've got bread in."
"No, Benji must've got into the cupboard during the night."
Richard glanced at the other side of the kitchen, noticed the pile of
mashed
up waxed paper and breadcrumbs. He shot the dog a frown. Benji's tail
stopped as guilt forced him back to his basket.
"Put the kettle on, I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Okay. Bye." he said to a disconnected line.
"Benji? Look what you did. You don't even like bread. Bad boy!" he
was
unwilling to be angry with him for long as his relief that Barbara
was
safe far outweighed his anger.
***