The voice behind the telephone

Hello.

There was this number, no one really knew where it had come from. But it was there, etched into his mind. Watching, lurking, drawing him closer and closer, until he's theirs. Whoever they may be.

It started one morning, an ordinary morning, the kind with birds and sunlight and the sweet smell of dew in the air. Yes, this morning.

Now, his path to work was simple. A right, another right, a left, straight ahead, another left, and stop. And every morning he'd pass the same signs, with the same words; the same trees, except for the fading and rebirth of their leaves from time to time; the same houses, behind their white fences and fruitful lawns that expand beyond his view.

But on this morning. Those signs were there, and their words stayed trapped on the page; the trees still stood, and their leaves crinkled in the wind; and the houses still lay, watching over the street from their god-gifted post. Yet, there was something else. Something not quite right.

A new sign?

Of course not.

How could it be?

Except that's exactly what it was. So, who could stop him from taking a peek, from getting a glimpse at this new addition to his routine?

'A friend to call, a friend for life, a friend whom you to have to roll the dice', and then an accompanying set of numbers.

So, he scribbled this down, eager to unravel what all this meant. How much harm could actually come from this really?

That night, slouched in his arm chair, he dialed. And he waited. Sitting in the silence of that now empty house.

A click.

'Hello?'

No answer.

'Hello?'

No answer.

'Hello?'

'Yes?'

The voice was sweet, enchanting, hypnotic. Almost familiar. With hints of brokenness and hurt. However, the latter never seemed to worry him.

That night, like lovers under the freshly printed night sky, they spoke. Until the sun's bright gaze peered into the empty halls in which he laid.

Up he went. Going about his day as though nothing had changed and everything was stale. However, on that route which he loved, he noticed something. A blank slate which once seemed filled.

The sign.

It was gone.

He assumed a child had gone by and jokingly ripped it off. Or that the wind had taken it hostage. Not considering any other unfriendly possibility.

And like that, every night was filled with laughter and chatter. He spilled the contents of his life, and the voice listened. His past, present, and hopeful future. All of it.

As the days went on, the calls grew shorter, and he found himself grasping for words more and more each day.

'Knock... Knock...'

'Who in their right mind is at the door?' he thought, as the clock struck 5.

Down he ran. As fast as his frail legs could take him.

'Knock... Knock...'

The impatient visitor was willing to wait no more.

Opening his door, he stood. Bewildered and using everything he could to run. But his feet were stuck, glued to the floorboards under his feet.

'Remember me?', the faceless figure asked...

It was the voice on the phone...

'Well, guess who I am now?', they asked.... Except this time, it was he whom was talking...

Unable to fight, he stood, watching everything disappear.

'The human form is so juvenile', and with that, he was gone. Or at least the real version.