Calls From The Dead - The Black Phone

Phone Call Home

"So, Amy..." My therapist, Ms. Cathleen starts. "I've heard you've been having nightmares, is this correct?"

I shrug, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I fiddle with my fingers. Ms. Cathleen sighs at my answer, or lack thereof while she pushes her silver glasses further up her crooked nose.

"Can you tell me about them, please?" She asks kindly.

I'm quiet for a moment before I respond. "They're always the same," I say.

Ms. Cathleen nods, jolting it down on her clipboard. "What do you see in these nightmares?" She asks. I shake my head, looking down.

"Him. The Grabber." I confess. "Laughing at me. Taunting, I guess."

Ms. Cathleen jots it on her paper, but I hardly doubt it's worth a write-down. "Oh, you don't have to write that," I say quickly, hoping she'll scribble it out. She doesn't, instead, she looks up at me, adjusting her glasses.

"These things are important to write down, Amy." She says crossing her legs.

I look up at her, scratching the back of my head. "Are they?" I ask. "I mean, are they really?" Ms. Cathleen looks at me, waiting for me to continue. "I- I just mean that I already know what my nightmares are about. So, why write them down?"

"You misunderstand," Ms. Cathleen says, "these notes are for me. To better understand what happened in that basement. To better understand these dreams."

"Nightmares." I correct, bouncing my knee up and down. "They're nightmares, not dreams."

Ms. Cathleen nods. "Nightmares." She corrects.

I nod and lick my dry lips while Ms. Cathleen reviews her notes from today and prior sessions. I hate this. Obviously, a therapy wasn't my idea, and I didn't think my trauma would last this long. But I guess all your friends dying and being kidnapped by your uncle kinda messes you up. I just hate feeling like other people's problem.

Ms. Cathleen looks up from her clipboard and directly at me. "I have a suggestion for you." I raise my eyebrow in question. "I suggest you go back home," She says.

"Like back to Denver?" I ask, half shocked and half amused. She nods, which makes me shake my head. "I don't think I can."

"The only way you're going to get over this, or at least learn to cope is by going back to where it all started." She tells me while I look at her dumbfounded. "Sometimes it's better to face your fears than run away from them."

»•«

Elvis lays his head on my knee while my adoptive parents argue over what to do in the next room over. While Mrs. Showalter suggests I stay here, Mr. Showalter says that I should go back to Denver, at least for a few days.

I sigh, scratching the spot behind Elvis's ears where he likes it the most. The dog whines gazing up at me with his big droopy eyes. I wonder if he senses something is wrong. I close my eyes, leaning back in my chair at the empty dining table as I listen to my parents argue.

"This could be good for her. It's the only way for her to face what happened!" Mr. Showalter says loudly.

"Face what happened!" Mrs. Showalter repeats. "She's scared! Traumatized! Why would we send her back to a place that will give her more nightmares?!"

Elvis whimpers as a lump forms in my throat. I hate when people talk about me as if I can't hear them. My adoptive parents especially. They continue, as I just sit there. I know they both want what's best for me, but arguing doesn't help.

Besides, I've already made up my mind.

I stand from the table - Elivs whining as his head falls off my knee - and walk to the phone on the wall in the kitchen. I don't often use phones, not since the incident, but this is a special situation.

Just as my fingers brush the smooth plastic of the device, it rings and nearly scares me half to death. I stumble away, but after a second, I grab it.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver. For a moment, there is only silence, before I hear a voice on the other end.

"You can hear me?"

"Yes..."

"Help me-"

The line clicks.

I drop the phone, not caring that it clatters against the wall. This isn't just a coincidence anymore. He's back, I know he is. I don't know how, but he is. The Grabber's alive...

I cautiously pick up the phone again and spin the number I know by heart. As it rings, I nervously twist the phone cord around my finger, trembling as I do.

The phone rings and rings until the line finally clicks. I hear Finn's voice on the other end, and for a moment it freaks me out more than the voice before. I haven't heard his voice in so long since I have become accustomed to writing letters to my friends.

"Hey, Amy," Finn says, I can practically hear the smile in his voice. "This is a surprise. What's new?"

"Hi, Finn," I start nervously. "Is Gwen there?"

"Uh, yeah." He replies. "Why?" I almost sigh in relief. If there is one person in this world who I need to talk to at this moment, it is Gwendolyn Blake.

"Can you-" I start, but just as the words leave my lips, I hear Gwen's distant voice on the other end.

"Who is it, Finney?" She asks her older brother. I hear her footsteps approach.

"It's Amy," Finn replies. "Here." After a moment, I hear Gwen's voice break through the silence.

"Hey, Amy." The says cheerfully. "What's going on? I haven't talked to you in so long."

"Gwen, what's happening in Denver?" I ask. I can't see her, but I know Gwen tenses and looks at her brother on the other side.

"Why do you ask?" She asks nervously.

"What's happening in Denver, Gwen?" I ask again, this time slightly angry.

She sighs. "Boys are going missing again."