DIALING TONE
The man was slumped on the on the wet pavement, half hanging out of the public phone box on the Boycott Estate. His clothes soaking up the puddle he lay in, the receiver, dangling from his limp hand. The flickering orange light from the box illuminated the man’s face like jaundice. The man had a slack-jawed expression and bulging unblinking eyes, wide and glassy, never closing.
Not even when the hailstones pelted his irises.
The passing public on their way to work, same as always on a Monday morning, mostly ignored the prone body. Those that did briefly pause to check it out quickly came to the conclusion that whoever it was, was just another drunk or drugged-up individual. Nothing new there.
Henry Walker did stop; he was the milkman for the Boycott Estate. He put down his milk crate, the empties rattling as he did. “Alright, mate?” He asked the prone man. No reply. “Had a rough ‘un have you?” He gave a strained laugh. Still no answer. “Ask the audience? Phone a friend?” He asked pointing at the receiver. The crap joke failed to stir him.
Henry stooped and placed one ear next to the open mouth. No sound. He looked down the chest. No movement. “Stone dead, I reckon.” Henry said thinking aloud. Henry prized the phone from the tight rig amortise-like fingers. Henry heard two snap. “Shit, sorry, mate.” He said holding the phone.
There was a muttering from the earpiece. Perhaps it was the person this man was trying to call before, well, whatever the hell happened to him. He raised it to his ear.
His body too joined the other on the pavement.
Mrs Helen Donovan pulled up behind the stationary milk float, her children in the back, Tommy, aged eight, and Grace, thirteen.
“Mum, we haven’t got time to stop, we’ll be late.”
“Grace, I’m well aware of the time, thank you. I have to let Henry know we’re away next week on holiday. Stay there, I’ll be two minutes, promise.” She left the car.
“For God’s sake,” Grace huffed.
“She won’t be long, she promised, didn’t she?”
“I guess,” she said looking at her mum through the window. “I think there’s been some kind of accident, Tommy.”
“Why?”
“There are two people lying on the floor by the phone box.”
“Are they dead, Grace?”
“I dunno, shush a minute.”
Grace unwound the window; her mum was bent talking to the milkman, although from her position, she couldn’t hear what. Her mum picked up the phone then fell down. “Muum!”
Grace opened the door.
“No, Grace, don’t.” Tommy pleaded grabbing her arm.
“I’ve got to help, something’s happened to mum. Stay here, you’ll be safe, I’ll be right back.”
“Mum said that too.”
“I know. Have I ever let you down?”
“No, but.”
“I swear it,” she held out her little finger. “Pinky swear!”
Tommy wrapped his finger round hers. “Break it, you die.”
“I won’t. Now stay put.” She closed the door on her brother and walked off.
PC’S Andrew Banks and Sarah Walsh arrived on scene after a member of the public had reported the two vehicles partially blocking the road. They stepped out of the patrol car to see three bodies lay around the phone box, and one young girl approaching. Sarah left her colleague and went over.
“Hi there, I’m Sarah. I think you ought to come with me a minute, there’s been an accident.”
“That’s my mum.”
“Is it? What’s your name?”
“Grace.”
“D’you know what happened here, Grace? Did you see anything?”
“I saw mum go over to speak to Henry,” She pointed at him. “He’s our milkman.”
“Then what?”
“Don’t do that!” Grace shouted at the other police officer.
Andrew had the phone in his hand. “There’s someone on the end of this,” he said lifting it up. “Hello?” Andrew Banks dropped to the floor.
Sarah instinctively reached for her radio. “Alpha Charlie, this is unit five, we have an officer down, I repeat, officer down, on the corner of Hazel Avenue and Church Street. The Boycott Estate, yes. Send all available units to my twenty.”
“Don’t answer the phone, Sarah. There’s something wrong with it. Mum answered it and she’s now dead. Your friend answered it, he’s dead. And I think the other man did the same.”
“You may be right, Grace, but they might not be dead.”
“We both know they are. I can’t leave Tommy; he’s my eight-year-old brother. He’s in the car,” she pointed over her shoulder. “Dad left last year, and I’m now all he has.”
“Alright, we won’t answer the phone, but I have to check if they’re dead or not. That’s part of my job, Grace.”
“Okay, but please don’t. I don’t know if I could explain this to the other police officer’s when they come.”
“Agreed.” Sarah said leaving Grace.
Sarah edged forward and put two fingers on the throat of the first man lay on the floor. No pulse. She checked Henry. No pulse. Next, Grace’s mum, same result. And although she knew that Andrew’s would echo the others, she checked anyway.
“You were right, Grace,” she called.
“Please don’t answer it though,” Grace called back.
“I won’t. I don’t think it’s dangerous as long as we don’t pick it up. I can hear it, though. It sounds like muttering.”
“Come away, now, Sarah.”
Sarah went to walk off; Andrew’s dead hand clutched her leg. She screamed. Andrew’s head twisted round with a sickening crack, the flesh now looked like used chewing gum. Pieces of broken bone jutted from his snapped neck. Andrew’s free hand held the phone out at arm’s length. It was buzzing loudly. Sarah kicked out and managed to shake him free. Someone else seized her. Grace’s mum now had Sarah tight in her pallid hands. The others too began to stir.
Grace ran forward.
“No, stay back,” Sarah said reaching for her mace. She sprayed her attackers with a jet of pepper.
This failed to stop them. They never even flinched.
Grace didn’t listen; she knew what she had to do. She dodged Henry’s swipes and jumped over the man who no one knew as he lurched at her, arms outstretched clawing the air. He caught hold of her school blazer and she fell forward, but her fingers found purchase on her intended target.
Grace pulled down on the hook. The nightmare ended in an instant as she cut the phone off dead.
Sarah pulled herself free from her attackers and held her hand out to her saviour. Grace took it and hugged her.
“We did it, Grace, thank you.”
“Yeah, we did. I don’t know how we’re going to explain this though.”
“Me either. Let’s go get Tommy,” Sarah said as the sounds police sirens filled the air.
Across town, a phone began ringing. A lady passing the phone box opened the door, picked up the receiver; put it to her ear, and dropped to the floor.
