Heart Themed Canvas [UsUk]

Chime [Ch.1]

It's ten PM on a Wednesday when it first happens.

There is an old phone that sits on a coffee table in the hallway by the front door. It's an antique or something. My grandma owned it before she died and gave it to my mom in her will. I know it doesn't work; at least that's what my parents told me. It's more for aesthetic appeal, as well as memories for my mom to remember when she runs her fingers over it. I catch her sometimes with a strange look in her eyes, like she wants to cry.

So when I'm watching the television one night with my feet propped up on the footrest, a bowl of ice cream in my lap, it strikes me as annoying when a chime begins to fill the room. I groan, muting the T.V. and look for the phone. Who the fuck would call this late at night on a weekday anyway?

"Hello?" I greet, picking up the portable and placing it to my ear. I pull it away and stare at it when I just get the beeping of the dial tone. The chiming starts up again, shrill and urgent. It's definitely not our house phone.

I twist around on the couch in confusion, hanging up the device in my hand and peering into the darkness of the foyer hallway. A pause and then the chiming is back. It's definitely a phone.

Taking another large bite of my ice cream, I place the bowl down on the couch and stand up, heading towards the front door. My hand flicks on the light switch, the foyer coming into focus in a hazy yellow glow from the bulbs. The ringing is louder in here, and it's easy to locate where it's coming from.

The black, bulky phone from my grandma is ringing. I move to stand in front of it, hovering over it with a raised eyebrow. Well, I'll be damned. I reach out and pull it forward, noting that it isn't hooked up to anything, and when I tip it sideways I see that it doesn't take batteries.

Scratching the back of my neck and glancing behind me, I shrug noncommittally and pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

I don't hear anything at first, but then there is a grainy sort of noise – a static blanket coming out of the phone. At first I think this is a prank, but then I recognize breathing through the gravely wisps. "Hello? Jones' residence."

"Jones?" The voice that comes through sounds surprised and thrilled. I don't recognize this voice, but when he begins to chuckle I can tell I really don't know who this is. He has an accent. "What a pleasure. Who may I ask that I'm speaking to?"

I shift my feet, my socks smooth against the hardwood floor. "Alfred. Who's this?"

"I apologize, my manners are appalling. My name is Arthur, my boy. It's a delight to meet you."

I purse my lips, glancing behind me again. The house is empty – silent – my parents sleeping. "How did you get this number?" I examine the phone again, clearly confused. I thought this phone was a piece of junk. The static continues to crinkle against my ear and I shift my feet again. "Hello? You still there?"

"I'm here," the voice says, and the way he says it sends a shiver down my spine, my hair prickle. It sounds teasing and I frown.

"How did you get this number?" I repeat, genuinely curious.

"It used to be a friend of mine's. I felt nostalgic and just gave it a ring. I'm sorry if it bothered you," Arthur apologizes. I pick at a stray piece of paint on the coffee table distractedly.

"Nah, don't sweat it. It's just late is all," I mutter, really flabbergasted. I don't fully know how to tell someone that they're on a busted phone older than my parents.

"I'm terribly sorry. It didn't cross my mind of the time. I honestly didn't even expect anyone to pick up. I'll leave you to your night then, Alfred," Arthur says through the hissing of the phone. Before I can say anything else the line goes dead.