Very Short and Untitled

Just as the kettle boils the phone starts to ring, dropping the tea bag into a mug he reaches for the receiver knowing exactly who it is. Or rather he doesn’t because for the past month someone has dialled his number, at exactly 6.45pm, and not said a word.

Placing the receiver down, he reaches for the pen and jots down the date and time just like the police told him to three weeks ago.

Staring at the list he wonders, briefly, why he continues to answer but he knows that it’s in the hope of hearing a voice on the other end.

His mind is racing. Who keeps calling? Does he know them? Are they in some kind of trouble? Why the hell won’t they speak? Why is this happening to him?

Try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about it. He feels no fear about the situation, it’s not like his life is in danger, it is just a great big mystery that he can’t wait to solve.

But how to solve it is an entirely different matter, there are no clues. Zip, zilch, nothing and he’s tried everything to get them to say something.

The first few times he thought it was kids messing and yelled at them, when he realised it was something more he tried being polite and asking questions but nothing came of it. Now he simply stays silent and allows them to hang up when they’re ready.

He has no idea if they’ll ever talk but as long as his phone keeps ringing he’ll pick it up. There has to be a reason it’s happening, surely no one would keep it up this long of it was a joke, and he’s not going to miss finding out what it is.

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