The Phone
The phone won’t stop ringing. Every time, “Hello??” Static, screaming. Dial tone. Every time I pick it up a wave of nausea passes over me, and my eyesight blurs. I’ll find myself back in the armchair by the fireplace, staring at the ringing phone. Every time the screaming gets more and more distorted, and the static sounds more like growling. Every time it feels like a clawed hand is inserting itself into the side of my head and yanking out a piece of my sanity, until there isn’t any left. A noise on the stairs…? My brother walks down with a confused look across his face, stopping at the bottom and staring at the chair. “Are you letting the phone ring on purpose or-?” He stops short when I turn around to look at him. A grin stretches across my face and a wild look settles itself in my eyes. I glance behind him at the mirror hanging behind him, at the base of the stairs; I look absolutely insane. It's sort of funny. I flick my eyes back to his unsettled face. In my lap, sits a knife that I grip, ever so daintily. He clears his throat softly and starts to head back up the stairs. “I mean, okay, rough night or whatever…jeez-” My sanity finally yanks its last tendril from my brain as I leap up from the chair and throw the knife. He shouts out as it sticks in the wall next to him, leaving a small cut on his cheek. A giggle escapes my lips as I walk towards him, and he turns and sprints up the stairs. “Better hide!” I hear myself say in a high pitched, doll like voice. I climb the stairs behind him, pulling the knife from the wall. As I reach the top, I stand dead silent, listening out for any noises. A shift in the boards…or breathing…or something to point me in the direction of my brother…who’s been nothing but horrible to me since we were young. A thump comes from the hallway closet. I silently pick my way over to the hallway closet, and fling it open, stabbing down with the knife blindly. (Did I get him-?)