Wrong Number & Friendly Reminder


Sharon’s note: Is anyone else a little creeped out by telemarketers and phone scammers? Especially the ones that begin with a robot voice. I usually hang up as soon as I hear a machine pick up, so I don’t know what happens in the rest of the message. There’s probably nothing interesting there, but . . . anyway, these two micro-fictions are presented together, because they’re too short for a weekly post on their own. Enjoy. Warning: Author being alone in a house where the only noise is ticking clocks and robot call and her imagination running away with her.


Wrong Number

Dennis and Chelsea were discussing the possibility of going out for ice cream when Chelsea’s phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway out of curiosity.

Please hold for an important message:” A pleasant female mechanical voice droned. Chelsea was about to hang up to resume her conversation when the line picked up and a voice as deep and dark as space that rumbled like walking mountains, thundered, “Alexander Dunningham, you have been chosen. The Old Gods call for you to worship us. Come, and we will bestow upon you our dark glory. . .”

“Um, excuse me? This isn’t Alexander.” 

. . . It isn’t?

“No. Who is this?”

That is inconsequential. Our apologies mortal girl, for the interruption.” And the resounding voice of ages hung up.

Chelsea blinked stupidly for a few seconds before Dennis prompted, “Wrong number?”

“Umm,” She stared at her phone, unsure what to think of anything that had just happened. “I guess so?”


Friendly Reminder

Chelsea ate her cereal without enthusiasm. She had just gotten out of bed thirty minutes ago and the day already sucked. The toilet was broken, she was out of coffee, and her boyfriend, Dennis, had just texted her that he wouldn’t be able to make her birthday party tomorrow because his buddies really needed him for some kind of video game tournament. Oh, yeah, and her period was starting.

Her phone rang it’s merry little jingle and danced across the kitchen table. Chelsea tapped the speaker button and growled a surly, “Hello?”

Please hold for an important message:” The mechanical voice made Chelsea hesitate before hanging up. It was probably an advertisement of some kind, but there was that one time. . .

A voice like black tar that bled through the broken skin of the earth to absorb your flesh and devour your soul oozed through the kitchen. “The Old Gods call to you. They bid you know that you are a beautiful song in the eternal darkness. Your worth is incalculable and all enemies and tribulations in your path will fall before your might. May the eternal void embrace you sweetly, and have a nice day.

The grave susurrous of darkness hung up, and Chelsea sat there with her cereal half-way to her mouth, wondering what was wrong with her that she felt a little better.

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