Thunder shatters the skies. A lonely mansion stands atop a hill. Inside, a marble telephone rings, its cry hardly audible above the ravenous storm outside.
Heavy breathing sets in.
The breathing now assimilates bellows propelling a simmering fire.
‘Seriously? You called me at—what—precisely midnight to just breathe into the receiver? Can you be any more of a cliché?’
The voice croaks, ‘The call is coming from inside—
‘That’s. It.’ An eardrum-shattering whistle cracks like thunder through the speaker.
The line goes dead shortly after and the rest of the night passes on peacefully.
For Friday Fictioneers where the prompt this week is the picture on your left.
The inspiration for this story came from a mix of countless horror movies and a little snippet from real life. I’ll not go into details unless you ask me to, but I just want to say that blowing a die-hard whistle into the speaker does indeed result into the annoying caller hanging up with a moan of pain and a bad-tempered harrumph.