Family Heirloom Challenge: "We're Sorry. You have Reached a Number..." -- By Eve Nightingale

“We’re Sorry. You Have Reached a Number That Is No Longer In Service.”

by Eve Nightingale

            There was a house in a small city. In this house there lived a family of two. In this family, the father and daughter lived alone.

            As you entered the house, there was a long hallway before stairs to the second floor. Once you walked up these stairs and continued forward, look up. There was a string that, once you pulled, lowered a ladder to the attic. You walked up these steps and looked around the organized mess of the attic. Boxes on boxes, filled with items long forgotten. Dust covering items that have not been moved in years.

            Among these items, towards the back, stood an old rotatory phone, passed from generation to generation. The creator left an inscription on the bottom of the phone: D.D., the initials of the creator who made this phone shortly before his death. 

            You are not the only one whose attention has been caught by this phone. The daughter in this house noticed it as well. Darcy Dougherty saw it one warm afternoon; the person who this story concerns. Darcy saw the old phone and made a phone call that ruined her life.

            The phone appeared to have cost much back when it was made. A red, round, slim base with a golden trim. The dial was gold whereas the numbering was black against a white background. This phone had a golden ear piece and golden, curved speaking piece. The handle was a deep black and it laid upon the golden rest. It was a beautiful phone, untouched by time and her cruel decay. The golden trim extended to a small platform on the back of the phone. It was a stand for a figure: a woman of ivory wearing golden curls and a red dress. She stood with one knee bent and hands extended towards the phone as if to say “Make a call today!”

            Darcy screwed up her face in annoyance. Even phones make blonds look like ditzes, Darcy thought, painfully aware her own hair was blond. Her green eyes looked at the phone before she sighed.

            The phone’s surface sparkled in the waning sunlight. “Hmph,” Darcy said, unimpressed by the phone. She picked up the handle and looked at the dial. Darcy had to think a minute about what her father had said about how these phones worked before bringing the circle of the “1” all the way around to the small bar. She let it go and watched it spin back slowly. Darcy continued this with the three and then the zero, the nine, the six, and so on till she had dialed her mother’s phone number. Wonder who has this number now, Darcy thought as she put the phone to her ear. She resisted a giggle. It’s not even hooked up! “Anyone there?” she asked, finding it fun to talk to the open air.

            “Yes.”

            Darcy jumped and dropped the phone. She stumbled backwards and landed on her backside. She blinked, breathing heavily, as she stared at the receiver which now gently bumped against the boxes it stood on. The curled cord tried vainly to pull the receiver back up as the person on the other end waited. “Hello?” the person asked. “Did the line drop, Didi?”

            Darcy slowly moved forward, crawling on her hands and knees and picked up the receiver. With shaking hands, she lifted it to her face.  “M-m-mom?”

            “It’s me, Didi. Was there something you needed?”

            “No-o-o. I just—I found this old phone––”

            “Dear, you know I have bridge at this time,” her mother sighed. “Call in an hour if you want to talk. And tell your father I’ll be having supper at Karen’s house.”

            “But Mom–”

            The voice of an overly sweet woman interrupted Darcy, making her tense with the thought this ‘operator’ was most likely long dead. “We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

            Darcy stared at the base of the phone before she automatically hung up the phone and stared at it. “But Mom,” she repeated, “you died.”

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            Darcy sat in the attic, staring at the phone, as the sun slowly set. She was not sure what to make of it. That had been her mother’s voice, there was no way to deny that, but her mother had been dead for a year. Darcy was certain someone else had to have that phone number now. Then there was also the problem that the phone was not hooked up to the landline. When Darcy examined the phone, there wasn’t even a place to plug in a wire! The phone seemed to have been made for show.

            Darcy was startled out of her thoughts when she heard her father call for her. “Darcy? Darcy? Where are you?”

            Darcy slowly pulled herself away from staring at the phone before opening the hatch to the attic. Rather than climb all the way down, she stuck her head out and her father jumped with surprise. “It’s time for supper. What are you doing in the attic?” he asked his daughter who looked rather pale.

            Darcy slowly shook her head. “Nothing.”

            Her father raised an eyebrow but only nodded. “Well, come down before the food gets cold,” he said as he turned and headed down the stairs to the dining room.

            Darcy nodded and looked over her shoulder one more time at the phone before heading to supper. I’ll call again after supper. There’s enough time before bed. . . as if I have anything to get up for tomorrow.

            Darcy slowly walked down and lifted the ladder back up. She put her hands into her pockets and walked what seemed like a long trip to the dining room. Darcy moved the chair back by the leg with her foot before sitting down and scooting closer to the table. Her father soon entered and placed a plate of roasted chicken breast and mashed potatoes in front of her and his seat. He left once more before returning and placing the bowl of microwaved broccoli in front of her. “There you go,” he breathed as he took a seat.

            He looked over at Darcy who started to quietly eat. “So. . . How was your day? Haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

            “A perk of having a big house,” she muttered as she ate.

            “What was that?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Darcy, I’m trying to have a conversation,” he said tiredly.

            “And I’m not. That’s probably why you’re failing,” Darcy replied back evenly. 

            Her father looked at her for a long moment, slowly smiling before Darcy started to snicker. The snicker soon turned into laughter and her father laughed as well. The food laid forgotten till the family quieted down and started to eat once more. They did not speak when they ate, for neither had anything to say since the day was (almost) uneventful as the day before, but there was no longer the heavy atmosphere. 

            Darcy finished first and sat back, her mind wandering to the phone upstairs. 

            “Do you want to play a game?” her father asked and Darcy slowly shook her head before shaking it firmly.

            “No, I was in the middle of something when you called,” Darcy said as she stood and brought her plate into the kitchen to rinse it off.

            “In the attic?” her father questioned as he followed her and Darcy nodded.

            “Yeah. If you don’t mind,” Darcy said and her father shook his head. “Not at all. Have fun.”

            Darcy smiled and walked back to the attic.

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            Darcy sat in front of the phone and took a deep breath. Let’s just see how this goes. She picked the receiver up and dialed her mother’s phone number once more. Darcy waited as the tones of the phone ringing sounded in her ear and soon the other end was picked up. “Darcy, I was wondering if you would call back. Didn’t you get my texts?” her mother answered.

            Tears came to Darcy’s eyes and she shook her head. “N-no. I didn’t get them.”

            “Hmm. Well, what is it you wanted?”

            “I just wanted to, uh, talk to you for a bit. Tell you what’s been going on. Like I would when you went off on your retreats.”

            “Well, everyone’s decided to go to the town for drinks but someone needed to make sure Karen wasn’t robbed. I’ve got time.”

            Darcy smiled and soon launched into the tale of how things have been so weird lately. She started her story a year ago, what happened soon after her mother died, and was about to talk about the quarantine when her mother had to interrupt her: “Sorry dear, but Karen and the others have arrived. Tell me the rest tomorrow, okay?”

            Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. What if the phone doesn’t work then? “O-okay. Promise you’ll answer?”

            Her mother laughed softly. “Of course dear. Good night.”

            Her mother hung up.

            “We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is no longer in–”

            Darcy slowly hung up the phone and stared at it. She rubbed the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. “Who else can I call?” Darcy whispered as her shoulders dropped. Heard a rumor that Bell’s number was one. . . Darcy picked up the receiver and dialed one, putting the receiver to her head. I wonder if someone even HAD the number one.

            “Ahoy-hoy, Bell speaking.” came an older man’s voice.

            “Holy jjjjjj!” Darcy exclaimed and she heard a ‘tsk’ on the other end.

            “Do not use such foul language! Now who has decided to call me?” Bell demanded. 

            Darcy was silent for a moment before clearing her throat. “Darcy, sir. I just wanted to congratulate you on your great success sir.”

            Bell humphed but Darcy could tell he nodded. “Thank you but I must return to my work. Good-bye.”

            Darcy blinked when she heard the click of the phone connection ending and was followed by a low hum. What happened to the sweet operator? She hung the phone back up and thought a moment. Darcy soon picked it up again and dialed another number. Some conversations were short while others spanned about an hour. Some were angry, some were happy, and some were sad. Darcy did not retire to bed, spending the entire night on the phone.

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            That morning, her father got up and started breakfast. “Darcy! Breakfast!” he called from the kitchen before putting the food on the plates. He called once more as he placed the plates on the table. He stood straight, looking through the doorway for a moment before heading out to the hall. “Darcy?” he called as he made his way to the stairs, walking up them. “Darcy, time to get up.”

            He opened the door to her bedroom but saw her bed was messy and without Darcy laying on it. He checked the bathrooms before he caught sight of the attic. He slowly walked to it, reaching up and taking the string, pulling the ladder down. He walked up the ladder to the attic and saw Darcy in front of him. She was slumped over, head on the box beside the old phone, arms on the boxes beside her head as well. The receiver of the phone dangled over the opposite side as if she slumped over and let the receiver drop.

            The father took a sharp breath, eyes widening. For a moment, he saw his wife in front of him, slumped just like Darcy was. He blinked, seeing his daughter now, and he closed his eyes.

            How could I forget?! I really thought it was a sickness—I should have gotten rid of that phone. . . But I did. Who. Brought. It. Back?

            The father sighed, head lowering for a moment before he climbed the rest of the way up. He slowly lifted the receiver, the operator’s voice sounded from the earpiece, saying: “The number you have reached has been disconnected and is no longer in service”, and placed it back on the rest before he carefully picked his daughter up and lowered her downstairs. It was lucky there was a virus circling around so he set his daughter up in her bedroom, pretending she had died from the sickness, before calling the local funeral home. This was almost exactly what he had done when his wife died. 

            It had been after the funeral and as he walked alone in the house, the phone rang. He paused, having been making his way to bed, and looked up. Ringing, the classic ring that was the bane of modern phones, came from the attic.

            “Why not go give it an answer?” a voice from the shadows asked and the father shook his head. “Why not, elder one? Your family has answered it for generations, comforting those who have passed on before us.”

            “No. . . no, tempting but no. I have no wish to join those who have departed,” he sighed with a sad smile. He looked over at the shadows where the shape of a man could be seen. “Besides, that phone’s a bit outdated. It can’t receive calls anymore.” With that final word, he went to bed as the man in the shadows simply smiled.

            Time always aided the man in the shadows for time was like water. It never ceased flowing, nothing could ever stop its flow, and it eroded even the strongest of materials. Yes, the father was wise not to answer the phone but one day he will . . . . and when that day came, the man of shadows would take the phone to the next member of the family. A family heirloom, made by a man who could not live without his wife, passed from generation to generation by the man in shadows.