The Story

            With darkness already creeping into sight, and the cordial fall evening losing its grip on the warmth it had carried throughout the day, I had just returned home from work and entering through my front door as the ringing of the telephone welcomed me.  I quickly ran to the phone, for I didn’t know how long it had been ringing.

            Out of breath, I answered, “Hello!”

“Ora, this is Aunt Teresa.  How are you?”

I hadn’t spoken with my aunt for quite sometime, so I was glad to hear from her.  She had just returned to the Ashland area from Florida, where she had lived for the past five years.  My uncle had received a transfer, accompanied by an increase in pay.  Fortunately for them, my uncle’s company transferred him in the area that they grew up in, and closer to their families.

“Hey!” I happily said.  “Have you gotten moved in yet?”

“For the most part,” she replied, “but I was wondering if you could come over and run a phone line into the den for me; that is where the computer and your Uncle’s office is going to be but there is not a phone jack in that room. Would you care to put it in for me?”

“Sure, that won’t be a problem at all; just let me grab a few tools and I will be right over.” I said, already grabbing my equipment and heading for the door.

The neighborhood my aunt now resided in was a beautiful and luxurious piece of property, with a house that fit beautifully into the scene, and gave the impression of peace that a true home should bestow.  It was the type of home and neighborhood where the expectations were high and crime was rarely committed which, as I soon found out, gave the false sense of security.

Knowing I had just gotten off work, my aunt had an enormous plate of food waiting for my arrival.  With my stomach full and fighting the urge to take a nap, I proceeded towards the den to perform the task that was need to be completed.

Creating a phone line started out as a very simple job.  I simply spliced into an existing line in the house, and then, I attached the phone jack to the end of it.  As I was consummating the task of putting a duplex adapter onto the outlet jack, in order to also adjoin a phone into the room along with the computer, I asked my aunt to retrieve me a phone so I could make sure that the lines had been connected properly.

With the phone in hand, I bent down to attach the plug into the outlet, when I was interrupted by a thump from the floor above me, which was the attic.  Although the distraction had alarmed me, I quickly realized that my aunt must be upstairs arranging her “years of collections” that she couldn’t bare to part.  I returned my attention to the job at hand, and with the plug into position I picked up the receiver.  To my disbelief, the phone was dead; there was no dial tone.  I began to maneuver the wires, hoping that one had come loose.  With the receiver still at my ear, the faint sound of a muffled breathing come through, sending a chill throughout my body.  I stood silently, head cocked to one side, and breathlessly, I listened into the phone.

Not for certain who was on the other end I asked, “Aunt Teresa?” No response, so I repeated the question.

“Aunt Teresa? Is that you?”  I asked, still nothing but the eerie silence.

“Who are you talking too?” my aunt asked as she walked into the den startling me.

After regaining my composure I said, “Well, I thought I was talking to you.  I can’t get a dial tone on this stupid phone, but I thought I heard someone breathing on the other end.”

A startled look settled upon her face and she asked, “Did you drop something a minute ago?  I thought I heard a crash when I was downstairs.”

“No!” I said, now with a startled look that matched her own.  “I heard it also.  It came from up in the attic. I thought that you were upstairs moving some boxes.”

“It wasn’t me!  I was downstairs in the kitchen washing dishes,” she nervously said.

“Well, maybe we should go upstairs and see what that noise was,”  I replied with bravado that I didn’t feel.

I hung the phone up and nervously headed to the door, but was halted in my tracks by the ringing of the phone that was previously not working.  I hesitantly walked towards the phone with a loathsome fear of picking it up.  Once I had repossessed my sense of false courage, I forced myself to answer the noisy phone.

“Hello?” I asked.

No verbal response was given; only the same breathing that I had heard previously, but was much more deeper and sporadic than before.

“Who the Hell is this?” I yelled into the phone.

I wasn’t really expecting anyone to answer, but I also wasn’t expecting to hear a familiar “beep” coming through the line; it was the sound the phone would make, when, as a child, I would call my sister form a different phone in the house to play a trick on her; that was the “beeping” sound that I heard at this moment.  I was frozen with fear upon the realization that someone was in the house, and I was on the phone with that person right now.  My first thought was to call the police.  Of course, I couldn’t do that with someone on the phone. 

I violently slammed the phone down.  “Someone is in the house.  We have to get out of here.”  I said as I paused to cautiously listen for the intruder.  “He must be up in the attic; that has to be the noise that we heard.  Come on, we can go to a neighbors house and call the police.”

As we discreetly moved towards the front door, we had to cross the path of the door leading to the attic; I stopped.  I could here the faint sound of the floorboards squeaking.  I realized that the sound was not the floor from above, but the steps that were behind the door.  Unfortunately, I realized it too late; the door was swinging open as the thought rushed through my mind.  In an instant, I was face-to-face with a stranger that I had never seen.  We must have surprised him as badly as he surprised judging by the look on his face.  He quickly turned and dashed for the front door.  With my heart out of my throat, I collected my thoughts, while noticing he was not leaving my aunt’s house empty handed.  He had a briefcase in is arms, struggling to keep a grip on it, while making his escape.

Apparently, my aunt also notice because she said, “Ora, he has stolen Mark’s brief case! Don’t let him get away!”

Heeding my aunt’s request, I dashed for the door, in pursuit of the thief.  He was quite over-weight, so by the time I had made it onto the porch, I was within a few feet from the perp.  With a braveness I didn’t know that I had, I lunged forward, knocking him off of his feet.  The brief case went flying through the air, falling from his hands as he tumbled to the ground.  With the startled look still on his face, and now accompanied by a hint of anger, he fled into the coverage of the dark night.

With my aunt now at my side, we strolled over to the brief case.

“What is in this aunt Teresa?” I asked.  “What was so important he was willing to steal it?”

“I have no idea what is in it.” She responded.  I can’t imagine what mark would hae in that brief case that would be so important.  Open it up and see what is in it.”

Upon the opening of the brief case, I could have never imagined what was inside.  YOU could have never imagined what was inside.  Do you know what the brief case held? Do you want me to tell you what was cased in that briefcase?  It was the biggest thing of bologna that you have ever seen…JUST LIKE THIS STORY!!!!!!

 By Ora Slone

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