|The Phone Call Ending
Author: Mystical-River PM
Rated for safety. This is supposed to be an ending of the short story The Phone call (which was not written by me) I only wrote The Phone Call Ending.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Mystery/Suspense - Words: 882 - Published: 12-09-04 - id: 1779091
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Phone Call ending
By now I'm panicking, I mean, who wouldn't? I've got this psycho lady screaming her head off, and a knife-laying open for her to grab at any moment on the floor. I wonder if her neighbors can hear her, and if that's a bad thing. Finally and desperately, I lunge forward and cover her mouth with my hand. This causes her to begin to panic more than I was panicking a moment before. Her breathing becomes irregular, coming out in short, and ragged gasps. If she could open her mouth, it would be open and shrieking bloody-murder.
"Listen," I say, trying to make my voice soothing, but as breathless as I am I can't help but sound a little panicked, "Lady, I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, when I do, please don't scream, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to walk away, leave your house, and we'll never see each other again."
She nods, her eyes are wide and unfocused, as if she can hardly contain her fear. I slowly lift my hand from her mouth. I begin to back away, slowly, slowly, so as not to startle her. I feel as if I'm trying to con a wolf, and in a way I am, only this wolf can talk, and it can hold a knife. Most wolves can't press charges either. As I'm backing away from her, slowly reaching the kitchen entryway, my heel catches on something not level with the carpet. My arms flail wildly and for one long moment, I feel like I'm going to trip, and I can imagine her coming at me-her eyes flashing manically-with a knife. Luckily, my hand strikes something and I grip onto it until I regain my balance.
When I look up at her, she's trembling, but now, instead of looking insanely frightened, she somehow seems, sanely frightening, and that, to me, is what's scarier. Her eyes are now searching for something instead of franticly jumping. Finally, something catches her attention, and I find out what she's looking for, in the form of glinting metal. She's looking straight at the knife. "Oh, no you don't," I say as I leap forward, causing those few precious steps I took to slip away, but nonetheless, I'm determined not to let her have the knife.
I've read about people like her in the papers. They seem just like ordinary people, they say, until they're out to get you, murderers are what they call them. So, now that I've got the knife, I'm not exactly sure what to do with it, so, I do the only possible thing I can think of at the time; I run for it.
"Get back here with my kitchen knife!" she shrieks. Of all the things she might be mad at me for; it's for stealing her knife. "Would you leave a lady like me home alone and defenseless while her husband is gone?" He voice is pleading and accusing at the same time.
I whirl around muttering, "For the love of…" Most people can't pull off looking crazed and beseeching at the same time, but I think she pulls it off quite nicely. Just then, I can hear the front door open.
"Bruce!" she hollers, "Bruce, a strange man is trying to hurt me!"
"I'm not trying to…" My protests are cut off when a huge bulk of a man comes in, and he seems none to happy to see me here.
"Where you trying to hurt my wife?" he asks accusingly, the tone in his voice tells me he could care less whether I was or not.
"I…" before I can finish my sentence, he comes rushing at me, roaring in a huge, bellowing voice.
By now, I'm panicking, I mean, who wouldn't? I've got this psycho guy screaming his head off, and a knife in my hand. And that's when I an idea strikes me, quickly, in a matter of milliseconds, I hold the knife defensively before me. Mr. Timothy has no time to sop his bulk, his feet skid, and he nearly makes it, but the fact is that he doesn't, the knife is extending from my hand, and if you follow the knife's trail, you'll see its edge hidden by this man's flesh. With baited breath, I yank the knife out of his chest; I stare at the knife horrified.
I'm not the only person staring horrified at the knife, Mrs. Timothy is also, "You…killed him…" she says, hardly believing the words escaping her mouth along with a huge puff of air. After a moment, her body stiffens, and her eyes harden, "You…killed him…"She says, this time angry, she lunges at me, screaming, I'm screaming, we're both screaming, she pulls something metallic from under the folds of her skirt. And all in one moment, no voice can be heard, and not a single breath escapes a mouth. Not from Mr. Timothy's, not hers, not even mine.