Menolyrical; Final Friday Fiction edition

"Hello?...Hello?....Who's there?"

Sound of receiver being clicked back into its cradle.

Silence.

Grrunngg-grrunngg.  Grrunngg-grrunngg. Grrunngg-grrunngg. Grrunngg-grrunngg.

*click* "Hello?...Hello?....HELLOOOO??!!! Who's there???"   *thumptk*

Silence.

Grrunngg-grrunngg.  Grrunngg-grrunngg. Grrunngg-grru -*click*

"Hello?...Hello?....Who the #### is this????????......................" *thumptk*

Silence.

Grrunngg-grrun -*click*

"Look, whoever you are, I called the police and had them to put a trace on. DO YOU HEAR ME???" *thumptk*

Silence.

Sound of car. Doors opening and shutting. Feet crunching on the gravel.

Puzzled silence.

"That? Are you telling me there have been calls traced back to that???" Sargeant McCall glared at Constable Firth. The bobby nodded. "Yes sarge." They both stood looking at the faded, red-painted metal and glass box. McCall walked all around it. He attempted to lift open the door, bit it wasn't going to budge. Rusted, likely.

"What the dickens? We are in the middle of nowhere here, there are no wires. There's no telephone unit inside the thing..." He shook his head and headed back to the car, Firth trailing him like a faithful dog.

Silence.

Grrunngg-grrunngg.  Grrunngg-grrunngg. Grrunngg-grrunngg. Grrunngg-grrunngg. .....