“Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?”
I craned my head to see past the window in my office that looks into the front foyer where the receptionist sits. She was twirling her blonde hair around one finger and holding the clunky landline phone we all had before shrugging and hanging it up. I furrow my brow and straighten myself back up, reaching under my desk. I fumble until I find today’s sticky note. 32 ghost calls today. I mark the last tally with increased frustration and stick it back under my desk. My wrist flutters against the other twenty notes taped there. Each note is completely full of tally marks in dark blue ink. I go back to typing.
I (26f) work at a commercial building company as an estimator. Basically, my job is to travel to job sites and then draft up an estimation of how much my company would expect to be paid for doing it. It has absolutely nothing to do with the degree I got at my fancy out of state school, but there weren’t many opportunities in my chosen field. Returning home to work for my parents was my only option. My work consists of about 50/50 traveling and desk work. It was just my luck that my region was hit with a monsoon-like storm, and I was stuck in the office all week.
Sure, I am just a bored twenty something ticking away at my first office job. Sure, my mind wanders in the middle of the day. But I am not crazy. I know there is a pattern here. The notes under my desk prove it. I pause my spreadsheet sorting and listen for the next call. Today, an average of 8.3 minutes between each call. My arms start to itch.
Right on the dot, as expected, the phone rings. The receptionist answers. “Hello? Alright, I can’t hear you. Call back!” I go to mark my next tally when I hear a pause where there should be a click. I turn. She hasn’t hung up the phone yet. I watch her in interest as she keeps the phone pressed to her temple, her wide blue eyes fixed straight ahead as if she was in a trance. She doesn’t say a word and for a moment I wonder if there is actually someone on the line this time. My eyes drift down to my own phone, where line 11 flashes rhythmically. I press the number and hold my own phone up to my ear. Nothing. I look back out at the receptionist and she is still listening intently. I shudder and hang up, putting the note back under my desk and trying to go back to work.
Twenty minutes later and the voicemail light was blinking, but the phone hadn’t rang. I turned to check the front desk when I saw the receptionist, phone at her temple, still staring straight ahead at nothing.
All the hairs on my arms stood on end. I looked around into the other offices to see if anyone else had noticed. All eyes were drearily focused on their own computers, the blue glow dimly washing into their faces. I didn’t dare bring up the phantom calls again. I wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about it. But line 11 was still blinking.
I tried to take a deep breath and pulled out my notebook. “Jane. When our thoughts become obsessive and out of control, we rationalize. How can we rationalize this?” I sucked air through my teeth as I read my mother’s handwriting again and again. How can I rationalize this? Maybe she is just pretending to be on the phone to avoid work. Maybe there actually is someone on the other line and I just checked in at an odd time. Maybe she is just on hold for something. Okay, there we go.
Feeling silly, I reached under my desk and peeled up all of my sticky notes. One for every day of the past 13 days. I threw them all in the trash and got a fresh notepad from my drawer. Dropped calls happen all of the time. I am creating patterns that aren’t there again. I cannot afford a repeat of freshman year, trapped in the medical ward during finals week because I was convinced the birds outside my dorm were drones spying on me while I changed out of my track suit. I smoothed my sleeves down over the scratch marks on my arms.
The rest of the day passed without the phone ringing once. I checked into the voicemail box occasionally, but I didn’t dare look out at the front foyer. Line 11 was still blinking. I got my things collected at around 4:45 and turned to leave. When I opened my door, I found the receptionist in the exact same position. My stomach dropped out and my resistance caved. I dropped my bag and stepped into her line of sight, waving my arms. “Laura?” Not an ounce of recognition crossed her face. It was as if she was staring right through me. I swallowed and moved closer to the desk, looking down to examine her phone.
Just as I thought, she was still on the same line. I gingerly reached down between her glassy face to click her line, hanging up the phone. As soon as I did, it was like flicking on a switch. She jumped back, her chair bumping into the wall. “Jane? What’s going on?”
Her eyes moved from me to the windows behind me. She suddenly stood. “What time is it? What happened? Did I fall asleep?” She looked at the clock and her eyes widened in panic. “How is it already almost five o’clock?”
I moved around the desk, grabbing her elbow and helping her to sit down again. I crouched down in front of her, searching her face for signs that she was just fucking with me. “Laura, what’s the last thing you remember?” She looked down at the floor, her brow furrowed.
“I don’t know? It was just after lunch and I answered the phone. That’s it.”
Just as she said it, my dad came around the corner. “Hey Janey! Ready to go home? Oh! Laura. What’s going on?” His eyes snapped between us. Instantly, Laura stood and dusted off her skirt, gathering her things into her bag.
“Nothing, Mr. Williams. I was just leaving.” She sounded instantly normal, every trace of panic gone from her voice. I looked at her, stunned, before smiling at my dad and seeing myself out. The whole drive home I tried to make sense of it. But I couldn’t. She picked up the phone and seemingly was lost in a trance for hours so deeply she remembers nothing at all? What did that mean about the ghost calls? How deep did this go? I pinched the fresh scratch on my arm. No. Come on. Rationalize. Maybe she’s on drugs. Or extremely sleep deprived. I am not crazy. I will not let this incident make me feel crazy again.
When I arrived at the office today, I was sporting my compression sleeves. I had an ironclad will to not think about the ghost calls or the weird thing with Laura. The glance my father threw me yesterday was enough to remind me of how cold the psych ward could get at night. Rationalization.
But when I stepped in the front door, the front desk was empty. A tiny stick note fluttered in the breeze as I left the door standing open. Jane- Please cover front desk today. Laura out sick. Well fuck. I took a deep breath and gathered the things from my desk to bring to hers. This is fine. My stomach dropped at the thought of being the one to answer the ghost calls, but I knew I virtually had no choice. And isn’t it good to face your fears (crazyobsessiveconspiracytheories) head on?
Every time the phone rang the whole morning, I was shaking when I answered it. Every time the person on the other line started talking, relief and euphoria washed over me. I made it until lunch, my sleeves unmoved and my focus undivided. My father even stopped by to tell me he was impressed with how well I was covering both jobs. I felt untouchable.
And then it happened. “Hello? Hello? Anyone there?” Nothing. Just static. Shuffling. Faint breathing. My stomach sank. I thought I was going to throw up. “Hello?”
Nothing. I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to put the phone down. Without opening them, I slammed it down on the receiver and took three deep breaths. And then I opened my eyes. And it was pitch black. The windows outside were dark. The office lights were off. Just a moment ago, I could hear all of the usual ambient office noises, now there was complete silence. My heart leaped into my throat and I started to hyperventilate. My eyes shot to the clock on the wall.
It was after 6 pm.
No. No way. It wasn’t even noon when I picked up the phone two seconds ago. I stood up from the desk and walked hurriedly through the office, checking room after room. Empty. Empty. Empty, Empty. I yelled out for my parents but they were nowhere to be found. I checked the time on every computer screen and clock I passed. 6:15. On every single one of them. I flung myself into the bathroom and sat on the floor. This had to be a mistake. A practical joke. I caught myself raking my nails down my arms, my compression sleeves soaking in blood.
And then I heard it. The static. From the phone call. Except this time, it wasn’t on the phone. It sounded like it was coming from the walls. I stood, backing away from the tile until I bumped into the sink. The static grew louder and louder. I ran out of the bathroom and down the hall to the front desk, flinging myself behind it as I scrambled for my phone.
My phone. My phone. I crashed all over the desk, fumbling madly. It was gone. The static was still louder, as if it was coming from everywhere. As if it was everywhere. I got out from behind the desk and lunged for the door, but it was locked from the inside. I started to sob, thick tears and snot rolling down my face, my wails drowning out the white noise. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound. The thin static turned to a rumble, and then the ground started to shake. I tripped and my head smacked on the corner of the desk.
When I came to, there was blood dripping into my eyes, turning everything a faint shade of red. In front of me, a single sticky note.
“Do you think you can survive the night?”
I am sitting under my desk with my work computer typing this now. I have no idea what is happening, how I am trapped here, or if I will make it out alive. I am still bleeding and I can still hear the static. Please. Help.