The phone

Tring- Tring...the phone rang, disturbing the stillness of the house. The dead of the house was temporarily disturbed by the shrill sound of the phone, and in the silence where even a small gush of the wind seems like a loud noise the ring could have given anyone a heart attack. The bats flew all over the place causing a chaos. The phone rang, and the spider webs danced to its tune. Suddenly every damp corner seems to have come to life, their ears trying to locate any sound other than the ring. The dust all over the place snapped their head up for a fraction of second, and like a pet dog settled down again knowing there's nothing much to happen. As the phone kept ringing, the house seemed to have come to life. The air felt charged up. the wind blew excitedly, as if waiting for someone to pick up the phone and deliver the long awaited good news. But no one came, and neither did the good news. The house felt like a paralytic someone, who desperately wanted to answer the phone, but couldn't.

To anyone else it must have sound strange, no one has lived in the house since as long as they remember, but the phone promptly kept ringing twice every week. No one had the idea why, and no one dared to find out. The house has stories, many of them, scary, of that of ghosts and dead souls still hovering in there. People believed them all. And why shouldn't they, the house has the perfect look to plot those kind of stories. Story tellers died, but the stories lived. And in time, the house was labeled the culprit of all horrific events. The poor house had no way out other than to bear the blame. No one ever knew of its tragedy. No one saw the pain the house went through, losing its owner one after another, and standing orphaned.

The continuous ringing of the phone was now getting the house agitated. It tried to escape the noise but in vain. Everything, everyone left the house except for this phone and its ring. It has been the friend and confidante, the witness of the innocence of the house. the house loved and cherished it, but at times hated it for reminding all the life that once existed under its roof.

As the ring died, the house settled back in to its hushed deathly silence.


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda