A man sat on his living room couch; the room was scattered with books of every kind. He knew of and had traveled the world. He spoke many languages. He was said to be of great intellect and had promise. The room spoke of this - that once he had been this man. It had faded over time and it seemed the books had gone untouched in the past few years. He always meant to pick them up and read them again; but the bottle kept him wanting it more.
The amber liquid seemed to glint in every light; it was beautiful and soothing. It made the dull sounds vanish and the music flow.
He heard a sound coming from the kitchen; he looked in and realized it was the phone. He got up off the couch and made his way to the phone. The phone sat by the kitchen sink. He stared at the phone for a second and he heard a voice.
"Pick up the rock and answer the phone."
Whether the voice was a man or woman he did not know, it seemed irrelevant anyway. He frowned and wondered what the devil was in his drink. Then he looked over to his right and saw that his kitchen door was wide open. The phone kept on ringing and he glanced at it, as he walked towards the kitchen door. He saw that out in the field stood a girl. Somehow he knew her and yet he did not -all at the same time. Then he heard it, a parallel clicking, between the clicking and the phone it seemed the sound was maddening. One of the clicking sounds was coming from her; the other he was unsure of its exact location. He saw that she held in her hand a thing that glinted in the light and it swung back and forth beneath her closed fist. Whatever she carried was on a chain and somehow he knew that too. She pointed at the ground below him. He looked down and on his porch sat a rock. He assumed that it was the rock the voice was referring to, since it seemed placed and all. He felt angry at seeing the rock, also a slight tinge of fear.
"With their destruction - brings your life." The voice said.
"I know nothing about what you are saying." He said to the voice, yet somehow the anger and fear told him that he knew very much. He stared at the rock as he drank down the amber liquid. He bent over and picked it up. He looked at the girl and threw it at her; it connected and she fell backward. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it. He was not entirely sure he intended to hit her. He felt a strange lump in his throat and it made the liquid hard to swallow the rest of the night. Still the parallel clicking proceeded, he thought with certainty that she would have left; but she must be around somewhere otherwise he wouldn't hear the sound.
The next day as he sat on his couch with the amber liquid, he heard the phone again. He got up and walked into the kitchen. He saw that his door was open again. He saw the rock on his doorstep. She must have brought it and left. He looked at the phone, it rang again. He thought of picking it up, he even curled his fingers around it. The voice said "First pick up your rock, then pick up the phone."
He considered it for a moment, he rather wanted to find out who was calling him. He also wanted to know if they knew what the clicking was. To pick up the rock and the phone, he would have to let go of the bottle. He could do it, but he didn't see the need. It would wait. He could always do it tomorrow. Strange how that thought seemed to come from the air.
The next day was much the same: the clicking, the phone, the rock. Once in awhile he thought of picking up the rock, then always leaving it for tomorrow. Seven or so years went by in which nothing much had changed. Then one morning he walked into the kitchen and noticed the door was closed. The phone still rang but now there was only one clicking. He frowned and walked over to the door. He heard a voice say not to open it. He opened it anyway. He saw the girl, she wasn't facing him this time though. She was walking away, the sun was setting and she was mostly obscured by the sun light. He could hardly see her. He bent over and picked up the rock and threw it at her. She was not close enough for him to hit her now though. He went to shut the door but before he did; he noticed on the outside knob was the locket she had held many years before. He took it off the knob and closed his door. He opened the locket up and it held a clock inside. He almost felt sad; then the thought floated through the air. "It is a stopped clock and nothing more, you can fix it any day you please". He took a sip of the warm liquid. He nodded to himself, he couldn't stand the sounds anyhow. It should make him happy that one was gone.
Years went by, many years in which the sounds never ceased. The phone rang every day, the door would always be open, there would always be a rock, there was always the clicking, and the voice that requested him to pick up the phone.
He hadn't seen the girl since that last time many years ago.
Nothing ever seemed to change for him…till the day it did. He sat on his couch and drank, it took him awhile to realize that the phone had not rang. For that matter he didn't hear the strange clicking. He walked into the kitchen, his bottle in hand and grabbed the phone. He stuck it to his ear - nothing was audible. He frowned and looked at the door -it was closed. He walked over to the door. He heard a laugh somewhere. It made him feel uneasy. He turned the knob and it seemed that he heard every rotation the door went through before it opened. It was black outside, the darkest time of night. He looked down and felt something inside him jerk. There was no rock. He sucked in his breath. He heard another laugh, that voice he had heard for a long time, yet never before. He backed away from the door. "Where is my rock?" He asked nobody. "Why do I not hear the phone anymore?"
He walked over to the phone. He tipped the bottle and let the amber liquid spill onto the ground. It puddle around his shoes. He waited for the phone to ring- it was silent. He heard the laugh again. It seemed that out of the corner of his eye; he could see a shadow. He looked and yet he couldn't quite see. "Who are you? Why do you laugh at me?" He asked.
The voice chuckled. "For years I dwell, you listened well, now you speak in fear, as if you hadn't seen me here."
"I…I…don't. Where is my rock?" He asked.
He waited. There was silence. He stared at the phone again. After several minutes he sunk to the floor, his hand placed on the phone. His body was against the drawers of the sink. He hung his head and waited; for what he wasn't sure. He felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked up - it was the girl.
"Why didn't you bring my rock today? I need it today," He said.
She looked at him for a moment. She looked sad. "I never brought you the rocks. I just pointed the one out once."
"Well who brings the rocks?" The man asked. He had been so certain it had been her.
"I would guess that He does; He's been trying to call you know." She said quietly.
Strangely he did know. "Why hasn't He called today?" he asked. Somewhere inside he knew the answer to his own question.
"You never answered; it matters not now. He is coming." She said quietly.
"But the place is a mess and I have nothing to offer him to eat or drink. I have nothing here; I need more time. I am not prepared."
He spoke these words to her and in that moment he realized that she was here, yet she wasn't. He was here, yet he wasn't. This was real and unreal at the same time. His mind was here and his body was in a bed with a white walled room surrounding it. That is where he was breathing his last. He knew it some how and yet it wasn't clear. The only thing he knew for sure was he had missed the call.
My daughter wrote this short story. The man is her father.
