The Operator Is Calling…

The Wallace family moved into their new home in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, in late June, many weeks ago. The family resided by a mixed forest of pine, willow, and oak, in a nice home, but the house is what holds history. The last owners of the house move due to what was thought to be an disease or hysteria outbreak, but reports were never made nor investigated. They believed it was the same sickness as what killed the mother of the creator of the home which was made specifically by a man who felt as if he had done what wasn’t enough for his mother, who passed after the completion of the maroon home. It was solely made of cherry wood and crimson clay which was perfectly created to his desire.

When the Wallace’s moved in it, was still decorated like it was before, nothing touched, so the Wallace’s took advantage of that. It never brought to their concern that the previous suddenly left or the fact that their current location is a mystery all on its own, but it did spark curiosity in their teenage daughter, Amalea. Within the first few minutes of being there Amalea had already found herself in trouble, not by her family, but her silly naiveness brought her to the basement where the girl was sought by a dark, amber-colored aura, an orb of such. It floated above what looked to be a circle of chalk, which seemed like it was kicked or stepped on, because it had an X inside of it, which, by her knowledge, was most likely accidental.

She walked closer to the orb as it’s dark vibe fell off of her face, but she still had her curiosity which dug into her brain like a paring knife into a fish’s scaley belly. Before she had the chance to touch the orb, she heard her parents call her from the floor above, she turned around and as she turned back, it was gone.

“Yes Mom?” She asked in her normal tone, Amalea usually talks in this tone but for the ride to the new home, it was changed to a tone of annoyance.

“I need you to go to your room and unpack okay?” Her mother said, pulling in suitcases through the front door. The house had two rooms, one larger than the other, only because the larger one had a bathroom while the other had a half bath.

Amalea hauled her luggage upstairs to her room, each time the wheels of her suitcase hit the next step, a creak and cry would come out of the walls and floors, as if it was talking to her. Once she got to her new room she noticed the bed that laid there was untouched from anything, nothing moved, just like the rest of the house. She also noticed a push-button telephone, sitting on the foot of her new bed.

“Geez,” she said as she picked it up, “talk about old school.” she sighed as she put it down on the dresser next to the bed. She turned around and thought for a second and looked back at the phone. She picked it up, playfully twirling the curly wire around her finger as she pretended to call someone, “Hey Becky, oh my gosh girl, have you heard what happened to Jasmine this morning?” she laughed as she took it away from her ear, “oh god this is so eighties” but as she took it inches from her ear she thought she heard something. She put it back to her ear in attempt to listen. “Hello? Is anybody the–” she said before a loud noise cut her off, it was static, a distorted noise that made her ears ache as there was nothing else in the room that made noise. She put threw down the phone which bounced against the dresser drawers. As Amalea rubbed her ears, once again, she thought she heard a voice coming from the phone, but was not intrigued enough to pick up the telephone again.

Later that night, the Wallace family ate a home cooked meal to celebrate their new move, and since they do not need to add furniture to the home, they could cook and settle right away. They ate a casserole made by Mrs. Wallace, and Mr. Wallace prepared five different types of sushi wraps with a side of wasabi dip. After the food was scavenged from their fingers and teeth, Amalea cleaned her place when a ringing filled the room, not only the room, but the whole house; it was the telephone, from Amalea’s room.

“Did you change your ringtone?” asked her mother.

“No, that is just the telephone in my room, it shouldn’t be ringing though, it is off the base.” Amalea replied, in a light shake.

“You have a telephone up there?” Her father asked curiously. Amalea nodded as she walked upstairs, her hand dragging against the wooden railing. Once she got to her room, the ringing stopped, and the phone was back on the base, with all the b*****s, except one. The operator button was missing; the zero. She picked the phone back up and kept is a good distance from her ear as she talked into the bottom part.

“Hello?” she said shaking, “Is anyone there?” she parted each breath with a shake in her voice. She waited and sighed in relief, but as she did she noticed a light static.

“Th- Th- Th- The Operator is calling…” it said in a woman’s voice. “Th- Th- Th- The Operator is calling…” it repeated. It wouldn’t stop, it kept going until she heard it, not only from the phone, but all around her. She wished, no, she begged that it was a dream or even a prank, but she couldn’t stop hearing it. Amalea was terrified and scared to near death, she slammed down the phone onto the base and began to run, but before she took two steps away from the black telephone, she was pulled back, her hand was not only stuck onto the phone, but there was a chalk white hand grabbing onto her, forcing her to hold the phone, she screamed in fear as she threw the phone against the wall in attempt to get it away from her.

She ran downstairs but after she turned to her right, to the kitchen, she bumped right into her father’s chest. She grunted when she fell the floor, but right after she quickly got up from the wood.

“Woah there hunny, what are you doing running down the stairs.” Amalea, crying, couldn’t state how she was feeling nor how terrified she was, as she tried to talk, they just spilled on the floor, not making any sense. Her father started again, “Amalea, slow down, breathe and talk to me, what happened?” But soon after, a phone rang, not a mobile phone, a telephone, the one on the kitchen wall, turquoise blue, began to shake and ring. She looked, wide-eyed, to the haunting figure.

“No dad, please don’t answer that, please don’t!” she begged him, but he told her to calm down and, out of suspicion that his daughter had already done something wrong, he walked to answer it. He picked it up and put his ear to the phone, but just as the first time, a loud ring, a horrible loud tone, began to scream into the whole house. Amalea’s father, who had his ear pressed against the phone, was hit directly with the loud noise. His ear bled and dripped onto the floor. Just when the noise stopped, the mother came into the room, hands coming down from her ears.

“What was that?!” she asked furiously and scared. But as she asked, her husband fell onto his knees, tears falling as well as the red substance that dripped from his right ear. Out of grief and fear, she rushed her husband into the living room, only to find out he is permanently deaf in his right ear and his left ear is heavily damaged.

As Amalea walked, with a good distance, behind her parents towards the living room, she looked to her left where the entrance of the basement resided next to the stairs; the door was wide open. Amalea turned and began to walk out of curiosity, the same thing that drew her when she first came to that house, now, at the end of the day. As she went down to the basement, she kicked the dirt on the floor as she walked towards the circle on the floor, now done perfectly, like it was as untouched as the rest of the house. She saw what it really was, a circle with an X in it, a ritual symbol she thought. As she heard pounding from the door and her mother scream, she bolted up to the floor and saw as her parents were right in front of the basement entrance, all that ran in her head was the woman’s voice from the phone.

“Th- Th- Th- The Operator is calling…” she kept telling herself, but stopped as the door was busted down, a silhouette stood, a man stood there in what looked like jeans and a jacket, and a gun, which pointed towards the family; like shooting fish in a barrel.