I find myself hiding inside my bedroom, behind an unfamiliar massive wooden dresser, kneeling on the floor and peeking out as terror crawls inside of me. My heart is beating fast, my palms are sweating and my throat is dry and hurting. I swallow hard, but careful not to make any noise. I look around without moving, searching for an answer, trying to make sense out of this situation. I noticed everything is in place with the exception of this dresser. A dresser that looks like a piece of furniture my grandma would own. On the other hand, it doesn't really matter where it came from. For now, it's serving a great purpose and shielding me from danger.
I am confused. I have no memory of how I got here. I know I am afraid, but not sure of what though.
It is daylight, but looks brighter than ever. Maybe it's the sun filtering through the window. I look up, trying to see past the glass frame, but my eyes squint in the glare. I turn my head to avoid the pain.
While my eyes are fixed on the wide-open bedroom door, my body is still and my ears alert, listening for a clue, waiting for something to happen.
A sudden ringing breaks my concentration, making me jump, raising my heartbeat and scaring the hell out of me. I follow the sound and find a telephone on the floor besides me. This is no ordinary phone, at least not in the 21st Century. In all my eighteen years of life, I have only seen this in pictures. An antique, bulky, black, rotary dial phone complete with a cord connected to the heavy handset, is pleading to be answered. With no caller ID, I am hesitant to pick it up, but my curiosity proves greater than my caution. Besides, I want the ringing to stop; it's attracting too much attention. Slowly, I pick up the receiver, feeling it's weight. I hear nothing on the other end. I stop breathing for a moment, lingering in silence, anticipating the caller's voice.
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