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The Answering Machine continued. After the movie ended, I tucked my daughter into her bed and checked the house to make sure everything was off and locked. My wife had just completed taking her contacts out, or in her terminology, she took her eyes out, when both of us thought we heard some strange sound coming from the TV room. It wasn't the cracking sound of earlier but rather a low almost inaudible hum. Because the sound lasted only a few seconds we decided to ignore it and finally get some sleep. I clearly remember how I prayed that the sound wasn't our refrigerator's last dying gasp. Later that evening we were awakened by a loud, almost screaming sound coming from the other room. My daughter immediately ran into our bedroom, crying in fear of something she didn't understand. My wife and I stared at each other in disbelief, when we came to the realization that the noise must be coming from the now-becoming-annoying answering machine. I jumped out of bed and immediately knew that the sound must be coming from the TV room. Because I wasn't sure that is was emanating from the now-dreaded machine, I decided to investigate the noise, carrying some sort of weapon. Not having, or wanting to have a gun or any other kind of firearm, I grabbed the only evil-looking item available: my wife's hair-dryer. Passing the kitchen I noticed that is was exactly 1:00 am. I prayed that no one was there because I must have looked as though I was carrying a 357 magnum. If an intruder was there and saw me, they would shoot first and ask questions later. If the now-imagined terrorist ever missed, I could only return his fire by drying his hair. Seeing that there was no one in the house, I knew that the noise must have been coming from the machine. I had few choices. I could throw the machine out of the house and admit to my wife that she was right, or I could try and fix the thing again, still demonstrating that she was right. I decided to do the most obvious. I unplugged the now-hated machine and went back to my bedroom with the promise that first thing the next morning I would either permanently fix or return it. We allowed our daughter to sleep with us that night because it was obvious that she was still afraid. I actually let her stay with us for two reasons. The first being that she was shaken up because of the shocking way she was awakened. Secondly, and more importantly I didn't want my wife to be able to lecture me on how I never listen and how she is always correct. We all fell asleep quickly because we felt secure in the knowledge that the dreaded machine, lacking its energy, could not bother us again. Later on in the evening, or I should say early in the morning, the machine screamed a sound that I could never hope to describe and I pray that someday I will forget. It was a continuous whine that did not lose any strength or consistency. All three of us awoke together and for a few seconds were afraid to make any moves or sounds. My daughter was the first to break the silence by crying and grasping for her mother. My wife, knowing that any sound she made would only further terrorize her daughter, used her eyes to display her own terror to me. After a few seconds, which felt like hours, I leaped out of bed and approached the now infamous TV room. I knew I was sweating because my tee-shirt was attached to my back. Again I looked at the clock and saw that it was exactly 3:00am. The sound that was coming from the machine never lost any of its magnitude as I ventured to approach it. The sound didn't frighten me, as much as the idea that I had no idea of what to do. When I reached for the machine, all I could do was stare at it, in disbelief. How could it be making any noise since it was unplugged? Then to my total amazement the whining sound stopped and changed to a clear low human-like sound which I thought told me to stay home. At first I thought I must be imagining what I had just heard. I looked around and saw that both my wife and daughter were peeking into the room behind me. I was about to tell them what I thought the machine had said when for the second time the disconnected black box spoke out and said, "stay home." I then worked on instinct. I ran into the kitchen, opened the back door and threw the machine deep into the woods behind the house. I threw it so hard and far that none of us heard it land. None of us cared because all we wanted to do was close the door, lock it, and hide back in our bedroom. The next morning didn't have to arrive because it was already here. My wife made us some coffee with my daughter acting out the part of her mother's shadow, because she was shaking from the night before. On normal mornings she would have been getting ready for school but because of what happened, we decided it would be best to keep her home. Later on, in the morning, my wife's sister called. Immediately I knew that something was wrong because of the blank look on my wife's face. Her sister called to give her the news that their grandfather had gone into a coma, at about 1:00 am. He passed away at approximately 3:00 am that same morning. My wife's mother found him on their couch holding onto the telephone. Even though my wife's grandfather was ill for a long time, it was hard for her to accept his inevitable death. I thought to myself, why was he holding onto the phone? None of us put the two happenings of the night before together, until the second phone call of the morning. The York Police Department was calling all the parents who had children, riding bus number seven, to the York Middle School. It seems that the bus driver had a massive heart attack, ran off the road, and flipped the school bus over into a deep ditch. Many children were either killed or injured. They called because they had to find out exactly who was on the bus that morning. Even though years have passed since that day, I always walk through the woods behind my house looking for that answering machine. To this day, I still can't find it! Copyrights reserved by the author. If in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' for details. |
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Jim Fabiano is a teacher and a writer living in York, Maine, USA |
