That’s the phone ringing. No, not your mobile, the landline. Don’t tell me you forgot you still had a landline,
just answer the damn thing!
I know it’ll only be your mother or some guy with a strong Indian accent who introduces himself as Gary and says your computer’s caught a virus. How does he know? Did he sneeze in its direction? He doesn’t quite say, but he wants you to think he’s calling on behalf of Bill Gates.
Oh dear, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears as you join me back on the sofa. Your mother then? Honestly, I was trying to hold her off till Sunday. Not your mother, you say? Another nuisance call?
Sit yourself down and have a read of this little story, for who hasn’t fantasised a
Cold Calling revenge? Or if you’d rather have a song I’ve found one with both a mother and a telephone: Sylvia’s mother. What more could you ask for?
But don’t get too comfortable. Two gentle stories in two consecutive posts can only mean one thing. That’s right, I’m softening you up for the darkness to come.
Over to you: how do you deal with cold callers? And how do you like your fiction on a scale from light to dark?