Creepypastas

Calls

I couldn't take the calls any more. I just couldn't take knowing. There was nothing I could do to stop them from coming through; I had to put an end to it.

It all started this summer, when I was playing with my oldest daughter, Chrissie. My kid absolutely loved toy cars, so I had given her my Matchbox collection, which I'd kept in the attic since my childhood. She was driving some farm animal around on the hood of my most prized possession: a classic fire truck with all its original parts and an unblemished paint job, when she suddenly stopped our caravan halfway to Mount Marshmallow Snowflakes, also known as the white leather sofa in the corner.

"Daddy," she said, her voice sweet and innocent.

"Yes, honey?" I replied.

"Daddy, don't answer the phone," she told me.

Having not heard my phone ringing, I wasn't sure what she meant by that. She had probably seen the screen on my smartphone lighting up from an incoming call. I had a tendency to forget to un-mute the thing after meetings at the office. I guessed that Chrissie didn't want our playtime to end, so I assured her daddy wasn't going anywhere, and left the phone alone. She smiled, and we continued our game. Later, I checked my call history, but discovered that there hadn't been any incoming calls. I didn't really give it much thought, to be honest.

A few weeks later, the same thing happened while we were playing doctor and giving Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy his annual check-up. Chrissie looked up towards the kitchen and dropped her stuffed bear.

"Daddy, don't answer the phone," whispered Chrissie, in a frightened tone.

This time, I chose not to heed her warning. I got up to check my Smartphone right away: no incoming calls. Following Chrissie's gaze, I realized that she was actually looking at the old telephone on the kitchen wall. We had disconnected the landline and unplugged it years ago. My wife had been asking me to take it down since the day I'd cancelled our residential phone services. We had both gotten cellphones and wanted to put the money towards something more useful. The bulky white device was screwed into the wall. I kept forgetting to dismount it whenever I had my tools out, and I was too lazy to get them from the garage for such a menial task. I'm shocked my wife didn't wind up removing it herself, since it bothered her so much.

"Honey, that's not a real phone. No one's calling," I told Chrissie, ruffling her hair.

It took Chrissie a few moments, but she eventually went back to playing as though nothing had happened. It was probably some kind of new game she had learned in school or something. She was seven, and had a bunch of imaginary friends. Maybe she'd gotten into an argument with Princess Pufflecakes, and she didn't want to take her call. I didn't worry about it too much.

It wasn't until the third imaginary call that I started to get concerned. Chrissie and I were having a Ninja Turtles Tea Party. I was dressed in a pink tutu with Michelangelo's bandana and a crown on my head – never underestimate what a father would do to put a smile on his kid's face – and got up to get more juice. Chrissie grabbed me by my frilly skirt, looking absolutely terrified.

"Daddy, don't answer the phone!" she pleaded.

There was something in her eyes that compelled me to put an end to her weird game. She really looked freaked out: I no longer thought she was playing some kind of reverse-psychology Simon Says. If she was making it up, why did she look genuinely worried?

"It might be important, squirt. Don't worry. Daddy will tell those evil telemarketers to leave you alone," I playfully replied as I snuck out of her grasp.

I made my way to the kitchen, where I picked up the receiver, and turned towards my daughter to give her a reassuring thumbs-up. Bringing the receiver to my ear, I fully expected to hear silence. Silence, however, was not what I heard. There was static on the line, which surprised me enough that I pulled the phone away for a moment to look at it in disbelief. When I brought it back to my ear, I heard a voice on the other end.