Landline – Reactor

A woman about to leave on an overseas business trip, calls home from the airport and discovers that “daddy” isn’t there and her six-year-old son is all alone in the dark…

Short story | 5,040 words

“It’s dark,” Liam said, his soft, little-kid voice barely audible over the crackle of the landline. “Daddy’s not here.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Amanda asked her son. “Is he in the bathroom?”

“No, he’s gone.”

“Maybe he went outside for a smoke?”

“No.”

She typed a text to Kevin, Call me right away. A red notice appeared under the message: Not Delivered.

Overhead, a blaring announcement: Air Canada Flight 403 to London is now boarding passengers in group one.

One of Amanda’s students appeared at her elbow, her head nearly swallowed by a bright red Prince Philip High School hoodie.

“Ms. Cole.” The teen tugged on Amanda’s sleeve. “Do I have time to go pee?”

Amanda pointed at Julie, the other teacher, and turned away. She cradled the phone tight, blocking the other ear with her palm.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said. “We’ll figure this out.” Liam had always been a nervous child, just like his dad. Sensitive, anticipating problems and threats around every corner. No way Kevin would leave Liam alone in the house. Simply no way. “Did you have a good day at school?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you ride home on the bus?” Liam mumbled something. “Can you speak up, baby? I can barely hear you.”

“Daddy picked me up in the truck.”

Good, Amanda told herself. Everything’s fine. She thumb-typed another text to Kevin. Call me now pls.

Not Delivered.

“Did your dad put the lasagna in the oven yet?”

“The lights went out. Daddy’s gone away.”

“Did the power go out, baby? Okay, don’t worry. You’re fine. Your dad probably just went downstairs to check the breakers. He’ll be back soon.”

Amanda pushed through the crowd of travelers swarming the boarding queue. Her students were draped over two rows of airport seating at the far side of the gate, taking up as much room as possible, with Julie hovering nearby. Three boys were fighting over a bag of chips, as if they were children instead of near-adults who drove massive trucks that could easily crush Amanda’s little hatchback. They batted the bag and it broke, scattering the chips across the floor. Julie stalked over to wrangle them, and when Amanda grabbed Julie’s arm, she rounded on her, glaring.

“Are you going to help me with these monkeys?” Julie whispered.

“Can I have your phone?” Amanda said. “I’ve got an emergency at home.”

Julie dug the phone out of the bottom of her bag and handed it over. Amanda dialed Kevin with one hand while making small talk with her son. “Did you have gym today? What games did you play?” The phone rang, six, ten, a dozen times.

“Honey, can you hear your dad’s phone ringing?”

“No.”

Twenty rings. Thirty.

She hung up and gave the phone back to Julie. Then she fiddled with the Find My app, holding up the phone like a slice of pizza while making reassuring noises at Liam. When the screen resolved, there was Kevin at home, right where he should be, his icon the face of their old dog, Cheddar, much loved but now gone, looking up at the camera with a confused squint. Under the icon was a label: Last seen 46 minutes ago.

“Is the power still out?”

“Yeah.” Her son sobbed. “It’s so dark.”

“Were you playing a game, maybe? Hide and seek? Is your dad hiding?”

“No.”

“You’re doing great, baby. Don’t worry, okay?”`

With the power out, their house had no Wi-Fi. Which meant no internet because data service at their acreage wasn’t even a trickle. That explained why she couldn’t get a text through to Kevin. But voice service was usually fine; he should be picking up.

“Mommy will take care of this,” she said. “Where are you, honey? At the kitchen table?”

“Under it.”

Her baby. Crouched among the chair legs. In the dark.

“Okay, there’s a flashlight under the sink. Can you get it?”

“No, it’s too scary.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. The phone cord will stretch. Crawl over and get the flashlight.”

“You’re so far away.”

True. She had helped Julie load the students on the bus at noon, leaving the hatchback in the school parking lot. Three noisy hours down the snowy highway, then two hours to get the bags checked and the students through security with no incidents. Nobody lost their passports or made any dumb comments about bombs or guns to the security officers, which was a minor miracle. Now it was five. The airport’s long array of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a sky dark as midnight. Snow collected on the body of the waiting plane, piling up and sliding off in thin sheets. It filled the accordion folds of the jet bridge and dimmed the runway lights.

Air Canada invites passengers in group two to board Flight 403 to London.

“That’s us,” Julie announced to the students. “Let’s go.”

Amanda typed a text to her cousin, Annie. Emergency. Can you run over and check on Kevin and Liam? Right away?

Not Delivered. Annie’s power was out, too. Amanda nudged Julie’s shoulder.

“Can I have your phone again?”

Julie handed it over without comment.

Amanda called Kevin again, letting it ring and ring before giving up. Then she found the number for Annie’s landline and punched it into Julie’s phone. No answer there, either. She handed the phone back.

“You’re not talking, Mommy.” Liam’s voice was so thick with crying, he hardly sounded like himself.

“Sorry, honey. I’m doing three things at once right now. Where’s your blanket?” His security blanket, reluctantly abandoned when Liam started grade one, but still much loved at bedtime.

“On the bed.”

“Do you want to go get it?”

Liam sobbed. “I told you. It’s too dark. Scary.”

Of course it was. And the landline cord would only reach as far as the bathroom door. He’d have to put down the phone, and she didn’t want that. She wanted him to stay right there, within arm’s reach.

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

Air Canada invites passengers in group three to board Flight 403 to London.

The kids were moving through the jet bridge, and Julie was handing her passport to the gate attendant. Amanda pushed through to the front of the line.

“Can I have your phone again?” she asked. “Please?”

“Amanda, come on. We’re boarding.”

“Liam is home all alone. I can’t get through to Kevin.”

“Jesus,” Julie said. “How old is he, eight?”

“Just six.”

“Hang on.” Julie reclaimed her passport from the attendant. She pulled Amanda aside and handed over her phone.

“Call the Mounties,” she said. “Not 911. Dial the office in town. Here, let me talk to your kid.”

While Amanda looked up the number for the Hinton RCMP, Julie fired questions into Amanda’s phone. “What’s your best friend’s name? Who’s your favorite teacher? Do you have a dog? When did he die? That’s rough, kid, I’m sorry.”

Amanda dialed the number with one quivering finger. It connected immediately.

“Hinton RCMP.”

“My name is Amanda Cole. I’m a teacher at Prince Philip High School. I need someone to go to my house on the Athabasca Lookout Road and check on my husband and child. It’s an emergency.”

“Are there any injuries or weapons involved?”

“No. Liam is all alone. My son. He’s just six. My husband has disappeared. I’m at the Edmonton airport. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I’ll log a call and a car will investigate. It might be a while.”

“It can’t wait. They have to go now.”

“Understood. But there’s a power outage, so the constables have their hands full. You might want to ask a neighbor to check in.”

This is the final boarding call for Air Canada Flight 403 to London. Passengers Cole and Landry, please go to gate A2 immediately.

Julie inched toward the gate, still firing questions into Amanda’s phone. “Do you play hockey? Are you an Oilers fan?” She handed her passport to the attendant.

“Okay buddy, it’s been good talking to you,” Julie said. “Here’s your mom back.” She put a finger over the phone’s mic slots. “You’re not coming, are you?”

“I can’t,” Amanda said.

“Eleven teenagers all to myself,” said Julie. “If someone gets pregnant, it’s not my fault.”

The car rental office was nowhere near the airport. Amanda waited twenty minutes for a pickup, chattering at Liam the entire time. It took forever to rush the clerk through the paperwork, but by six thirty she was speeding up the highway in a new Chevrolet Malibu, and she’d managed to pair the phone to the car’s speakers without disconnecting Liam.

“Mommy.” The crackle of the landline filled the car’s interior. She pictured her son crouched under the kitchen table, the gnarled phone cord tangled in the chair legs. “When are you coming?”

“On my way, fast as I can.”

Amanda tried to keep Liam distracted by providing a steady stream of commentary, describing the thick rush hour traffic on Edmonton’s ring road and the types of vehicles she was passing: a flatbed semi stacked with concrete pipe, an old Peterbilt with twin exhaust stacks. Liam was quiet, but she knew he was listening. Her boys loved trucks.

Once she was through the interchange to Highway 16, the lanes opened up and she floored it. Packed snow crusted the road surface, but a gravel truck had just been through, and to hell with the speed limit. If the Mounties didn’t like it, fine. They could chase her all the way home.

“You should have something to eat, baby. Get the flashlight and go see what’s in the fridge.”

“I’m too scared.”

She inventoried the contents of the kitchen from memory. Plenty of snacks—she’d filled the freezer with meals and stocked plenty of treats to keep the boys happy while she was away. Tubs of pudding and bags of mini chocolate bars. Three containers of fresh sliced pineapple, and two mangoes she’d paid far too much for. Chocolate marshmallow cookies, the kind she’d loved as a kid. But Liam would want something familiar. On the middle shelf was a bowl of leftovers from last night, hamburger and mushroom gravy over rice, with green beans on the side. Or cheese, there was plenty of cheese. Bananas on the counter, but Liam would have to climb on a chair to reach them.

“You’ll feel better if you have a snack. There’s a bag of caramel popcorn in the bottom cupboard.”

“It’s Daddy’s.”

“He won’t mind. Get the flashlight. It’s really close. Just crawl over to the sink and open the cupboard. If you feel around, you’ll find the flashlight. It’ll be cold, because it’s metal, and everything else in there is plastic. You can do that, can’t you, baby?”

The scrape of a chair leg. A low hum in the background. A voice, mumbling something.

“Kevin,” she yelled, “is that you? Are you there?”

“Mommy,” Liam keened.

“I heard a voice. Is Daddy there?”

“I told you.” Liam sobbed. “I’m all alone. In the dark. You don’t care.”

“Did you get the flashlight?”

“No,” said a deep voice. “Shut up about the fucking flashlight.”

She clawed at the steering wheel, swerved. The Chevy skidded on a patch of loose gravel, and when the tires bit into the road they found nothing but ice. The car slid sideways. Amanda steered into it and rode the ice through one complete loop before coming to a stop with the front wheels off the shoulder.

“Baby, are you there?” she screamed. No answer, just sobs. “You’re okay, Liam. Mommy’s okay. Daddy’s okay. Everyone’s fine, all right?”

She shifted into reverse and eased the car back onto the road. The voice had been a trick of the imagination—a hallucination. That’s what happened when a person was keyed up, hyper-alert, but lacking sensory information. It’s how hunters got shot. How people saw ghosts. Or demons.

She kept up a steady stream of babble over her son’s wails. After a while, he cried himself out.

“Mommy,” he said.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you coming home now?”

“You bet. I’m on my way.”

“You know you never should have left.”

That was true. Obviously. But it didn’t sound like something that would come out of Liam’s mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“Daddy didn’t want you to go.”

“Did he tell you that, baby? Today?”

“You were fighting.”

“No, we weren’t.” She always tried not to fight with Kevin in front of Liam.

“At night, I heard you.”

“Did it scare you? I’m sorry, baby. But it wasn’t a fight. Sometimes your mom and dad have to talk about things.”

“He said you’re not allowed to fuck off to England and leave us all alone, even if it is for work.”

Amanda nodded. Kevin had said that, last week, when she’d agreed to fill in on the trip for another teacher.

“Listen. Sometimes your dad uses bad words, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. He does, very much.”

“He said if you didn’t unpack your bag, he was going to carve a smile into your throat.”

Amanda gasped. Where had that come from? TV, probably. YouTube.

“No,” she breathed. “He would never say anything like that.”

“I heard him. He said he’d teach you a lesson you’d never forget.”

Amanda leaned into the steering wheel. She forced herself to speak calmly, slowly.

“When did he say that? Was it today? Before he disappeared?”

Kevin had been sullen last night, while she was packing. Resentful, but he could only make one argument against Amanda going to London, and she’d demolished it. Sure, she’d told him, if she had to stay home all the time, fine. She’d do that, but it went both ways. He’d have to stay home, too. No hunting trips with his cousins. No long weekends in Anaheim or Tampa to watch the Oilers play. If she wanted to go to London for a week with a bunch of kids, not even for fun but for work, she would.

“Liam, baby, did you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tell me what happened after your dad picked you up from school.”

“We were in the truck. Daddy spilled a beer on his new jeans.”

“Your dad was drinking beer in the truck?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, honey. Your dad doesn’t do that. He wouldn’t, because . . .” Amanda grasped one of the many reasons. “He loves his truck too much. He wouldn’t want it to get impounded.”

“He was mad because he had to do laundry. He doesn’t like it.”

“Nobody likes doing laundry. Listen, none of this is real, okay? Sometimes when we’re frightened, we imagine things that make everything seem terrible. Now, I know you’re really scared right now, but you’re at home, and you’re safe even if you don’t feel safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

The phone rang: Hinton RCMP.

“Good news, baby. The Mounties are coming to help you. I’ve got to talk to them right now. If I cut you off, I’ll call you back right away. Mommy promises.” She hit the Hold and Accept button. “Yes. This is Amanda Cole.”

“Ms. Cole, this is Constable Truong. We’re outside your home. There’s no sign of a break-in.”

“What do you mean, outside?”

“We’ve checked the doors and windows. Everything is secure.”

“You need to go inside. My son is in there, all alone.”

“Is there a key we can access?”

“Just break down the door.”

“You don’t have a hidden key? Most people do.”

“It’s behind the garage, under the flat rock. But I don’t care. Bust the door.”

“We’ll find the key.”

“I have to hang up. My son is on the other line. I’ve got to tell him you’re there and he’s safe.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Cole.”

Amanda fumbled the phone, trying to switch calls. The call hiccupped, went dead. She hit redial and called the landline. It rang thirty-six times before connecting.

“This is Constable Truong.”

“Is Liam okay?”

“The house is empty, ma’am.”

“No. I was just talking to him.”

“Nobody’s here, Ms. Cole.”

“He was on this line. The landline in the kitchen. Right where you are. Just a minute ago.”

“Maybe he was on a cell phone, somewhere else?”

“Did you check the basement? He must be hiding. He’s scared.”

“Yes, we checked everywhere.”

“He’s very small, did you look under the beds?”

“Yes.”

“Keep looking.”

“We have other calls to get to.”

“But my son is missing.” Amanda pounded the steering wheel. “What’s more important than a missing child?”

“Is he with his father, Ms. Cole?”

“With Kevin? I wish he was with Kevin. No, he’s all alone.”

“Your husband drives a red Ram 1500? It’s not here. I’d say your husband took your son into town. Or maybe to a friend’s or relative’s house.”

“He didn’t.” Amanda’s voice rose to a screech. “I’m telling you. I’ve been on the phone with him for hours. He’s alone and scared and you have other calls to get to?”

“Are you and your husband estranged, Ms. Cole?”

“What? No!”

“Do you have reason to believe your son is in danger?”

Breathe. If she kept on like this, she’d end up in the ditch.

Amanda squeezed the steering wheel. She took a huge breath.

“You know what?” she asked, very calm. “Liam got scared when he heard you come in. He ran outside.”

“I don’t think so. There’s fresh snow all around. We didn’t see any tracks. What color is your son’s parka, Ms. Cole?”

“Blue. Bright blue.”

“And his boots?”

“Gray. With a red stripe.”

“Hang on.” Muffled voices. “They aren’t here. We believe that means your son is with your husband.”

“You think I’m imagining things?”

“I’m just telling you what we’re seeing.”

“Apparently you don’t see anything,” Amanda spat.

“We’ll look out for your husband’s truck. If we find them, we’ll call.”

When Amanda got to Hinton, the power was back on. Snow fell in cones of light under each streetlamp and blurred the illuminated signs of the gas stations, motels, and restaurants lining the highway. She blasted through red lights at both intersections, probably setting off all the town’s speed cameras. But what would that be—a three-hundred-dollar ticket? Didn’t matter. She’d pay it twice over.

Ten minutes west of town, she turned up the road to Grande Cache. Two big, wide curves, a long ascent uphill and then down to the river. The Chevy struggled to keep its speed as she climbed out of the valley, then a left turn toward Brule, where only a few wheel tracks marred the snow-covered gravel. Two more turns and she was speeding up the long driveway. Scrubby spruce crowded close on both sides, soaking up the headlights. Two sets of wheel marks blurred by a fresh layer of snow. Darkness at the top of the drive, then a sudden blast of light. Her home, glowing from within, every light blazing.

The Chevy skidded to a stop. Amanda flung herself up the steps, yelling as she yanked open the door.

“Baby? Mommy’s here. Everything’s okay.” She tracked snow through the hall and into the kitchen. “Liam? Honey?”

No answer. A click as the furnace turned on. A gentle whoosh as air moved through the ducts. She crawled under the kitchen table. Nothing but crumbs. Liam had been eating soda crackers. But he didn’t like them. They were too salty. Liam liked sweets.

“Baby?”

Out of the kitchen and into the living room. She checked behind the TV cabinet and its tangle of cords, looked behind the recliner. She dragged the couch away from the wall, then lay flat and felt under it, even though it was so low to the floor nobody could hide there, not even Liam. She checked the bathroom, behind the shower curtain, behind the door. She threaded her arms through the thick layer of coats in the hall closet, then moved to Liam’s bedroom.

“Mommy’s here,” she said in the brightest tone she could muster. “Liam, where are you?”

Not under his bed. Not in his closet. Her bedroom then. Under the bed.

“Mommy’s home.”

She dropped flat on the floor. Loose carpet fibers tickled her nose, lots of dust. She always meant to vacuum under the furniture, but got to it maybe once a year.

Her fingertips grazed something warm, soft. When she reached to grab it, it moved away.

“Baby? It’s okay. You can come out now.” She wormed under the bed. “Come on, honey.”

Her hands hit the wall. Nothing. Then something nudged her foot.

“Liam?”

She squirmed from under the bed and rolled. Nothing there. She turned on her phone’s flashlight and shone it under the bed. Two eyes glinted, then resolved into the form of one of Liam’s trucks. The red one, his favorite. Just like his dad’s.

Amanda threw open the closet doors. Clothes dangled from wire hangers. Dirty laundry spilled from the plastic basket. A pair of Kevin’s jeans on top, faded blue marred by a damp stain.

She sniffed the jeans. Beer. Like Liam had said.

“What the hell, Kevin.” She checked the Find My app. There was Kevin’s icon, Cheddar’s hapless doggy face overlapping Amanda’s own blue dot. Last seen 4 hours and 24 minutes ago.

She called him, let it ring five times before realizing she didn’t give a damn where her husband was. All she cared about was her baby.

Basement. Liam must be in the basement. He hated it down there: too dark, too cold. But kids did weird things all the time, and he could be nowhere else. She trotted back to the kitchen and swung open the basement door.

“Liam, please come out. Mommy’s not mad.” Of course she wasn’t. No reason Liam would think she was. But why would he be hiding, otherwise?

The rickety stairs shifted underfoot.

“Please, baby. You’re scaring me.”

Plenty of places to hide in the basement. Easier for Kevin to shove things down there than haul them to the dump. The big carton from the new fridge. Stacks of boxes from every Christmas for the past seven years. Liam’s crib—she’d decided no more kids, but kept it out of superstition, as if the moment she gave it away, she’d turn up pregnant. Bins of Christmas decorations glittered under the bare bulb, piled on the ironing board she never used. Plastic garment bags hung from the bare joists, person-sized, and swinging gently. Her wedding dress. Kevin’s suit.

“What if we went into town and hit the Tim Hortons?” she asked, wheedling now. Donut holes were his favorite. Always requested but rarely granted, and only when she wanted something. “How many Timbits do they put in the big box, baby? Twenty? Thirty? Would you like that?”

He wasn’t among the boxes or cartons. Not behind the furnace or water heater. Not under the stairs or beside the washer and dryer. He was nowhere.

She stood over the grille of the basement drain, hand on the lid of the chest freezer, listening. Kevin liked quiet—that was why he insisted on living so far out of town—but the house was never quiet to Amanda. It talked, constantly.

The house’s frame cracked as it shifted under the night’s descending cold. Heating ducts clicked, plumbing burbled. The chest freezer grumbled. Her own breath, shallow, strained.

Footfalls, soft overhead. Amanda pounded up the stairs. A tread cracked underfoot and she stumbled, pitched against the rail. When it broke, she fell, fell hard on the concrete floor.

She wasn’t hurt. Something was going on with her shoulder, but if she could just get up, she’d be fine.

The phone wouldn’t be, though. Not with the screen smashed to crystals. She left it lying on the floor.

Amanda rolled, levered herself upright, and hinged upstairs, taking one big, awkward step over the cracked tread. She shut the basement door, reached up high with her good arm, and flipped the hook-and-eye lock—the one she’d screwed into the doorframe after Liam had begun to walk.

She combed through the house again. Nothing.

From the hall closet, she pulled out Kevin’s big parka, the one he wore on hunting trips. It smelled of wood smoke and weed, and was big enough to wrap around her twice. Outside, on the landing, footprints softened under a layer of fresh snow, and her own sharp, fresh tracks leading from the rental car to the door. She stepped off the porch and followed the Mounties’ trail around the house.

The light from the windows illuminated the trees crowding the house on all sides. A charcoal wall of spruce, snow-tipped boughs furred with pale strands of old man’s beard. Trembling aspens in twos and threes, limbs white as bone. Tree stumps capped with snow like mushrooms, where Kevin had cleared away trees with his chainsaw.

The snow had stopped, the night shone cold and clear. Stars coated the sky like light through a thin blanket. To the north, a green smear of aurora reached high beyond the trees.

She circled the house once, twice. On the third circuit, under the kitchen window, something new. Tracks cut into the snow, v-shaped, the size of two outstretched fingers. A deer. It had approached the house, and then what? Disappeared into the wall?

Amanda kicked the snow, stamped the trail flat. She was imagining things, just like she’d told Liam. When you’re scared, everything seems horrible.

If Liam wasn’t inside, he was outside, and that was a bad problem. It was cold, and if the northern lights were starting up already, that meant it would get a lot colder. Even in his parka and boots, a little guy like him could freeze to death in a few hours.

But he couldn’t be outside. Like the Mountie had said, there was no trail. Someone would have to have carried him, stepping in the existing tracks just like she was. She could imagine Kevin doing that, to fuck with her. He’d been so angry all week.

Amanda stood in the driveway, in the circle of light from the porch lamp. The night was silent, as if the stars themselves soaked up all information, absolutely.

Liam wasn’t home, and that meant he was with Kevin. If she drove into town, it wouldn’t take long to find them. Only so many places they could be. But she wasn’t ready to give up on the idea that Liam was home—hadn’t he been under the table in the kitchen when the Mounties arrived?

The garage. She hadn’t checked the garage. Two steps toward it and a distant alarm began ringing, on-off, on-off. Not an alarm. The landline. She ran into the house, through the hall. Snatched the phone.

“Kevin? Where are you?”

No answer.

“Fuck you,” she said, and slammed the phone on the hook. She pounded the kitchen table with her fists three times. Back outside, then.

The side door to the garage was locked, which was wrong. She always nagged Kevin to lock it up—his saws and drills were expensive—but he never did. And the key—was there even a key?

“Liam? Baby?”

The door rattled on loose hinges. No window, but the big rolling garage door had Plexiglas strips six feet up. With one hand, she dragged a stump over from the woodpile and stepped up high. Dark inside.

“Liam!” She shook the door. It boomed in its tracks.

Amanda climbed off the stump and ran back to the house. The carpet was wet from all the snow she was tracking inside, but that was okay. She’d clean it up later. On her knees in front of the kitchen sink, she fished all the way to the back and found the flashlight. It was an old one. Solid metal. It ate batteries like popcorn but was bright as a headlight.

Back outside, she played the beam over the looming spruces as she ran to the garage. Up on the stump, she pressed the flashlight to the Plexiglas. Two glinting eyes, huge, red. Kevin’s truck. The table saw and band saw were shoved against the wall, the toothed blade of the miter saw gleaming behind them. Kevin had moved all that heavy equipment and parked the truck inside. Why?

To fuck with her.

Amanda pounded the garage door with the heel of the flashlight, wishing she could put it through the windshield of Kevin’s precious truck.

Fine. She could fuck with him, too. Drive back to the airport and take the first flight to London. Join Julie and do her job. Visit castles and museums, and try to keep her students from getting each other pregnant.

She jumped off the stump. As she stalked toward the car, the porch light went out. Then the light in the living room. Then her bedroom. Just the faint glow from the windows on the other side of the house. Then that went dark, too.

“I’ve got you,” she muttered, hefting the flashlight.

She swung the powerful beam over the house’s vinyl siding, back and forth like a searchlight as she mounted the steps. She put the flashlight down and took her boots off at the door, lining them up side by side on the rubber mat. She shrugged off Kevin’s parka and slid it into the closet. She picked up the flashlight.

“Liam? Kevin?” she said. “Mommy’s home.”

The beam cut through the living room, glanced off the TV. Nobody there. She ran the light down the hall, past the gaping doorways. Then she went into the kitchen and put the flashlight beside the sink. She ran the tap and filled a glass with water. Drained it.

“Mommy,” said a voice, very soft, very near.

“Yes, baby?”

“You know you never should have gone away, right? I want you to stay home. Always.”

Not Liam’s voice. Kevin’s. Pitched breathy and high. The voice she’d heard on the phone, under the landline’s crackle. Enough like Liam’s, but not.

She aimed the flashlight under the table. Crouched low among the chair legs, her big strong husband gazed up at her, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide as a child’s.

“Mommy,” he said.

“Landline” copyright © 2025 by Kelly Robson
Art copyright © 2025 by Elijah Boor

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