Ad blocker interference detected!
Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers
Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.
When I was around five or six years old, my parents gave me a bright red old landline phone that had ceased to work long ago. Mom said I played with that thing all the time; she said she often heard me mention the name “Mr. Smith." Of course, she just brushed it off, as it was likely that I had an imaginary friend because I wasn't too great at making real friends.
I remember a distinct memory where I was just playing in my room when I heard an unfamiliar RILILING RILILING, RILILING RILILING. Mommy and Daddy always told me to never answer the phone, but it couldn't hurt to answer my toy phone, could it? I picked it up, clutching my plush owl to my chest. "Hello?" I said.
“Hi. Is your mother home?" a deep smoker-sounding voice answered. I knew that 1) I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers and 2) I wasn't supposed to answer the phone, but Mommy or Daddy might know this man, so I called for her.
She rushed to my room, probably assuming I was hurt, looking exactly like a mother with a pink apron on and holding my toddler brother to her waist. “What is it, Anna?" she asked me.
“Someone wants you," I explained, handing her the phone. She held it up to her ear, smiling, thinking I was playing a game.
“Hello?" she said, not actually expecting a reply. I heard the same deep rumbling noises coming from the phone. I could only make out three separate words: "leave," "consume," and "Hell."
Mommy's face went pale and slack. She set my brother down, told me to make sure he didn't get hurt or eat anything, and ran upstairs to alert Daddy.
We stayed at my aunt's house for a few weeks after that. When my parents were sure it was safe, we finally got to go back home. I don't remember anything unusual along those lines that happened in the rest of my childhood.
A couple decades later, on a Mother's Day, Mom suddenly mentioned this story to me. She didn't tell me anything, other than he told her his name was Mr. Smith. She still won't tell me anything else. Not much later, while eating out at a restaurant, a waiter asked me if I was Anna, and after I said yes, handed me a wireless home phone and told me a Mr. Smith wanted to speak to me. I declined and nervously continued eating.
But the freakiest part is Mr. Smith just called...
He asked why we never talk anymore.