The Voice

It was a hot, brisk, summer evening. The birds were singing, children were laughing as they played in their seemingly safe streets. Morgana Nordstrom sat on her porch in quiet contentment, a glass of sweet iced tea in her hand. The perspiration from the glass dripped down to the wooden grain of her front stoop.

Her life had been a simple-if not boring-one. She had a husband and three beautiful children. Everything about her life had been pretty okay as she herself would describe it. Many nights were spent either in their backyard where her husband, Timothy, grilled supper. The remainder of the nights when Tim was working were spent here, on the front porch while the kids played in the street.

Her eldest daughter, Ester, was away at a friend’s house a few blocks over, her youngest child, Britney, was laughing joyfully as she played tag with her friends in their front yard, and Morgana’s middle child, a son named Rupert, was sitting up in his room playing some game where you shot zombies. Morgana sipped from her tea, her eyes vigilantly watching her daughter.

She could barely hear the sounds from Rupert’s game, but his annoyed screaming could’ve woken the whole neighborhood had they been sleeping. The sun had slowly begun to set, a streetlight or two blinking to life. Morgana checked her watch, noting the time, and rose from her chair.

“Britney, dinner!” she called. Britney quickly said a sad goodbye to her friends as she bounded up the steps to join her mother in the house.

“Why can’t I play just five more minutes, Mommy?” She asked sadly. Morgana gave her daughter a kind smile and cupped her sweet face gently.

”You can‘t be staying out passed dark,” she reminded her. “Daddy wants you to come in when the streetlights come on. I have to get supper started and Rupie is playing his game. I’m sorry, baby, but you’ll always have tomorrow.”

Britney nodded her head sadly and rubbed her eyes. “Okay, Mommy,“ she said disappointedly. Morgana kissed her forehead and turned her towards the stairs.

“Why don‘t you go wash up and maybe you can help me make dinner?” Britney’s face stretched into a grin as she ran up the stairs, her feet stomping against them. “Don’t stomp!” Morgana fought back giggles at her daughter’s excitement and went to the kitchen to wash up. She washed her hands, the scent of lilacs filling the air from her soap, and she dried her hands on a kitchen cloth.

She glanced at her watch again. Her husband would be home in forty-five minutes, plenty of time for her to get supper done providing Rupert set the table for her. She turned, walking back through the living room, to go up the stairs to her son when she noticed the front door. It was wide open and Morgana’s heart clenched in her chest.

She could’ve sworn she had shut it after Britney came. She hurried to the door and glanced around outside. There were still children playing in the streets while the sun continued to set. Morgana, seeing no threat outside the house, closed the door behind her. She made sure to lock it, knowing that Tim would come in through the back door.

Suddenly, the telephone rang causing Morgana to nearly jump out of her skin. She clamped a hand over her racing heart as she went back into the kitchen to answer the landline. She lifted the phone from its cradle and took a deep breath before saying, “Nordstrom residence, Morgana speasking.”

There was no answer on the other end of the phone, just someone breathing heavily. Morgana glanced at the phone confused and brought it back to her ear. “Hello? Is someone there?” she asked. She stepped around the corner, the cord stretching out as she walked. Her eyes were trained on the stairs. ’Where’s Britney?’ She thought to herself.

The heavy breathing continued. “I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong number,” she said, preparing to hang up the phone. “Rupert, come here please!”

Just as she was about to place the phone back in its cradle, she heard someone speak. “Mrs. Nordstrom, wait.” Morgana sighed heavily, just wanting to get supper started. She willed herself to just hang up the phone, if it was that important they’d call again tomorrow. “Mrs. Nordstrom.” The voice sounded impatient, urgent even.

”Yes?” Morgana said as she returned the receiver to her ear.

“Is your husband home, Mrs. Nordstrom?” The voice asked. Morgana recognized it from somewhere, but was unsure of where she had heard it before.

“May I ask who is calling? If you’d like to speak with Tim, I’m afraid he’ll have to call you back after dinner. May I ask who is calling?”

”A friend,” the voice responded shakily. “Mr. Nordstrom, are your children home with you?” Morgana raised a brow at the question and glanced back towards the stairs. Rupert had not come down yet.

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly.

“You need to get out of the house,” the voice replied, attempting to sound stern now. Morgana felt her heart leap in her chest.

”Excuse me?” She asked, her grip tightening on the phone. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

“He’s coming. You need to leave right now!” Morgana felt a chill go through her spine.

“If this is some kind of crank call, I’ll have you know my husband is an attorney and he will not appreciate this tomfoolery,” she said, forcing herself to sound unshaken.

”Mrs. Nordstrom, I can assure you this is not a crank call. You need to get your children and get out of that house!”

“I will be doing no such thing,” Morgana replied, her blood beginning to boil. “I don’t know what kind of game it is you’re trying to play with me, but I will have you know that I will be calling your parents right after I call the police.”

“The police won’t get to you in time.” After this, the line went dead. Morgana glared at the phone and slammed it down into the cradle.

“Rupert! I asked you to come here!” She shouted again. She went back into the kitchen and began preheating the oven. “Britney, sweetie! Are you still helping Mommy with supper?!” No reply came. Morgana let out a frustrated sigh and began walking towards the stairs.

As she reached the stairs, the phone began to ring again. She rolled her eyes and almost ignored it, but the idea that it could be her husband stopped her. She went back to the phone and lifted it again.

“Nordstrom residence,” she said plainly, not bothering to introduce herself again incase it was the same creep from earlier. There was some heavy breathing for a few seconds and she gritted her teeth. “If this is the same kid from a little bit ago, I have already called the police and they’re on their way to check out my telephone. So you better just tell me your name and maybe I won’t press charges.”

The heavy breathing stopped and Morgana felt a rush of sweet relief, thinking she had gotten under their skin. “You haven’t called the police,” a different, much deeper voice whispered in response. The hair on Morgana’s arms rose with goosebumps.

“Yes, I did,” she argued. “In fact, they’re pulling up now.”

“Morgana, you haven’t called the police. I would’ve heard you.” Her eyes widened with realization.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Tell me, Morgana, if you had to pick, which one of your children would you let live?” the voice asked, ignoring her question. Morgana’s stomach clenched. She thought she was going to be sick.

“I don’t know any mother who could answer that type of question. I want all of my children to live, not just one.” She strained to hear any sounds in the background and she swore that she could vaguely hear a television somewhere.

“You mean you don’t favor little Rupie or Britney Bear more than the other?” Morgana’s began to pound in her chest.

”Who are you?” Morgana asked, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. She stared at the stairs, praying for her children to come down.

“Why I’m a friend, Morgana. A nice friend who loves to play with kids.” The voice replied sinisterly. Morgana’s eyes widened in shock, recalling where she had heard the voice before.

“Please,” she began to beg as tears fell from her eyes. ”Please don’t hurt my babies. If it’s me you want, then take me. Please don’t hurt my children, they have done nothing to you.”

“I’m glad we can agree on that, Morgy, but you see, there’s one small problem. You took my kids from me. I think it’s only fair that I take yours from you. I’m being kind by letting pick who lives and who dies. Or I could just take them all.” Morgana’s face screwed up as she held back a sob.

“You’re here, aren’t you? The front door...it was you.”

”Sharp as every, Morgy! So where do you think I am?”

Morgana’s heart stopped as she heard a faint whimper in the background and she bit her lip to silence her screams.

“I’m begging you. Rupert and Britney have nothing to do with this. This is between you and me. So come downstairs and we can settle this.” Morgana stared at the stairs, half expecting to see the same shadowy figure coming down them.

“You honestly think me taking your life is going to make us even? You took my kids.” Morgana felt a hot ember in the pit of her stomach as she gripped the phone harder, her fingers turning white.

“That was my husband. Take me. If anyone has to die tonight it shouldn’t be my children. Send them down...and I’ll come to you.” Morgana was unsure of what she was doing. She glanced down at her watch. Tim was due home any minute. She could only pray he got here in time.

“You’ll just leave as soon as the kids are downstairs with you,” the voice replied angrily. “What do you take me for an idiot!” Morgana jumped not because the voice sounded so angry, but because it was coming from just above her head. “It’s gonna be too late for little Rupert. So why don’t you just tell me where Britney is so we can play?”

Morgana felt as if her whole world was going to come crashing down on her. She glanced around at her knife block, her blood running cold as she saw that one of the bigger ones was missing. She took a few quiet steps forward, silently opening a drawer. She withdrew a pistol and held the phone inbetween her shoulder and her cheek while checking for bullets.

“I thought you had all my kids,” she replied, her voice almost taunting. She counted the eight bullets and reloaded the gun. “Britney likes to play hide-and-seek. She won’t come to a stranger.”

”So, already she’s smarter than you. Pity you never could get that one through your head.” Morgana’s hand tightened on the gun.

“Ready or not. Here I come,” Morgana said coolly as she hung the phone up with another slam. She rushed to the stairs, ignoring the phone as it began to ring once more.