When the telephone rang

    It was eleven o’clock at night when the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver and heard a whispering voice. It was saying him numbers. Then the voice started to sound scratchy and squeaky. The call ended. He swiftly wrote down the numbers and ran to his car outside. The engine roared and the black car drove away from a wooden shack. He arrived to a small grey house a few minutes later. He saw lights through the curtains of two tiny windows. But the room was empty. He stepped inside and smelled a strong scent of flowers and cinnamon. Someone had already visited the house. The man looked around cautiously and noticed a broken phone in the corner. It was the place of the call. He came to a moldy bed and looked under it. It was it, what he had been looking for. The man dialed a sequence of numbers and it opened. There was a piece of paper. The man took the paper and looked through it. His blood ran cold. It was his will and words of goodbye. Suddenly someone touched his shoulder.