Telephone Room

A very small, very hidden space. Not very much of interest here; just clutter, wiring, knickknacks, and a very unnerving feeling. Bending lower, you begin to move aside some of the dust and piled miscellany from the floor; it feels as though someone is breathing down the back of your neck, or a mosquito had landed there. Something strange about the floor… something buried... Somewhere in the room, a utility phone begins to ring. You refuse to pick it up, digging deeper, bits of old cement crumbling beneath your fingers. Ring, ring... its tone seems more and more insistent until it rises to a high wail in your ears and you move to lift the receiver in frustration, when a voice whispers in your ear, an actual voice, sinister and thick with the dust of ages. “Begone...”