Ficlets

The Writer Hears a Banshee

I was rudely aroused by a sound of ringing – it was harsh, and grated on my eardrums, but I soon recognized the tune.

My eyes blinked at the digital clock beside my bed.

Wait…my bed? How did I…?

The question was cut short as I reached over for my cellphone, which was proudly blaring out Grieg’s ‘Morning’.

The caller ID was anonymous, but I picked it up anyway, ready to shout off the ears of anyone that dared to wake me up at four in the morning.

That’s right, four in the morning.

“Hello?” Gosh, my voice sounded thirty years older.

“Miss O’Callahan?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“It’s Davin Parks, from the hospital.”

A shudder raced through me; I was alert now.

“What is it, Dr. Parks?”

“Miss O’Callahan…your father…I’m sorry…he’s in his last moments. I thought you’d want to be with him.”

The words didn’t stick at first, but apparently, my mouth had other, more profane ideas.

“Aw, fuck no.”

I cradled my head in my hand, and I heard Dr. Parks shuffle around.

“I’m sorry…”

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