Other End of the Line

I answered the phone against my will. Brenda had stepped away to go check the pressure in her tires. The page Freddy refused to answer, something about it not being in his pay level.

     "Hullo, city morgue," I said.

     "I wanted the library, I think," the woman on the phone said.

     "You reached it, sorry. little joke."

     "I was so afraid."

     "What can we do for you today?" I said. 

     She began to talk. Her voice rambled and tumbled through the lines. A melodic speech about cakes and candy, a house in the woods, and how to teach children simple baking.

     After a few moments my head began to droop. My eyelids grew heavy. My brain fell into step with her comforting tone. The question did not seem to come yet for a dream.

     "I would love to meet you, child," she said on the other end of the line.

     "I'm sorry?" I said.

     "Do you deliver books to houses?"

     "We have an outreach, but at the moment-"

     She cut me off. "Oh, that would be lovely. When can I expect you?"

     "I'm sorry. We can't do that."

     "Can't? Oh, no. That won't do."

     The library had grown dark. I noticed the lights not on, the windows black squares. How much time had I been on the phone.

     "Maybe I can come to you," she said.

     I blinked. "We can do curbside."

     "How about we talk about it now?"

     I shook my head. Took the phone from my right ear. What had happened? What had we talked about? "I think we're closed," I said.

     I felt a hand on my shoulder. I felt a cold breath, stinking of deep water, past my cheek. The voice was calm and content. 

     She said, "I think you are closed," in my ear and everything went black.