Telephone Pest

By Kevin Hillman

"It was the voices. They made me. I didn't want to. The voices. They hurt me if I don't." The lunatic hid his face in his manacled hands. The orderly standing beside him stiffened at the sudden movement but remained in his
place.

Doctor William Bathurst turned in his swivel chair and stared out of the window. Voices. Always voices in the head. Always the same. Just another guy who couldn't take responsibility for his own actions, just another not-my-fault trip. He was distracted by the sound of a phone ringing somewhere. Someone should answer that.

"Simon," he said, still looking through the window. "Those voices are called thoughts. We all have them. It's just your brain working. Everything you did, you did yourself. There are no other voices in your head but your own."
He sighed. Every speech the same, every response the same. Here it comes.

"No, they're real."

Of course they are.

"They make me spread them. If I don't, they hurt me. They're hurting me now. Please, I have to do what they say."

William turned back to his patient, one eyebrow raised. This was a response he hadn't heard before. "What do you mean, spread them?" he said. "How can they spread? Your thoughts are your own, inside your own head. Are you talking about telepathy?"

"No. Yes. No. I don't know. No. Not like that, not mind reading. Something else. They're not my thoughts, I'm sure. There's something else in my head and I have to spread it to others. It hurts." Simon wrapped his arms over
his head, leaning forward and rocking.

"So you do think you're possessed." William's interest faded seamlessly into disappointment. Just another one, just like all the others. That phone was still ringing. Or was it a different phone? Maybe two, maybe more. He wished
someone would either answer them or switch them off. The noise was shattering his concentration. He looked up at the orderly. "I don't think I'll get any more sense out of him today. Take him back to his room and give him some painkillers."

"Wait," Simon said. "I have to tell you." The orderly ignored him, began lifting him from his seat.

"Wait," William said. The orderly released Simon, dropping him into the chair.

"What do you have to tell me?" William said. He may as well hear the story while his patient was in a talkative mood.

Simon took a deep breath. "They come through the phones," he said. "That's how they got into me. That's why I did what I did."

William nodded. It made sense. If Simon believed that he had to spread his imaginary infection through the phones, it would explain why he had made over four thousand phone calls in the last two months, running up a bill he couldn't possibly pay. Why he had phoned freephone numbers, operators and emergency services from call-boxes when his own phone had been cut off. Why he had stolen cellphones. Why he had attacked the phone company worker who had been repairing lines. He had wanted the man's company phone.

"I know what you did, Simon. I want to know why you did it, so that I can help you to stop doing it."

Simon's eyes were fixed on the phone on William's desk. "Can I call someone?" he said, looking at William through narrow eyes.

"I don't think that's a good idea. That's what got you here in the first place," William said, shaking his head. "Tell me more."

"Won't. I want to make a call."

"Who do you want to call?"

"Doesn't matter. Just anyone. Just to stop the pain for a while."

"What will you say?"

"Nothing. I promise." Simon was eager, seeing a faint hope. "I just call then hang up. I won't say anything. I promise."

William considered. It was against the rules, but if Simon believed his pain would stop, it probably would. The pain was imaginary, after all, so an imaginary cure should work. "All right," he said.

Simon's face lit up with glee and he started bouncing in his chair. The orderly moved to stand behind him, arms ready to restrain.

"I'll dial," William said. "I don't want you calling the other side of the world." He passed the handset to Simon, then dialed an internal number. The front desk was the best option. Outside calls had to be prefixed with a 9,
something many of the staff kept forgetting. The front desk was used to getting this kind of call.

"Hello?" William could hear the voice on the phone. "Hello?" again. Simon wore a brief look of concentration, then carefully replaced the phone on its cradle.

"That's it," Simon said. "The pain is gone for a while."

"Good," William said. "Now tell me why."

Simon's continuous fidgeting had stopped. "About two months ago," he said, "I had a phone call. Like the one I just made. Nobody there, then a click as the phone was hung up. I thought nothing of it. I remember I had a headache. Then I started feeling like I had to call someone. I didn't know who, I didn't know what I was going to say. I just wanted to phone."

William listened, fascinated. Simon was suddenly lucid. All the panic and terror had vanished from his voice.

"I put it off for a while. It was silly, after all. Then my head really started to hurt."

More phones ringing. What was going on?

"Then the voices started," Simon continued. "They were nice to me at first. They said I'd feel better if I phoned someone. So I did, I phoned my brother. I didn't say anything, I just waited until he answered and hung up.
Oh, God, why did I pick my brother?" Simon looked at the ceiling.

"Just relax," William said. "Just tell me. Once I know what's wrong, I can help you."

"Nobody can help me," Simon said, snapping his head down. "Or my brother. Or all those people I called. Or all the ones they called. Or the one I called just now. It's in us all, and it's spreading. Fast, really fast. Nothing can
stop it."

The man's delusion was complex. He had built an entire fantasy world for himself. William would have his work cut out with this one. "Please continue," he said. "What happened after that first call?"

Simon glowered for a moment. "The voices were pleased with me. The pain stopped for a while. Then it came back. I tried to ignore it, ignore the voices. I couldn't. I had to make another call. Then another, and another.
Once I tried to stop doing it, and that's when the voices changed."

"How did they change?"

"They got nasty. They threatened me with pain, more and more pain, forever. It's coming back now. I can feel it. I'll need to make another call."

The background noise of ringing phones was just too distracting. William decided to continue this another time. "I think we'll stop there for today, Simon. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He nodded at the orderly.

"Wait," Simon said. "Wait. Just one more call. Just one. Please."

William shook his head. The phone on the desk rang. Glancing at the little screen on the instrument, William saw it was a call from the front desk. "I have to take this call, Simon. It could be urgent. I'll see you tomorrow"

Simon struggled furiously, but the orderly remorselessly propelled him towards the door. "Don't answer!" Simon said, panic filling his voice and his eyes.

It's your delusion, not mine, William thought as he lifted the receiver. "Hello?" Nobody there. "Hello?" A click.

Simon shrieked. "It's got you!" he said. "You're infected now. Soon everyone will be phoning, but there'll be nobody left to phone. Nobody new to infect. Then the real pain will start." The orderly dragged him out of the room and closed the door.

William could hear Simon's alternate shrieks and hysterical laughs fade away along the corridor.

Alone in his office, William stared at his phone for a long time. He shook himself. Just a wrong number, that's all. Simon's delusion was convincing, that was for sure. This was going to be a tough case. Damn, weren't those phones ever going to stop? He was getting a headache. Maybe, he thought, I should phone my wife. That might help my headache. He reached for the phone, stopping himself midway. Where had that thought come from? Headaches weren't cured by phoning people. That was Simon's imaginary cure. A delusion, nothing more.

"Phone your wife." The voice was in his head, but it wasn't his voice.

"Phone your wife." Shaking, William forced his hand back from the phone.

"Phone your wife!" The voice shouted as the headache intensified. William gasped in pain. Phones were ringing all over the building. The pain built into a bonfire of agony. Sobbing, he reached for the phone.

About the Author
Kevin Hillman lives a little to the north of Aberdeen, Scotland, where it's pretty cold and dark for about half the year. So it's hardly surprising that his writing is usually cold and dark too. He isn't really like that at home, where he is tolerated by a wife and two children, and raises goldfish in a pond in the garden (when it's not frozen over).

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