October 21, 2025 • 17 mins
You've probably heard the urban legend. You've probably watched the movie. I could have told this a million ways, but here we are with basic, frightening, original baby sitting story.
A teenage girl settles in for an easy babysitting job. The kids are asleep, the house is quiet, and the phone keeps ringing. The voice on the other end asks her one question — “Have you checked the children?” What begins as an ordinary night becomes the most terrifying call of her life.
Why haven't you checked the children?
Thank you for enjoying my podcast! Take a listen to the other podcast at Candlelight Storyworks
Midnight Scares - Fall Asleep to Spooky Storiesl
Candlight Classics - Classic Short Stories to Help You Sleep
Candlelight Romance - Fall Asleep While Falling In Love
True Crime by Candlelight - Drift Off to Dark Mysteries
Find them all on your favorite podcast right here:
https://linktr.ee/candlelightstoryworks
If you are tired of commercials, you can always follow me on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/candlelightstoryworks
I am also writing a few horror and gothic romance books. If you're intrested, please follow me on my other Patreon at
http://www.patreon.com/sarahmarshalking
**While this is my voice, sometimes I use an AI cloned version of my voice because it helps with my dyslexia.
A teenage girl settles in for an easy babysitting job. The kids are asleep, the house is quiet, and the phone keeps ringing. The voice on the other end asks her one question — “Have you checked the children?” What begins as an ordinary night becomes the most terrifying call of her life.
Why haven't you checked the children?
Thank you for enjoying my podcast! Take a listen to the other podcast at Candlelight Storyworks
Midnight Scares - Fall Asleep to Spooky Storiesl
Candlight Classics - Classic Short Stories to Help You Sleep
Candlelight Romance - Fall Asleep While Falling In Love
True Crime by Candlelight - Drift Off to Dark Mysteries
Find them all on your favorite podcast right here:
https://linktr.ee/candlelightstoryworks
If you are tired of commercials, you can always follow me on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/candlelightstoryworks
I am also writing a few horror and gothic romance books. If you're intrested, please follow me on my other Patreon at
http://www.patreon.com/sarahmarshalking
**While this is my voice, sometimes I use an AI cloned version of my voice because it helps with my dyslexia.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
You know the story. A babysitter, a dark house, a
phone call that comes again and again. It's been whispered
since the sixties, traded at sleepovers and told in hushed
voices around camp fires. But there's something about this one
that never gets old, Maybe because we've all been alone
in someone else's house at night. Certain we heard footsteps
(00:25):
that shouldn't be there. Tonight, we'll listen again. The house
is quiet, There is no one else here. I'm ready
for another dreaded tale, are you? This one's called why
haven't you checked the children? The Anderson's house had that
(00:47):
particular stillness big suburban houses get after nine o'clock, when
the dishwasher hushes itself and the clocks seem to tick
under their breath, as if they're guilty. Jill set her
bag on the plaid sofa and stood very still, listening
to the upstairs air. Two kids sleeping, their breath, slowly
(01:08):
moving their chests in the moonlight. The hallway night light
made a thin gold stripe on the stairs. Missus Anderson
had been apologetic while fastening an earring at the door.
We'll be back well before midnight. They're used to sleeping
through anything there's a list on the counter, snacks, emergency numbers,
(01:31):
our table at the country club. Mister Anderson had laughed
something breezy about no boys over, and Jill had smiled,
because that's what you do when parents say it, even
if no one's coming. Now the parents were gone and
the house settled. Jill crossed to the kitchen to pour
a glass of milk and found her reflection doubled in
(01:53):
the dark window, a brown haired girl in a college
sweatshirt with a face that still kept a little summer
on it. She checked the list again to be sure
she wasn't missing some secret code. Nope, Bedtimes kept doors locked,
phone on the wall by the stairs, long curly cord
(02:13):
like a pale snake, the numbers for police fire, and
a neighbor named Gladys who probably knew everything that happened
on the street before it happened. Jill took her homework
to the coffee table, clicked on the lamp, and pretended
her mind wanted algebra. It didn't. She thought about the
(02:35):
money from tonight, enough to buy that denim jacket with
the brass buttons if she took another job next weekend.
She thought about the way her mom had said, call
me when you get there, and how just once, she
wanted to walk into a house and not feel like
she had to prove she was calm and capable and brave.
(02:57):
At nine o seven, the phone rang. She jumped, laughed
at herself, and walked over, lifting the receiver, Andersen Residence.
A stifled breath answered back, and then a man's voice,
low and almost curious.
Speaker 2 (03:15):
Have you jacked the children?
Speaker 1 (03:18):
Jill frowned, as if he could see it. Who is this?
The line went dead. She stood with the receiver still
warm against her cheek a second longer, hearing her own
breath come back to her in the silence. Then she
hung up, shook out her shoulders like a swimmer, and
told herself it was a wrong number from the club,
(03:41):
A drunk who thought he was hilarious. Back to the math,
Back to the silent house. Upstairs, one of the kids
turned over, a soft thump of a knee bumping cribslats.
Jill listened until the quiet became quiet again. At nine fifteen,
the phone rang. She let it ring twice this time
(04:02):
because she'd been told that makes you sound less eager
Andersen Residence.
Speaker 3 (04:08):
She said, have you checked the children.
Speaker 1 (04:12):
She felt the muscles at the back of her neck. Pinch, sir,
you have the wrong number. A soft chuckle, not cruel,
not kind, do I. The line clicked again. Jill stood
with her fingers tight enough on the receiver to turn
them pale. The plastic a small shock against her ear.
(04:35):
She set it down, palmed her sternham once hard. She
told herself again it was a prank, kids from school.
Maybe some one got the Andersen's number from a list
and thought it would be funny to spook the sitter
with the story. They'd all heard its sleepovers. She turned
on the t V for company. The Rabbit Ears gave
her a sitcom that felt like a laugh track in
(04:56):
a different language. The house had more corners than she remembered.
The curtains made shadows in the corners that felt maybe
there could be someone behind one of them. At nine
twenty six, the phone rang again. She picked up on
the first ring, stop calling.
Speaker 2 (05:16):
I only asked a question.
Speaker 1 (05:19):
The man whispered, sending chills up her spine.
Speaker 2 (05:24):
Have you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (05:26):
I'm calling the police, check the children first. The line
went dead. She stood with the empty line. She looked
at the stairs She didn't like that the night light's
glow made a little gait of brightness half way up.
She didn't like that even thinking about it made her
feel like if she started up those stairs, something could
(05:48):
be standing just where the light ended, and she wouldn't
see it until she reached it. This was ridiculous. She
was not a little kid, and pranksters were a dime
a dozen. Jill set the receiver carefully on the cradle
and dialed Cherrywood Police. A woman said, brisk and unbothered, Hi, Yes,
(06:11):
I'm babysitting for the Andersons on Waverley Drive. And a
man keeps calling, asking if I've checked the children. Jill
heard herself start to talk too fast and forced the
words to slow down. He called three times. He might
be watching the house. What's your name? Jill? You did
the right thing, Jill. If he calls again, keep him
(06:35):
on the line as long as you can. We'll try
to trace the call. Jill hung up. The instructions sat
in her mouth like a stone. Keep him on the
line as long as you can. At nine thirty four,
the phone rang. She let it ring once twice. She
picked up. On the third, pressed the receiver hard against
(06:57):
her ear so it couldn't hear the tremor in her.
Speaker 3 (06:59):
Vo Hello half, you checked the children.
Speaker 1 (07:06):
The same five words, but maybe there was something in
the way he set them down, this time, a small anticipation,
like he was stepping closer to an invisible line on
the floor. What do you want.
Speaker 2 (07:20):
To be helpful? Go up stairs?
Speaker 1 (07:23):
You don't even know where I am.
Speaker 2 (07:26):
You're by the window with the television on. You turned
on the lamp to your left.
Speaker 1 (07:30):
Her spine turned to jelly, and she could almost not
even feel her legs underneath her. For a moment, she
couldn't breathe, and then thought of the children's safety. Where
are you? If you can see me? Where are you?
A pause? She could hear under the silence, a faint,
(07:51):
steady breath, closer.
Speaker 2 (07:53):
Than you think. Why haven't you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (07:58):
The line went dead. Jill lowered the receiver and then
realized she hadn't meant to. It was just heavy, and
the weight pulled her hand down by itself. She set
it gently into the cradle. Then she went to the
window and pulled the curtain aside. Darkness looked back the lawn,
(08:18):
the Andersen's tidy hedges, the maple tree that turned orange
in the fall. The neighbor's porch light held in its
own amber cave. She pressed her forehead to the glass
and felt the coolness against her skin and relaxed. There
is a barrier, you are inside. She went to the
(08:38):
front door and checked the dead bolt. She went to
the back door and slid the chain. She stood in
the pantry doorway and looked into the dim scent of
cinnamon and canned peaches, and told herself a story where
parents came home early with a chocolate bar for the
baby sitter, and everybody smiled at how silly fear can be.
(09:01):
The phone rang. She didn't let it ring more than once.
Cherrywood police are tracing this call, Jill said, trying to
put the words into the shape of authority. I know
he no longer sounded amused. Stop calling Jack. The children, why.
Speaker 2 (09:21):
They're very quiet? Do quiet.
Speaker 1 (09:25):
She slammed the receiver down and then picked it back
up because she needed the police more than she needed
to demonstrate anger. He he called again, she said. When
the dispatcher answered, he says he can see me. Keep
him talking. The dispatcher said, we're working as fast as
(09:45):
we can. If you need to leave the house. You
do it, do you understand. Jill looked at the stairs again.
I'm going to check on them, she said, and the
dispatcher said her name a warning way, but Jill was
already setting the receiver down with care, as if loudness
could make something.
Speaker 3 (10:04):
Look up.
Speaker 1 (10:05):
The stairs creaked like bones. Half way up in the
buttery pool of the night light. She paused to listen.
The air had a new shape to it up here,
the gauzy sweetness of baby shampoo, the special hush of
sleeping children. The hallway carpet caught every footfall on the wall.
(10:25):
A family photo, Mister Andersen with his arm around missus
Andersen's shoulders, two kids leaning forward mid giggle to be
closer to the camera, The boy's hand on his sister's sleeve,
the sister's wild hair catching sunlight. The nursery door was ajar.
Jill put two fingers to it and pushed. Both children
(10:48):
lay in their beds, cheeks full and slack with sleep.
The smaller one, a girl with a damp curl stuck
to her forehead, breathed in tiny inward whistlings. The older
boy had kicked his blankets on to the floor. Jill
let out a breath she hadn't known she was guarding,
and tucked the boy's blanket back around his waist. She
(11:10):
stood a long moment to learn the sounds of the room,
so that any new sound would be wrong. A shadow
crossed her ankles. She looked down only the mobile's paper
birds spinning from the air. Jill had stirred. She set
her palm on the crib rail inside. We're fine, We're
(11:31):
all just fine, she whispered. Back in the hall, she
sent a glance to the bathroom, a rectangle of clean
light tooth brushes like a bouquet in the cup. The
master bedroom door was closed. Jill didn't like that there
was a closed door on a quiet floor. She put
(11:51):
her ear to it and heard nothing. She did not
go in on the top stairs. She paused and looked
down into the living room room. The phone on the
wall rang. The sound filled the stairwell and cut into
the silence of the night. Jill unclenched her hand from
the banister and went down, making herself walk rather than run.
Speaker 3 (12:16):
Hello, have you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (12:19):
Yes, she said, they're sleeping, are they? What do you
want from me to keep listening his breath, patient, always patient,
to do what you're told. She let the silence reach
for him. Where are you, she asked?
Speaker 2 (12:41):
Where you put me?
Speaker 1 (12:43):
I didn't put you anywhere, didn't you? A soft shift,
the line rustling, with the sound of a shoulder adjusting
against something.
Speaker 2 (12:55):
You turned on all the lights down there, Jill, it's
bright as a dressing room.
Speaker 1 (13:01):
But up here the receiver was slick where it met
her cheek, up where upstairs?
Speaker 2 (13:09):
Check it the children again?
Speaker 1 (13:11):
The line didn't click this time. She still heard his
breath heavy on the other end. Jill set the receiver
away from her face and heard it there. The faintest
sound through the wire of something else on the line
with them, A pivoting sound, leather on carpet, A soft
second breath that wasn't his. The dispatcher's voice cut in.
(13:35):
Some one must have been trying to break into the call,
and finally did Jill, Jill, can you hear me? Jill
brought the receiver back. He says, he's upstairs. I have
to go check the children. Listen to me carefully. The
dispatcher's voice was no longer brisk. Get out of the
(13:56):
house right now, Do not up do not go upstairs.
Go out the front door and keep the line open.
But the children officers are en route right now, Jill.
They will be there any moment. Jill, do you hear me?
Do not go upstairs. The other voice was still there,
(14:18):
not gone at all.
Speaker 2 (14:20):
You can't leave them. Mothers always go back.
Speaker 1 (14:24):
Jill put the receiver down without saying good bye to
any one not hung up down cradle askew so the
line stayed live. She fumbled with the chain lock. The
dead bolt was stiff. She cranked it anyway behind her.
Above her, a floorboard creaked. Jill opened the door to
cool night air and a neighborhood that didn't know a
(14:45):
story was happening. The Maples moved in the wind far
down the block. The red cherry of a cigarette glowed
and vanished. She stepped out and left the door open
because she wanted the house open to the world. She
wanted anything inside to be seen. Jill, the despatcher called
(15:06):
to her through the telephone receiver. Stay outside. The nursery
light snapped on. A shape in blue hustled up the
Andersen's path, first one officer, then another two kids. Upstairs.
Jill said, some one's up there. The officers went in
(15:27):
like a knife. One stayed with Jill on the stoop. Inside.
A voice called police in a tone Jill had only
ever heard on television. The house was quiet again. One
of the officers called out, voiced sharp with command. The
other answered from upstairs, a shout that made Jill's stomach
(15:47):
fold in on itself. She strained to listen, gripping the
porch rail until her knuckles turned white. Then came the
words faint but final, carried down the stairwell like a verdict.
They're gone, both of them. Jill froze. The night seemed
to stop breathing. The porch light flickered. She could hear
(16:11):
the despatcher's voice faintly through the open door, calling her
name over the dangling receiver, but the sound didn't belong
to this world any more. Jill turned her eyes to
the nursery window above. The curtain had shifted slightly, and
for the rest of her life, when the phone rang
after dark, she'd feel the air turn cold, and remember
(16:33):
the man's voice, soft, almost disappointed.
Speaker 2 (16:38):
Why haven't you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (16:41):
They say? The trace came back from upstairs that he'd
been in the house. The whole time listening to her
breath through the same wire the police used to save her.
Maybe that's why the story keeps ringing all these years later,
because every house has a voice line that goes both ways.
If your phone it takes you tonight, let it ring.
(17:02):
Let it ring again. And if you must answer, don't
forget to check the children.
You know the story. A babysitter, a dark house, a
phone call that comes again and again. It's been whispered
since the sixties, traded at sleepovers and told in hushed
voices around camp fires. But there's something about this one
that never gets old, Maybe because we've all been alone
in someone else's house at night. Certain we heard footsteps
(00:25):
that shouldn't be there. Tonight, we'll listen again. The house
is quiet, There is no one else here. I'm ready
for another dreaded tale, are you? This one's called why
haven't you checked the children? The Anderson's house had that
(00:47):
particular stillness big suburban houses get after nine o'clock, when
the dishwasher hushes itself and the clocks seem to tick
under their breath, as if they're guilty. Jill set her
bag on the plaid sofa and stood very still, listening
to the upstairs air. Two kids sleeping, their breath, slowly
(01:08):
moving their chests in the moonlight. The hallway night light
made a thin gold stripe on the stairs. Missus Anderson
had been apologetic while fastening an earring at the door.
We'll be back well before midnight. They're used to sleeping
through anything there's a list on the counter, snacks, emergency numbers,
(01:31):
our table at the country club. Mister Anderson had laughed
something breezy about no boys over, and Jill had smiled,
because that's what you do when parents say it, even
if no one's coming. Now the parents were gone and
the house settled. Jill crossed to the kitchen to pour
a glass of milk and found her reflection doubled in
(01:53):
the dark window, a brown haired girl in a college
sweatshirt with a face that still kept a little summer
on it. She checked the list again to be sure
she wasn't missing some secret code. Nope, Bedtimes kept doors locked,
phone on the wall by the stairs, long curly cord
(02:13):
like a pale snake, the numbers for police fire, and
a neighbor named Gladys who probably knew everything that happened
on the street before it happened. Jill took her homework
to the coffee table, clicked on the lamp, and pretended
her mind wanted algebra. It didn't. She thought about the
(02:35):
money from tonight, enough to buy that denim jacket with
the brass buttons if she took another job next weekend.
She thought about the way her mom had said, call
me when you get there, and how just once, she
wanted to walk into a house and not feel like
she had to prove she was calm and capable and brave.
(02:57):
At nine o seven, the phone rang. She jumped, laughed
at herself, and walked over, lifting the receiver, Andersen Residence.
A stifled breath answered back, and then a man's voice,
low and almost curious.
Speaker 2 (03:15):
Have you jacked the children?
Speaker 1 (03:18):
Jill frowned, as if he could see it. Who is this?
The line went dead. She stood with the receiver still
warm against her cheek a second longer, hearing her own
breath come back to her in the silence. Then she
hung up, shook out her shoulders like a swimmer, and
told herself it was a wrong number from the club,
(03:41):
A drunk who thought he was hilarious. Back to the math,
Back to the silent house. Upstairs, one of the kids
turned over, a soft thump of a knee bumping cribslats.
Jill listened until the quiet became quiet again. At nine fifteen,
the phone rang. She let it ring twice this time
(04:02):
because she'd been told that makes you sound less eager
Andersen Residence.
Speaker 3 (04:08):
She said, have you checked the children.
Speaker 1 (04:12):
She felt the muscles at the back of her neck. Pinch, sir,
you have the wrong number. A soft chuckle, not cruel,
not kind, do I. The line clicked again. Jill stood
with her fingers tight enough on the receiver to turn
them pale. The plastic a small shock against her ear.
(04:35):
She set it down, palmed her sternham once hard. She
told herself again it was a prank, kids from school.
Maybe some one got the Andersen's number from a list
and thought it would be funny to spook the sitter
with the story. They'd all heard its sleepovers. She turned
on the t V for company. The Rabbit Ears gave
her a sitcom that felt like a laugh track in
(04:56):
a different language. The house had more corners than she remembered.
The curtains made shadows in the corners that felt maybe
there could be someone behind one of them. At nine
twenty six, the phone rang again. She picked up on
the first ring, stop calling.
Speaker 2 (05:16):
I only asked a question.
Speaker 1 (05:19):
The man whispered, sending chills up her spine.
Speaker 2 (05:24):
Have you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (05:26):
I'm calling the police, check the children first. The line
went dead. She stood with the empty line. She looked
at the stairs She didn't like that the night light's
glow made a little gait of brightness half way up.
She didn't like that even thinking about it made her
feel like if she started up those stairs, something could
(05:48):
be standing just where the light ended, and she wouldn't
see it until she reached it. This was ridiculous. She
was not a little kid, and pranksters were a dime
a dozen. Jill set the receiver carefully on the cradle
and dialed Cherrywood Police. A woman said, brisk and unbothered, Hi, Yes,
(06:11):
I'm babysitting for the Andersons on Waverley Drive. And a
man keeps calling, asking if I've checked the children. Jill
heard herself start to talk too fast and forced the
words to slow down. He called three times. He might
be watching the house. What's your name? Jill? You did
the right thing, Jill. If he calls again, keep him
(06:35):
on the line as long as you can. We'll try
to trace the call. Jill hung up. The instructions sat
in her mouth like a stone. Keep him on the
line as long as you can. At nine thirty four,
the phone rang. She let it ring once twice. She
picked up. On the third, pressed the receiver hard against
(06:57):
her ear so it couldn't hear the tremor in her.
Speaker 3 (06:59):
Vo Hello half, you checked the children.
Speaker 1 (07:06):
The same five words, but maybe there was something in
the way he set them down, this time, a small anticipation,
like he was stepping closer to an invisible line on
the floor. What do you want.
Speaker 2 (07:20):
To be helpful? Go up stairs?
Speaker 1 (07:23):
You don't even know where I am.
Speaker 2 (07:26):
You're by the window with the television on. You turned
on the lamp to your left.
Speaker 1 (07:30):
Her spine turned to jelly, and she could almost not
even feel her legs underneath her. For a moment, she
couldn't breathe, and then thought of the children's safety. Where
are you? If you can see me? Where are you?
A pause? She could hear under the silence, a faint,
(07:51):
steady breath, closer.
Speaker 2 (07:53):
Than you think. Why haven't you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (07:58):
The line went dead. Jill lowered the receiver and then
realized she hadn't meant to. It was just heavy, and
the weight pulled her hand down by itself. She set
it gently into the cradle. Then she went to the
window and pulled the curtain aside. Darkness looked back the lawn,
(08:18):
the Andersen's tidy hedges, the maple tree that turned orange
in the fall. The neighbor's porch light held in its
own amber cave. She pressed her forehead to the glass
and felt the coolness against her skin and relaxed. There
is a barrier, you are inside. She went to the
(08:38):
front door and checked the dead bolt. She went to
the back door and slid the chain. She stood in
the pantry doorway and looked into the dim scent of
cinnamon and canned peaches, and told herself a story where
parents came home early with a chocolate bar for the
baby sitter, and everybody smiled at how silly fear can be.
(09:01):
The phone rang. She didn't let it ring more than once.
Cherrywood police are tracing this call, Jill said, trying to
put the words into the shape of authority. I know
he no longer sounded amused. Stop calling Jack. The children, why.
Speaker 2 (09:21):
They're very quiet? Do quiet.
Speaker 1 (09:25):
She slammed the receiver down and then picked it back
up because she needed the police more than she needed
to demonstrate anger. He he called again, she said. When
the dispatcher answered, he says he can see me. Keep
him talking. The dispatcher said, we're working as fast as
(09:45):
we can. If you need to leave the house. You
do it, do you understand. Jill looked at the stairs again.
I'm going to check on them, she said, and the
dispatcher said her name a warning way, but Jill was
already setting the receiver down with care, as if loudness
could make something.
Speaker 3 (10:04):
Look up.
Speaker 1 (10:05):
The stairs creaked like bones. Half way up in the
buttery pool of the night light. She paused to listen.
The air had a new shape to it up here,
the gauzy sweetness of baby shampoo, the special hush of
sleeping children. The hallway carpet caught every footfall on the wall.
(10:25):
A family photo, Mister Andersen with his arm around missus
Andersen's shoulders, two kids leaning forward mid giggle to be
closer to the camera, The boy's hand on his sister's sleeve,
the sister's wild hair catching sunlight. The nursery door was ajar.
Jill put two fingers to it and pushed. Both children
(10:48):
lay in their beds, cheeks full and slack with sleep.
The smaller one, a girl with a damp curl stuck
to her forehead, breathed in tiny inward whistlings. The older
boy had kicked his blankets on to the floor. Jill
let out a breath she hadn't known she was guarding,
and tucked the boy's blanket back around his waist. She
(11:10):
stood a long moment to learn the sounds of the room,
so that any new sound would be wrong. A shadow
crossed her ankles. She looked down only the mobile's paper
birds spinning from the air. Jill had stirred. She set
her palm on the crib rail inside. We're fine, We're
(11:31):
all just fine, she whispered. Back in the hall, she
sent a glance to the bathroom, a rectangle of clean
light tooth brushes like a bouquet in the cup. The
master bedroom door was closed. Jill didn't like that there
was a closed door on a quiet floor. She put
(11:51):
her ear to it and heard nothing. She did not
go in on the top stairs. She paused and looked
down into the living room room. The phone on the
wall rang. The sound filled the stairwell and cut into
the silence of the night. Jill unclenched her hand from
the banister and went down, making herself walk rather than run.
Speaker 3 (12:16):
Hello, have you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (12:19):
Yes, she said, they're sleeping, are they? What do you
want from me to keep listening his breath, patient, always patient,
to do what you're told. She let the silence reach
for him. Where are you, she asked?
Speaker 2 (12:41):
Where you put me?
Speaker 1 (12:43):
I didn't put you anywhere, didn't you? A soft shift,
the line rustling, with the sound of a shoulder adjusting
against something.
Speaker 2 (12:55):
You turned on all the lights down there, Jill, it's
bright as a dressing room.
Speaker 1 (13:01):
But up here the receiver was slick where it met
her cheek, up where upstairs?
Speaker 2 (13:09):
Check it the children again?
Speaker 1 (13:11):
The line didn't click this time. She still heard his
breath heavy on the other end. Jill set the receiver
away from her face and heard it there. The faintest
sound through the wire of something else on the line
with them, A pivoting sound, leather on carpet, A soft
second breath that wasn't his. The dispatcher's voice cut in.
(13:35):
Some one must have been trying to break into the call,
and finally did Jill, Jill, can you hear me? Jill
brought the receiver back. He says, he's upstairs. I have
to go check the children. Listen to me carefully. The
dispatcher's voice was no longer brisk. Get out of the
(13:56):
house right now, Do not up do not go upstairs.
Go out the front door and keep the line open.
But the children officers are en route right now, Jill.
They will be there any moment. Jill, do you hear me?
Do not go upstairs. The other voice was still there,
(14:18):
not gone at all.
Speaker 2 (14:20):
You can't leave them. Mothers always go back.
Speaker 1 (14:24):
Jill put the receiver down without saying good bye to
any one not hung up down cradle askew so the
line stayed live. She fumbled with the chain lock. The
dead bolt was stiff. She cranked it anyway behind her.
Above her, a floorboard creaked. Jill opened the door to
cool night air and a neighborhood that didn't know a
(14:45):
story was happening. The Maples moved in the wind far
down the block. The red cherry of a cigarette glowed
and vanished. She stepped out and left the door open
because she wanted the house open to the world. She
wanted anything inside to be seen. Jill, the despatcher called
(15:06):
to her through the telephone receiver. Stay outside. The nursery
light snapped on. A shape in blue hustled up the
Andersen's path, first one officer, then another two kids. Upstairs.
Jill said, some one's up there. The officers went in
(15:27):
like a knife. One stayed with Jill on the stoop. Inside.
A voice called police in a tone Jill had only
ever heard on television. The house was quiet again. One
of the officers called out, voiced sharp with command. The
other answered from upstairs, a shout that made Jill's stomach
(15:47):
fold in on itself. She strained to listen, gripping the
porch rail until her knuckles turned white. Then came the
words faint but final, carried down the stairwell like a verdict.
They're gone, both of them. Jill froze. The night seemed
to stop breathing. The porch light flickered. She could hear
(16:11):
the despatcher's voice faintly through the open door, calling her
name over the dangling receiver, but the sound didn't belong
to this world any more. Jill turned her eyes to
the nursery window above. The curtain had shifted slightly, and
for the rest of her life, when the phone rang
after dark, she'd feel the air turn cold, and remember
(16:33):
the man's voice, soft, almost disappointed.
Speaker 2 (16:38):
Why haven't you checked the children?
Speaker 1 (16:41):
They say? The trace came back from upstairs that he'd
been in the house. The whole time listening to her
breath through the same wire the police used to save her.
Maybe that's why the story keeps ringing all these years later,
because every house has a voice line that goes both ways.
If your phone it takes you tonight, let it ring.
(17:02):
Let it ring again. And if you must answer, don't
forget to check the children.
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