Chuck

He listened for a moment more and then hung up quickly.

He dialed for the operator and after long seconds, she came on.

Fran nodded approval.

Yeah.

This is no John Cheever.

Yeah.

I'm ready.

You know what's happening.

The deep brows.

All right, should I pick it up?

Mm-hmm.

All right, here we go.

There were still the dial numbers left to him, and one after another, Arthur methodically dialed the numbers of friends and acquaintances hereabouts.

The phones would ring, each with their different timbre, but there were no answers.

Across the dark brow of the town, with its mantle of night, from this valley and this ridge, on across the black shrouded lanes and vales and hills, the phones chimed and vibrated and rang and shrilled.

But they stopped only when he admitted defeat by hanging up.

Across this town and further, much further as he knew, there seemed no one.

A peculiar theory was forming in Arthur's mind.

After all, they were all right, unaffected apparently.

There was a Mr. Hoskins, a small bent man who was caretaker at the movie house.