The Calling

Frank sat up in bed. His hand went to his chest: there was no pain there. It was just a dream. He swung his feet around and touched the floor and sat there for a few more moments. The time on his alarm clock clicked from 4:44 to 4:45am.

Man, that was intense, he thought as he stood and stretched.

He went to his bedroom window and looked out to the street. It was clear. Then he headed into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around inside until he found what he was looking for, a container of orange juice.

He took an old glass from the counter, sniffed it to see if the contents were sour; satisfied, he poured himself some juice and put the container away. His phone rang as he took a pull from the glass. Caller ID showed who was calling.

"Morning Goner," Frank said. "Did you get that signal?"

"Signal," Goner sounded like he had suffered an anxiety attack. "Do you mean that nightmare I was having? Christ, I thought I was having a heart attack."

"Yes," Frank replied.

"What does it mean?" Goner started.

"It means that someone is trying to contact us," Frank replied with a wry smile.