This isn’t the story I started tonight. That one got away from me and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to finish it tonight. Rather than split it up, I decided to shelve it in favor of a short. Traditionally I save shorts for Saturdays which are generally my bartending days. Given that the venue I was supposed to work tomorrow was consumed by the Glass fire I have some time to work on the story initially planned for today. In its place, I give you a short one tonight.

I reached for my phone and that dread that comes with not finding it where it’s supposed to be sent a chill down my spine.

Don’t panic, I thought. Retrace your steps… My buddy Danny and I were having dinner in the pandemic seating of a restaurant in North Beach. I checked under my seat – maybe it fell out? Nothing.

“What’s up?” Danny asked.

“My phone… I don’t have it.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

“If I knew that…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he said dismissively. “Did you leave it in the Lyft?”

“Possibly… Can I borrow your phone? I’m going to call it.” He handed me his phone and I dialed my number. It picked up almost immediately and I first thought my phone must be dead and have gone straight to voicemail. But no, there was no message… just silence. Dead air. “Hello? Who’s this?” I asked. No response. “Hello? You have my phone,” I said. Silence. Then quietly, a low giggle. It got progressively louder and carried a note of malice. The giggle started to rise to an insane cackle when the line went dead. I stared at Danny’s phone, checking to make sure I got the number right. I did.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Someone must have my phone and be messing with me.” I shook my head, defeated, “Guess I’ll have to look into getting a new one tomorrow.”

I managed to forget about my lost phone for the rest of the night and didn’t get home until well after midnight. I turned the light on in my room and there on my nightstand was my phone.