[ WP ] They come across an old dilapidated greenhouse . On the far wall is a phone . As they 're exploring the greenhouse the phone starts to ring .

Earthworms were my favorite. I loved the way they congregated towards the wet dirt. Or huddled underneath a damp rock. When I was a boy, I used to shift leaves around a local fishing hole and dig up the creatures. I would grab the plumpest one and carry it over to a large rock, and cut the worm in half with a twig. Worms can survive in separate bodies. They could also catch two different fish. 
 
 
 The fish at the creek were stupid; I would catch the same fish repeatedly just to throw them back in the shallow water. Once I caught a fish with no bait just a rusty hook. 
 
 
 I wish the puddle in front of me had fish. The fountain outside used to have goldfish, but they starved a long time ago. I wonder if the plants will bloom again. 
 
 
 My feet have turned to moss; they sit under the dripping condensation of metal tables, and worms wiggle between the toes. I will be leaving soon; I am just waiting for a phone call. 
 
 
 I remember Elizabeth; she used to work out here. She would wear denim overalls and a wide summer hat. She used to bend over the earth sweat dripping from her forehead. I was the one who suggested the metal tables—it would be good for her back—give her a chance to stand up straight. Now rows of decaying potted plans line the tables, there used to be sunlight, but the sun went away when I turned to stone. 
 
 
 Elizabeth said she would call. My mother said she would call. They told me, I could leave when the phone rang, so I sat my back against the glass wall and waited. I leaned back against the wall and took off my shoes, digging my feet into the soil. I liked how it felt against my skin; it reminded me of the beach. The telephone is above my head, an old landline with its wires running to the outside. They said they would call, and not to leave until they did. 
 
 
 When the sun turned black, the earthworms rose to the surface. They followed the water that dripped in the building. Outside, a cat howled and a woman screamed. Sharp claps permeated the air, and the glass above cracked. I became a statue as weeds grew between my toes and the rows of plants died. Once I picked up the phone and listened to the dial tone just to make sure it still worked. 
 
 
 However, I have not done that in a while; I am afraid now; I am afraid there will not be a dial tone. Elizabeth has not called, and I do not trust my mother. She hated gardening, she hated the outdoors, and most of all she hated animals. When the goldfish died, I think she poisoned them. But, Elizabeth will call, she never lied to me, any time now, I will hear the phone above me rattle to life. 
 
 
 The moss reaches my kneecaps. 
 
 
 The earthworms shrivel up and die. 
 
 
 A potted plan falls over and shatters on the ground. 
 
 
 A piece of glass from the sky pierces the earth next to me. 
 
 
 The phone rings; a loud clattering noise of ecstasy. The phone rattles as if trying to shake off the rust. It rings and rings scattering the silence. It rings and rings. 
 
 
 With limbs that have forgotten to move, I clumsily reach for the receiver. The 
 moss cracks around my hip as I breathlessly put the phone to my lips. I wait and wait; and the phone rings and rings. It rings and rings. It rings… 

