WAKE UP CALL
It was half past eight when I heard the noise. It seemed strangely familiar: that strange whooshing noise. Wasn’t quite sure at first.
I wonder? It couldn’t be could it? I thought about it for a minute. The out of the blue it was there. A box. Blue with those familiar words blazoned across the top. POLICE TELEPHONE BOX.
It stayed quiet for a moment and I stood up from the bed looking at it. Watching it expectantly wondering which one. The door stayed closed. I felt disappointed. Perhaps it wasn’t him after all.
“Where are you?” I yelled. No answer. I turned and looked out of the window. A creak made me turn back. The door to the box slammed shut. I went over and knocked on the door. “I know you’re in there! Come on out. Please.” I begged. “I’ve always longed for this moment.”
“Have you really?” he stepped out. “How interesting.”
“Is it you?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not your next-door neighbour,” he pointed out. “What’s your name?”
“Peter,” I replied meekly.
“Interesting. I used to know someone called Peter.” The man then sat down on the edge of my bed. “Tell me Peter, is this your room?”
“Yes.”
“I see you have a poster on the wall of me. Handsome devil aren’t I?” he said modestly. The person in the poster in question had brown curly hair and wore a long scarf.
“Everyone is handsome in their own unique way,” I said.
“Good answer. You know Peter, we are going to get on extremely well,” he stood up. Then looked around. “I love the décor.”
“Thank you,” I felt as if I could cry. To meet one of my heroes was a dream come true.
“So why are you on your own in here?” he asked me.
“I spend most of my time writing,” I said.
“Ah! You’re a writer! Excellent,” he paused. “How about if I keep you company for a while?”
‘Yes! Definitely yes!”
“Well then, I suggest we have a very good conversation,” and with that we had a bloody good evening.
Peter Thorpe