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Please. Please don’t hang up.

Sorry, the light has gone, and I’ve been dialling at random. Sorry. Please don’t hang up.

No, just give me a minute. Please. I’ve not got much battery life left. Please.

Thank you.

I just need to say a few things. Is that okay?


Look, I’m sorry to get you involved in this. I had two phones, you see. I’d just bought a new one. It’s for my work. In my line you need more than one. I thought it would be the police who would get to me, but…

Yes, I’m a journalist. Well, I was a journalist, I guess. I know who did this to me. They’ll find me, someday. But…

No, I don’t know where I am. 

I don’t know. They said they’d do this to me. The Hudson crew. I wrote an article about them. Look it up. I was working on a book. They threatened me. With this. With…

Yes, okay, sorry. I’m underground, I think. I’m in a coffin. There’s a tube going up to the surface; I can feel the wind passing by. But what would be visible up top would be… well, nothing you’d notice, and I’ve no idea where they took me. They grabbed me downtown and bundled me into a van and injected me with something.

Yes, maybe I am calmer than you’d expect. 

I wasn’t an hour ago. I’ve smashed my hands up against every side of this thing, and eventually realized I had a phone with basically no charge left but one bar of signal, and my real phone—the one with every number that I don’t remember anymore because… technology, right?—well, they took it. This one was hidden in the side of my right boot.

Look, I know this is weird, and I’m really sorry that I’m going to bother you when I’m actually going to die here, but…

Yes. Yes, I’m going to die here. 

I’ve got no water. They presumably haven’t asked for anything. They said they’d torture and kill me for what I wrote. The police are onto them now. Their run will end. Lives will be saved. And yes, before you say it, I am calm about it now, because I know. Because I accept. I knew the risks, and I’ve been through several stages of denial in this box already. So, can you…?

Right, sorry, the phone has that red thing lit up saying it’s going to die any minute. So I’m going to speak now, and you’re going to shut up and let me. I’m going to give you an address, which you’re going to remember, because I’m assuming you haven’t thought to have a pen next to you, and you’re going to go to this address and tell the girl there—a beautiful young girl called Megan—you’re going to tell her that her mummy loved her so much, and died trying to make the world better. Can you do that?

Robert Kibble

Robert lives west of London with a cornucopia of half-finished writing projects. A few have been published over the years, which he has found very pleasing.

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