Off The Grid: A Paranormal Short Story
Determined to show me the art, Claudette steps back for a fuller view and centers the phone.
“I believe the sun distorts the paint through the screen.”
“It was faint a moment ago, but not anymore. I’m telling you, it’s me. The artist captured every detail from my upturned nose, chin dimple, down to my green dress and open-toed pumps. It’s as if they saw me coming before I even arrived on the property. It’s impossible to capture such a detailed painting in ten minutes. The paint looks as if the artist just ran his brush across the canvas. I know I shouldn’t touch it, but I have to see.”
Claudette’s hand wavers over the painting, then fades with a static crackle.
“Hello? Claudette, you there? Claudette? Answer me.” Did she disconnect the call? But why was there static? An acute realization rushes my mind. How can she call me from Merrick? There aren’t any cell phone towers in that town.
“DANA, call Ms. Windsor’s mobile,” I demand, listening to silence. “DANA, try again.” This time the same white noise crackles from the home’s speakers.
“Justine, I’m not picking up a signal. There are no cell phone towers near Ms. Windsor,” reports DANA.
“What the heck! If Merrick has no cell phone towers sending or receiving signals, how were we able to talk?”
“It’s impossible,” DANA replies.