It fit nicely in his 1960’s decorated den. An antique rotary telephone, the same kind in which he had made prank phone calls as a kid. He placed it on a Nino Zoncada designed round cocktail table, stood back, and admired his handiwork. The shiny black phone was perfectly placed underneath an original John, George, Paul, and Ringo poster. He was a happy camper, until the phone calls began. There was never a voice, only the occasional barely audible muffled sounds, as if someone was speaking under water or from within a sealed can. He’d simply hang up and forget about it. Initially sporadic, the calls became more frequent and bothersome, waking him in the early mornings. Most times when he answered, he heard nothing. He thought about getting rid of the old phone, but just as soon as he’d stare into the den that thought dissipated. He found himself spending more and more time in his favorite room. He’d adjust the rabbit ears antenna on the television and fall asleep watching an old movie. He’d eat all of his meals in the den; smoke packs of cigarettes there, tapping out ashes into an orange colored rectangular Playboy bunny ashtray. But, the calls kept coming and he got fed up. He couldn’t part with his beloved phone, so he unplugged it. Simple solution. Almost immediately, however, the phone rang again.  This time, a voice, “Hello. This Al.”
“Who?” He pulled the handset away from his head, staring ever so briefly at the ear- and mouthpieces then quickly returned it to the side of his face upon hearing the voice again.
“Al. Albert, Prince Albert. I’m finally out!”

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