January 2026

The Party Line

By Jim Hendrick
Posted: 02/24/2025

Booger picked up the ringing phone, his finger lodged deep in his nose as usual. It was a bad habit, one his mother scolded him for, but habits were hard to break when you were ten years old. He pressed the receiver to his ear and immediately flinched at the sound of loud, frantic screaming.

It wasn’t the kind of scream you heard on TV, the fake kind. This was real. Loud. It terrified him. He held the receiver away from him. His eyes were huge with fear . 

Booger’s stomach tightened. He didn’t like it. He placed the receiver down on the kitchen table, wiped his finger on his jeans, and scratched his head. The screaming continued, high-pitched and panicked. Then a loud crash. Glass shattering.

His mind played tricks on him. A face formed in his thoughts. It was familiar. A woman? A man? No. He wasn’t sure.

He picked up the phone again, the heavy black receiver making his small hand ache. The line was still open, and he strained to listen. His pulse thumped in his ears. The screaming had stopped. Silence.

Booger turned his head sideways, confused. The quiet was worse than the noise.

Then—a sound. Breathing. Raspy, uneven.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Who was it? Did the face match the voice? No. Maybe. Not really.

The broken glass. His mind fixated on it. Where? A kitchen? A living room? A window?

The breathing grew slower. Softer. Then, a click. The line went dead.

Booger sat frozen, the dial tone humming in his ear. A nervous laugh bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it down. His mother always told him not to eavesdrop on the party line. “Other people’s business ain’t yours,” she’d say.

But this—this felt different.

He hesitated before setting the receiver back in its cradle. Should he tell someone? Call the operator? No, that was for grown-ups. Besides, it was probably nothing.

Probably.

Shaking off the strange feeling in his chest, Booger hopped off the kitchen stool and ran to the backyard. His toy soldiers were still lined up, waiting for battle. The afternoon sun warmed his face, and the smell of cut grass filled his nose.

Whatever had happened on the phone belonged to another world. A world that had nothing to do with toy soldiers, backyard wars, or ten-year-old boys named Booger.

He pushed the call out of his mind and got to work. The battle was about to begin.