The Turning Point

By

Amy Sadler

© 2013

Author’s Notes

This story is in part based on true life events, while the rest of the story is completely fictional. There will be a Special Bonus after the Epilogue of this story, in which I shall reveal which parts to be fact and which parts to be fictional. I encourage you the reader to guess and use your imagination as to which could be which. It does not matter if you are right or wrong, just simply have fun in guessing. All characters in this story are of age 18 and over.

Prologue

It glinted under the light of the sun, as the sun’s rays shone down upon it. It was a hue, of red, it was tall and it was strong. It stood alone, with only a hue of green, gray and the blue sky to compliment it’s colour. In the far off distance, a good 10 to 15 minute at least walk away from it, was a lone white house. How strange it was, for it to be where it was, so alone, so perfectly still and silent, not the house, the object in question.

But this was not a person, alas it was an inanimate object. It was, a red public telephone box, the green was the colour of the surrounding fields and the grey was the colour of a lone countryside road. And yet, it was quite odd; with there being only just the one house within sight and nothing else as far as the eye can see. Of what use was it, apart from maybe someone needing to call for a break down service? For this was the age of before home computers and mobile telephones.

It was a typical summers day, it was not too hot with a gentle breeze of the wind, which created the perfect pocket of coolness without it being too cold to step into. The telephone stood proud, with a prominent crown at the top, centre of all of sides, with its domed toped roof, it’s sides checked glass windows and it’s bronze curved door handle to pull the side door open; and within it, was a tall black box that was upon a small black box, on the front of the tall black box was a finger dial.

(Classic Old Pay Phone)

Just slightly to its right, there was a coin slot for coins to be put into it. Atop of the tall box was the cradle and handle of the telephone itself. To the left of the telephone there was a shelf mounted to the back of the wall of the telephone box, this held in place a telephone directory and that was pretty much it, other than it offered a slight shelter, should anyone be out stuck in a down pour.

The lone telephone box just simply seemed so out of place, more so, that lone white house. Why would anyone want to live in such isolation, cut off from absolutely everything? But these things aside, there was something even stranger. As for that big black telephone, was ringing, as though expecting for someone to be there to answer it. When no one did so, a few moments later, there came a police car and a policeman got out of it.

He rushed over toward the telephone box, fearing the worst. Oddly, the telephone handle had been placed back in its cradle, not left hanging off the hook, which what the police officer had feared that would be what he would find, but no, that was not so. He then looked up and down the winding countryside road, with nothing in either direction, other than that lone white house. So, he got into his car and drove off toward the white house. He rang the door bell, but got no answer, the door was unlocked, the policeman entered the house, but it was completely bare. But who or what was the police officer looking for and why?