Phonetic

“Hello, how can I help you?”

Dead, like Juliet rotting on Romeo's corpse, someone says “Alpha... Bravo... Charlie...”

“Do you want to talk about a claim?”

“Delta... Echo... Foxtrot...”

Mike hangs up. “Bitch.”

“Everything okay?” Charlie asks.

“Just some drunk hopped up on whiskey. Oh, here we go,” Mike turns back and answers automatically.

“Golf... Hotel... India...”

“This isn't funny, please stop wasting our time.”

He hangs up, but the phone rings again. “Hello... listen, you're not impressing anyone!”

“... Kilo... Lima...”

“Shit.”

“Mike, watch you're language. Call Oscar to report it, yeah?”

“Sorry Charlie.” Mike can't dial out; the phone goes again. He hangs up without answering. It rings again.

“Hello?!”

“Papa... Quebec...”

“Fuck's sake, stop!”

“Mike!”

“Sierra... Tango... Uniform...”

“Look, Charlie, report this? I can't get a call out...”

Charlie nods and calls out. “Oscar, got a problem with a phone. Victor, X-ray, November 147. Yeah, Mike keeps getting prank calls.”

“Yankee... Zulu...” Suddenly the line dies. The hollow tone echoes. No call comes back in.

“They've given up.”

“Oscar's blocked them anyway but they were calling you specifically. Do you recognize this number?”

Mike looks at Charlie's note. “Shit, yeah, that's my fucking house!” Mike runs out, panicking.

No-one knows what happened. He and his girlfriend are still missing; all they found at his house were teeth...