The Long distance call by Richard Matheson.

Just before the telephone rang, storm winds toppled the tree outside her window,

and jolted Miss Keen from her dreaming sleep.

She flung herself up with a gasp, her frail hands crumpling twists of sheet in either palm.

Beneath her fleshless chest, the heart jerked taut, the sluggish blood spurted.

She sat in rigid muteness, her eyes staring at the night.

In another second, the telephone rang.

Who on earth?

The question shaped unwittingly in her brain.

Her thin hand faltered in the darkness, the fingers searching for a moment.

And then Miss Elverkeen drew the cool receiver to her ear.

Hello?

She said. Outside the cannon of thunder shook the night,

twitching Miss Keene's crippled legs.

I've missed the voice, she thought.

The thunder has blotted out the voice.

Hello? she said again.

There was no sound.

Miss Keane waited in expectant lethargy.

Then she repeated,

"'Hello!'

"'Hello!' in a cracking voice.

...