You Have 100 Minutes

You have just been handed a cell phone. Not just any cell phone - a very special cell phone. It may be the only one like it in the world, but you have no waying of knowing that for sure.

The person who gave the phone to you knocked on your door, then stood down at the base of your steps to maximize your comfort level upon opening the front door. At first you assumed they were selling something, or looking for a charitable donation. You usually pretend not to be home when someone you don't know knocks at the door. It's easy to peek through the curtain of a side window long enough to see your caller. But this time, you felt compelled to open the door.

The caller, a man or woman - it doesn't matter, had kind eyes and a look of compassion mixed with world-weariness.

They looked at the phone, read your name aloud, and looked up to you for confirmation. You nodded.

"I have a cell phone for you. I am not selling anything, I am not promoting anything. But I need to give you this cell phone."

As they explained the cell phone, you went from fear that you were engaged in conversation with a lunatic, to reluctant wonder, to a belief that it might be you who was crazy for believing them.

Although you're certain that your reconstruction of their explanation is not word for word, you believe this is a close approximation:

"This phone is yours now. I'm done with it." They stepped up to you and carefully placed the phone in your hand. "This is not a regular cell phone. You can't make phone calls to friends or businesses. It doesn't need to be charged, and there is no signal indicator." There was a long pause, and you got the impression that they must have rehearsed what they were about to say, but still struggled to make the words come out. "You can only place calls to the dead. Not everyone who's dead, just people you knew personally."

They paused again, and motioning to the keypad, said "to use it, just press the "on" button, and speak the name of the deceased into the phone. You have one hundred total minutes of talk time."

They continued. "I really can't answer any questions, and please don't try to contact me. But I'll tell you what I know, based on my own experience.

"You can make as many calls as you want, but your total talk time is still 100 minutes. Use your time wisely. Regardless of who you call, there is no point in asking where they are. Your answers will be too nebulous to be of use. Trying to find out where grandma stashed the family heirlooms? That's fine. If you have a friend who died under unusual circumstances, it's fine to ask about that , too. Oh, and if you speak the name of someone who is deceased, and they do not answer, I don't know what that means. Maybe they don't want to talk to you, maybe they're not there, maybe they can't speak, I don't know. Finally, you can take as long as you need. The minutes don't expire. But the longer you have it, the longer the next person goes without it. That may be a good thing, or that may be a bad thing. I don't know."

You asked the obvious question. "What happens when I use up all of my time?"

"The name and address of the next person pops up on the screen. You'll need to give it to them. Hopefully you'll do it less awkwardly than I just did." They paused before continuing. "I'm leaving now. Like I said, please don't try to contact me. There's nothing I can do for you. If you see me on the street or in a restaurant, please don't approach me to engage in conversation. I'll pretend not to have ever met you."

With that, they headed down the sidewalk to your driveway and climbed into their car. The license plate had been removed. As they backed out, they rolled their car window down and spoke to you for the last time.

"Use your time wisely. You have 100 minutes." Then they were gone.

Unused Novel Opener #2

Laura Carswell was lost. In every sense of the word.

This much she knew: she was in the woods, she appeared to be uninjured, and she had no idea how she got there.

In the five minutes since she'd been awakened by a bird noisily taking flight from a low branch in the tree above her, this was all she could assemble with certainty, though she still stroked her hair periodically expecting to find dried blood from a blow to the head. Nothing.

Was she still in Vermont? It seemed too warm for a May morning.

Was it even morning? Her watch was gone. And though the dense tree cover blocked a clear view of the sun, the angle of sunlight filtering through the leaves seemed right for 10 or 11.

Not knowing how she got there meant that the perpetrators of this...was it a crime? Were there perpetrators? She didn't want to draw attention to herself. Some minutes passed before she finally worked up enough courage to call out.

"Hello?" Nothing. Again, louder. "Hello?"

The lack of response to her cries was both a relief and somewhat disheartening. If someone had in fact dumped her in the woods, they appeared to be long gone. But she also had to accept the fact that she was completely alone, with no idea which way to move towards civilization. Following the path of least resistance she moved through the trees and underbrush where it seemed most passable.

After what seemed like an hour - maybe two - Laura was certain that an area in the near distance must be a clearing. The treeline looked different, and the birds had ceased all sound and movement.

As she fought through the last 30 yards of brush, her head was filled with thoughts of what she might find: A Rangers' station? A house? A fishing hole with a couple of locals lazing away the morning?

But nothing prepared her for what she found herself staring at when she reached her destination. There, directly in front of her, frightening only for its appearance in such a strange place, was an unweathered carousel. And though it might have been the wind or a trick of the eye, it appeared to have come to a stop a mere second after Laura first gazed upon it and tried to wrap her racing mind around it.

No one was on the carousel, no one was near it, and the clearing itself was barely big enough to hold it. Beyond it, the woods once again became dense.

Laura sniffed the air intensely, trying to place the smell that was in the air when it finally dawned on her. In addition to the scents of pine and her own sweat, the strange new smell was pneumatic fluid, recently heated and dispersed to the air from the carousel's operation.