![]() ![]() It’s true that you never appreciate your mother and all she does for you, not until it’s too late. There were fights and hardships, and I could be a stroppy teenager on occasion, bored of life in a small village and often driving Mum up the wall with my rebellious nature. I won’t claim everything was always rosy. Mum worked hard to provide for us and – although we certainly weren’t rich – she made sure me and Alice never went without. She raised us on our own, showing amazing strength and love. Our natural father left when we were both small and I never did see him again. I was the eldest of two – just me and my little sister Alice. Looking back, I’d have to say my early childhood was idyllic. Let me begin by telling you a little bit about my family. I can’t fully explain what happened all those years ago, but I believe I owe my life to that mysterious phone box and the paranormal entities somehow tied to it. At first, I was looking for these cheap thrills, but in time I went there just to escape from the house…And that’s when these strange events began. I’ll admit to frequenting the site myself for those very reasons. The area was dimly lit and isolated at night and so became a convenient place for local teens to meet at the weekends – to smoke, drink and engage in clumsy sexual encounters. The phone booth in question was set just off the pavement and on the forest’s edge, facing directly out towards the woods. Across the street from us stood a forest that dated back to Anglo-Saxon times and was inevitably the site of various local legends. We lived in a cramped but cosy bungalow situated in a housing estate on the edge of the village. I grew up in a small village located in the rural south of England – a quaint but unremarkable hamlet with little to mark it out from hundreds of others dotted across the Home Counties. Nevertheless, one such booth is central to the story I’m going to tell you – a paranormal event which occurred 25 years ago, while I was still in my teens and going through a particularly traumatic time in my life. There aren’t many active red booths left these days as there isn’t much call for payphones in general, not in an age where everybody carries a smart phone. In fact, you’ve probably seen photographs of these booths which are regarded as quintessentially British, acting as tourist attractions in London and elsewhere. Those of a certain age who grew up in the UK will remember the old-style, red phone boxes, emblazoned with the Royal Crown and with the motif ‘Telephone’ written above their glass panelled swing doors. ![]()
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