Ten little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“No more monkeys jumping on the bed.”
Nine little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“Is this the lady I just talked to? Yes, same advice. Thank you, you too. Goodbye.”
Eight little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“If this is some sort of prank call or TikTok challenge, it’s not funny. I’m a busy doctor helping patients with real problems. Stop calling.”
Seven little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“Yeallo, this is Dirk. What can I do f– You! How’d you get this number? This is my personal cell.”
“Who is it?” Asked the Doctor’s wife, Cheryl, from the kitchen.
“This crazy lady who keeps calling about monkeys falling off the bed.”
“Did you tell her not to let them jump on the bed?
“YES!”
“I’m sure she’s just a tired parent. You remember how desperate I got during Dirk Jr.’s alkaline-button-battery-eating phase. I’ll talk to her.”
With doubtful eyebrows, the Doctor handed her the phone.
“Hello?”
But no one responded. All Cheryl heard on the other end of the line was slow, ferine breathing.
Six little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“That's it! Hacking my Facebook to friend me and call me on Messenger is a huge invasion of privacy. I will not tolerate–”
Suddenly, the sound of shattering ceramics rang out from the foyer. The Doctor whipped around and saw Cheryl holding the mail, pieces of her dropped mug scattered around her feet. She was staring stiffly at the contents of an opened manilla envelope: a photo of herself carrying groceries into the house earlier that day.
“Dirk,” her voice quivered, “What’s going on?”
The Doctor’s mug also slipped from his hand.
Five little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHY ARE THE MONKEYS STILL JUMPING ON THE BED?! Oh… Honey, it’s the dry cleaners. Your blazer will be ready Thursday, not Wednesday.”
“That’s fine I guess.”
Four little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“Destroy the phones!”
He slammed his iPhone against the edge of their granite island, sending shards of the Super Retina XDR™ display shrapnelling through the air. Cheryll dropped hers, half in compliance, half in hysteria, and he heel stomped it repeatedly with his slip-resistant, hospital-safe wingtips. He yanked the cord of their inoperative landline right out of the wall jack and stood there huffing psychotically above the spalled carnage of pop sockets, drywall, and capacitor boards.
Riiiiing.
Impossible, he thought.
Riiiiing.
He and Cheryl looked at the fruit bowl.
Riiiiing.
It couldn’t possibly…
Riiiiing.
The Doctor picked up the banana and slowly pulled back the peel. Lodged into the pale flesh of the fruit was a tiny phone. Cheryl fainted.
Three little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“Where ARE you?!” He sprinted into the front yard, frantically scouring for any trace of the caller. Suddenly, a large, hairy hand clenched his shoulder.
“GET AWAY!” He screamed and jerked around, only to see his neighbor, Roger.
“Dirk! It’s me. Your best friend since second grade. What’s going on?”
“Rodge, thank goodness. Something really weird is going on…”
He told him everything, from the first call, to the pictures of Cheryl, to the–
“Hang on just a sec,” Roger interrupted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone.
Riiiiing.
Roger’s eyes glazed over.
“Here, Dirk. It’s for you.”
“Roger?”
“Mama needs to talk to you, Dirk.”
“No.” The Doctor stammered, backpedaling. “NO!”
He stumbled over a sprinkler head and fell onto the lawn. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted inside the house.
“CHERYL! We’ve gotta get out of here.”
“But where could possibly be safe?!”
“My parents’ secluded cabin in the woods.”
Two little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“Game over. The FBI are tracing this call as we speak. They’ll find you. Lock you away for 20-30 years, plus at least 50 from PETA, and your inability to adhere to rudimentary safety instructions won’t horrifyingly baffle doctors or endanger innocent primate infants again!”
He smashed the “End Call” button on the cabin’s corded phone. Immediately it rang again, but this time the caller ID read “FBI.”
He grabbed it.
“Doctor!” erupted Sergeant McElroy through the receiver. “We traced the call. It’s coming from inside the cabin! Do you hear me? INSIDE the cabin!”
One little monkey jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the Doctor and the Doctor said,
“HIDE, CHERYL! QUICK! IN THERE!”
The Doctor shoved Cheryl into the bedroom and slammed the door. They jumped onto the bed and grabbed each other tightly, shaking at every relentless ring of the phone that seemed to grow louder. Closer.
“H-how do we know Mama isn’t in here?” Cheryl stammered.
“I don’t, but–”
The Doctor froze. A deathly chill swept through his veins. “I never told you… Her name was Mama.”
Cheryl stared, speechless. Her tear-streaked cheeks contorted into a sinister smile.
“No….” whispered the Doctor.
“Yes.”
Cheryl reached to the bottom of her neck and pulled off a mask, revealing a furry, brown face and two big, round ears.
“NOOO!” The Doctor tumbled off the bed in horror and bumped his head.