Beacon

Deep in a dark room, a phone rings, incessantly, demanding to be answered.  No hands move toward the receiver.  It remains on the hook.

Dim light from a small desk lamp illuminates a very small area where institutional lime green paint slowly chips from ancient walls.  Against the wall, in the shadows, lurk large rectangular machines.  On the desk, covered in the stillness of aeons, lie several grossly unremarkable items.

After a click and a whir, a pair of magnetic tape reels spin to life, slinging cobwebs.  Tiny lamps flicker to life.  Grinding, heavy sounds rumble.  Amber light reflects from a revolving mirror, throwing a circle of yellow across indistinguishable and dusty items strewn about.  

An electrical relay drops out, loudly.  Lights go dark.  Nothing moves.

But the ringing continues, echoing in the darkness.