One of the scariest short films ever made. La cabina (The Telephone Box) is a 1972 film directed by Spanish director Antonio Mercero, and written by him and Josť Luis Garci.
Well here it is; one of my very earliest poems. If you haven't watched La Cabina
yet, don't read on because this is a Spoiler Alert.
While watching TV late one night,
and being on my own,
a certain film gave me a fright;
a man went to a phone
which stood inside a busy square –
a common sight, no doubt,
but passers-by began to stare
when he could not get out.
The phone box door had gently shut
but then had jammed so tight,
the poor man pushed and shoved it, but
could not improve his plight.
A crowd had gathered round him now,
who found this scene great fun.
There had to be a way, somehow,
to get that door undone.
A lot of people pulled and tugged
– the whole thing seemed so daft! –
but one by one they left and shrugged,
while others stood and laughed.
No way was this a comedy;
my flesh began to creep.
This kind of film can easily
deprive you of your sleep.
I wondered what would happen next.
This poor man’s out of luck;
we see him getting really vexed,
and then a pick-up truck
appears. Two workmen take the box,
complete with man inside
(who’s in for further nasty shocks!);
they take him on a ride
right through the city, mile by mile.
At every car they pass
he pleads for help, and all the while
he’s pounding at the glass.
And then, beside them on the road,
you see another truck,
a phone box also for a load,
in which a man is stuck.
It turns out there are many more;
the victims all look scared.
They can’t imagine what’s in store
– we’re also unprepared,
but don’t have very long to wait,
and though we’re not told why,
we realise these poor men’s fate
is that they’re going to die.
The horror’s full extent’s revealed:
they’re taken to a cave,
where, inside, cunningly concealed,
there is a vile mass grave,
the people just left there to rot
in phone booths. Dozens dead,
and through this film’s duration, not
one single word is said.
I can’t remember what it’s called;
I think it came from Spain.
Although it left me quite appalled,
I’d watch it through again!
Just thirty minutes’ worth, it was,
some twenty years ago.
I’ve told you all about it ’cos
I simply do not know
of anyone who saw it too.
It can’t be only me!
So if it rings a bell with you
and you say, “I did
that grisly film you’ve talked about,”
I really would be glad,
for that would prove, without a doubt,
that I’m not going mad!
When I first met my husband, I was thrilled to discover that, at last,
I'd met someone else who had seen the film. (That wasn't the only reason we ended up married, but it may have helped!