Out of longing, I call you - though you're no longer in this world.

From time to time after school, I make a quick stop at the local library - my own version of window shopping, but with words instead of storefronts. My eyes were flickering once over the Young Adults’ section when I had come across a book promising potential. Once again, Stephen King’s If It Bleeds, a compilation of short stories, had captivated me as soon as I saw the stock market background of numerous characters, dispensing the same advice as my investing mother everyday. In the world of Stephen King, he had imbued both eeriness and a sense of intangible connection into 53 pages: Mr Harrigan’s Phone.
In a ruffled, checkered bed, the sky outside the window a solemn black, a boy, Craig, sits, head buried in his knees. For years, he had spent his afternoons reading aloud to Mr. Harrigan, an elderly but affluent man whose sharp mind and quiet demeanour had shaped their unusual friendship. What had started as a simple job became something much deeper - an unspoken bond woven through shared stories, hushed conversations, and the mutual comfort found in books.

Four times a year, Mr Harrigan would give a 1 dollar scratch ticket to Craig, one striking it lucky. As a gift of thanks, he had given Harrigan an iPhone, unravelling the wonders of modern technology. Yet the reading days ended when the elderly man died. At his funeral, Craig had snuck the device, which had bridged them together, into his body. Craig found himself reaching for his phone, leaving voicemails to the only man who listened in life. The ringtone, two lines from ‘Stand By Your Man’ played, until his recorded voice sounded. “I’m not answering my phone now. I will call you back if it seems appropriate.”
Craig swiped the voice call, his voice shaking. “I miss you, Mr Harrigan. I appreciate the money you left me, but I’d give it up to have you still alive. Maybe it sounds like a lie, but it isn’t. It really isn’t.” As he flopped onto his bed, a chime rang from his phone. With shaky fingers, he swiped at the notification. On it was a message from Mr Harrigan: C C C aa.
Throughout Mr Harrigan’s Phone, one of the central symbols of the story is arguably the classic iPhone. This humble device would become the main tree trunk of many branches. Originally a gift meant to bridge generational gaps, the device becomes a conduit between life and death. When I had first read the short story, the first thought that had come to mind was the suggestion that some relationships transcend the natural limits of time. As Craig continues to call Mr. Harrigan even after his passing, the phone takes on a supernatural significance, blurring the line between mourning and communication.
Likewise, the iPhone embodies the way grief can manifest in desperate attempts to hold on. The humble object that revolutionised the world, yet Stephen King turns this tool into something more unsettling. This motif reinforces the story’s exploration of loss and the unsettling question: does letting go mean forgetting, or can connections, and obsessions, outlast death itself?
The iPhone’s persistence in Mr. Harrigan’s Phone taps into a broader cultural anxiety. Although the phrase ‘obsession over technology’ is ubiquitous, its continued reliability as convenience, morphs into dependence, and sometimes escalates into something darker. The fear of disconnection, the inability to exist without a constant digital tether. King’s narrative plays on this tension, turning a familiar object into a haunting presence that refuses to be silenced.
The phone, initially a token of connection, mutates into something far more sinister as Craig realizes its uncanny ability to enact his wishes. In this way, King transforms a commonplace device into an extension of Craig’s subconscious desires, questioning whether true control exists or if dependence on technology merely amplifies hidden fears. The unsettling reality is that Craig never fully understands the force he has tapped into, and King never fully explains the origins of the ‘listening iPhone’. In doing so, he reflects a modern dilemma on the attachment to technology and the comfort of never truly letting go.
Stephen King’s Mr. Harrigan’s Phone is a haunting meditation on connection and grief, using the iPhone as a bridge between the living and the dead. Although we use technology as a tool for our lives, we overlook the fact it can warp our lives and relationships, obsessing us. Yet, while technology connects, for Mr Harrigan and Craig, technology turns into an unsettling form of connection that extends beyond death.
Even without technology, however, for Mr Harrigan and Craig, their spiritual connection is a bond that never fades.

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