Don’t Answer The Phone
The lightning vanished.
Darkness swallowed the street again.
I stumbled backward so fast my shoulder slammed into the kitchen counter, sending my coffee mug crashing onto the floor. Ceramic exploded across the tile.
But I barely heard it.
Because my eyes were still locked on the window.
Waiting for another flash.
Another glimpse.
Another impossible look at my own face staring back at me from across the street.
My pulse hammered painfully in my ears.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”
The rain outside intensified, rattling against the glass hard enough to sound like fingertips tapping to be let in.
I forced myself closer to the window again.
The streetlamp buzzed weakly overhead.
Empty sidewalk.
No figure.
Nothing standing beneath the rain.
Relief hit me so suddenly my knees almost gave out.
Then the journal moved.
A soft thump came from the kitchen table behind me.
I turned slowly.
The notebook was open to a different page now.
I knew I hadn’t touched it.
For a moment I just stared at the fresh handwriting stretched across the paper.
Then I read it.
“She’s closer now.”
The lights in my apartment flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then every bulb went dark.
The refrigerator hum disappeared.
The apartment fell completely silent.
A sharp crack of thunder rolled overhead, and somewhere inside the darkness of my apartment—
Something breathed.
Not outside.
Inside.
Close enough that I felt warm air brush the back of my neck.
I spun around blindly.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Only darkness.
Then—
My phone rang.
The sound nearly stopped my heart.
It vibrated violently across the counter, screen glowing bright in the pitch-black kitchen.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
My stomach dropped.
Slowly, mechanically, I looked toward the journal still lying open on the table.
A new sentence had appeared beneath the last one.
“Do not answer the phone at 11:14 p.m.”
I checked the time.
11:13.
The phone continued ringing.
And somewhere deeper in the apartment…
Footsteps began moving toward the kitchen.
Another violent crack of thunder shook the apartment.
Then everything went silent.
Dark.
The endless blackness pressed against me like it was alive, stealing the air from my lungs. I gasped, struggling to breathe as the power died completely.
And then the footsteps started again.
One.
Two.
Three.
They stopped directly behind me.
Every muscle in my body locked.
My phone suddenly rang again, the sound slicing through the darkness. The screen lit up the kitchen in a blinding flash, forcing me to squint against the swimming spots burning across my vision.
11:14 PM.
The journal’s warning screamed in the back of my mind.
Do not answer the phone.
My hand trembled as I reached for it anyway.
And I answered.