Short stories

Unknown Caller

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon as I sat in my living room, the glow of the TV casting a soft light across the room. I had just finished dinner and was settling in for a quiet evening at home. I had made a habit of screening all my calls, a habit born out of years of receiving annoying telemarketing calls.

As my phone began to ring, I glanced at the caller ID. "Unknown Caller," it read. I hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to answer. In the end, I decided to let it go to voicemail. I could always listen to it later if it turned out to be important.

Hours passed before I remembered the missed call. I picked up my phone and listened to the voicemail. The voice on the other end was shaky, almost trembling. I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but what I did hear sent a cold shiver down my spine.

"Please, help me. They're coming for me. I don't know how much time I have left. Please, you're my last hope."

I felt my heart rate quicken as I listened to the frantic message. Who was this person? What did they mean by "they're coming for me?" I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of my stomach.

I replayed the voicemail several times, trying to make out any additional details that might help me understand the situation. But the message was so garbled, it was impossible to decipher anything beyond the sense of fear and urgency in the caller's voice.

As the hours ticked by, my mind raced with possibilities. Should I call the police? Should I try to track down the owner of the number and see if they were okay? Or should I simply ignore the message and try to forget about it?

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to do something. The sense of dread that had settled over me refused to budge, like a dark cloud hanging over my head.

I decided to do some investigating of my own. I tried calling the number back, but it went straight to voicemail. I searched online for any information on the number, but came up empty-handed. It was as if the caller didn't exist, as if they had somehow slipped through the cracks of reality.

The more I thought about the voicemail, the more convinced I became that something sinister was afoot. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, that someone was keeping tabs on me, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then, one night, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from outside my window. My heart skipped a beat as I sat up, straining to listen. The scratching grew louder, more insistent, like someone trying to claw their way into my home.

I crept out of bed and cautiously made my way to the window. Through the darkness, I could make out a figure standing just outside, their face obscured by shadows. I felt a cold sweat break out across my skin as I realized it was the same person from the voicemail.

"Please, help me," they whispered, their voice barely audible over the sound of my pounding heart. "They're here. They're coming for you next."

I froze in terror, unable to move as the figure turned and disappeared into the night. And as I stood there, trembling in fear, I knew that whatever was coming for me was far worse than anything I could have imagined.

The darkness seemed to close in around me, suffocating me with its oppressive weight. And as the scratching at my window grew louder, more urgent, I knew that I was not alone in my terror.

I could feel a presence, a malevolent force that lingered just beyond the edge of my understanding. And as the first rays of dawn began to break through the night, I knew that whatever came next would be far worse than anything I had ever faced before.