The Shadow Caller

It was nearly midnight when Maya’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting her awake. The glow of the screen illuminated the small, cluttered bedroom. She squinted at the number—unknown. She hesitated for a moment but answered anyway.

“Hello?” she said groggily.

A deep, raspy voice responded, “Why didn’t you lock your front door?”

Maya sat up, her blood turning cold. Her eyes darted to the door, which she distinctly remembered locking before going to bed. She jumped out of bed, her heart pounding, and tiptoed toward the living room.

The door was closed but unlocked.

She bolted it, checking it twice before grabbing a kitchen knife. Her breaths were shaky as she scanned the darkened room, the shadows seemingly moving in the corners. She returned to her bedroom and locked herself inside.

Her phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.

“Who is this?” she demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt.

The voice chuckled, sending chills down her spine. “You’re always so predictable, Maya. Always running, always hiding. Do you think that door will stop me?”

Her heart dropped. She rushed to the window, looking outside for any signs of movement. The street was empty, bathed in the flickering glow of a faulty streetlamp.

“Listen,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “Whoever you are, I’m calling the police!”

The voice responded with a sinister calm, “Go ahead. I’ll be gone by the time they arrive. But remember this, Maya—I’m closer than you think.”

The call ended abruptly. Maya stared at her phone, her mind racing. She dialed the police, explaining the situation as calmly as she could, though her voice trembled. They promised to send an officer to check the area.

While waiting, Maya barricaded the bedroom door with her desk. She gripped the knife tightly, her knuckles white. Minutes felt like hours, and every creak of the old apartment sent her into a panic.

Finally, there was a knock at the door.

“Police! Open up!” a man’s voice called out.

Relief washed over her. She hurried to the door, knife still in hand, and peered through the peephole. A uniformed officer stood outside, his face partially obscured by the dim hallway light.

“Thank God,” she muttered, unlocking the door.

The officer stepped inside, scanning the apartment. “Are you alone?” he asked, his tone professional but firm.

“Yes,” Maya said. “I got these calls… someone said they were inside my house.”

The officer nodded. “We’ll sweep the place. Stay here.”

He moved through the apartment, checking every room and closet. Maya stood in the living room, clutching her knife.

After a few minutes, the officer returned. “The apartment’s clear,” he said. “The door lock doesn’t appear tampered with, but we’ll keep a patrol car nearby tonight. Call us if you hear or see anything unusual.”

Maya nodded, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion. As the officer left, she double-checked the locks again and returned to her barricaded room. She wanted to sleep but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was still watching her.

She turned off the lights, thinking the darkness might make her feel less exposed. But as soon as she did, her phone buzzed again.

The unknown number.

She froze, her hand hovering over the screen. Against her better judgment, she answered.

“Did you really think I’d leave?” the voice whispered, now closer, almost echoing in her ears.

Maya’s blood ran cold. She dropped the phone and backed into the corner, the knife trembling in her hand.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the living room. Maya’s mind screamed at her to run, but her legs felt glued to the floor. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, growing louder as they approached her bedroom door.

“Maya…” the voice called, but now it wasn’t from the phone. It was from just outside the door.

She whimpered, gripping the knife tighter. The door rattled violently as if someone was throwing their entire weight against it.

“Let me in, Maya,” the voice taunted. “We’re not done yet.”

The barricade held, but just barely. In a desperate bid, Maya threw open the window, the cool night air hitting her face. Her apartment was on the second floor, and the alley below was dark and littered with debris.

Another crash—the desk slid a few inches as the door splintered. Without thinking, Maya climbed out the window, holding onto the ledge. She glanced down, the ground seeming miles away.

With a scream, she let go, hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through her ankle, but she forced herself to stand. She hobbled toward the street, looking back only once.

In the window of her bedroom stood a figure, tall and shrouded in darkness, watching her.

She ran as fast as she could, her phone forgotten on the floor of the bedroom, still connected to the call.

The next morning, the police found her apartment empty, her belongings undisturbed. The only thing out of place was her phone, lying in the middle of the room, its screen shattered.

The call log showed a single outgoing call—to her own number.

Disclaimer:

This story, "The Shadow Caller:When the Phone Rings, Don’t Answer" is a work of fiction generated with the assistance of artificial intelligence. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or situations is purely coincidental. The content is created solely for entertainment and creative purposes.