I Found a Phone in the Woods

I have an amazing short story for you people......

The phone was face down in the mud, its black casing streaked with dirt and water, as if it had been there for weeks.

Only it couldn’t have been — the screen was still glowing faintly.

I had been hiking alone for hours, following a trail I knew well, but this part of the woods felt… wrong. The air was damp and still, heavy with the smell of wet leaves and moss. I crouched down, brushed off the worst of the grime, and picked it up.

The glass was cracked into a spiderweb pattern, but it lit up at my touch.

No signal. No Wi-Fi.

Still, a message appeared across the top of the screen.

Unknown Number: Don’t look behind you.

I froze, my thumb hovering over the home button. The woods had gone completely silent. No wind. No birds. No rustling in the underbrush.

I scanned the trees anyway, my breath loud in my ears. Nothing.

Another message appeared.

Unknown Number: You’re not alone.

My stomach tightened.

This was a prank. It had to be. Someone must have dropped it here, waiting for me to find it. I told myself that, but my hands were slick with sweat.

I tapped the call icon and dialed 911.

The keypad lit up, but when I pressed the green button… nothing happened. The screen flickered, then flashed white, as if taking a photo.

A moment later, an image filled the display.

It was me. Standing exactly where I was now — same jacket, same tangled hair, same startled look on my face.

The timestamp said the photo had been taken two minutes in the future.

I glanced around again, heart pounding. I was sure I was alone. The trail was empty. No sign of other hikers.

The phone buzzed again, so violently I nearly dropped it. A third message appeared:

If you run, it will follow.

That was enough. I dropped the phone back where I’d found it and turned to leave. But when my boot hit the path, I stopped.

The phone was buzzing again — constant now, like it was vibrating itself into the dirt. Against my better judgment, I picked it up one more time.

A map was open on the screen. A red dot pulsed at the center — my location. But there was another dot, moving slowly toward mine from the north.

I stared as the second dot crept closer. Then, from somewhere deep in the trees, I heard it:

Crunch.

Crunch.

Footsteps.

I shoved the phone in my pocket and started walking fast, forcing myself not to break into a run. My pulse was a drumbeat in my head. Every few seconds I checked over my shoulder — still nothing.

When I reached a fork in the trail, I turned left. Then stopped. My phone — my actual phone — was in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out to call for help.

The screen was black. Dead battery.

Except… I’d charged it this morning.

The crunching was closer now. My breathing came fast and shallow. I pulled out the strange phone again, desperate to see where the second dot was.

Only there was no map anymore. Just a final message.

Turn around.

I didn’t want to. Every part of me screamed not to. But something in the way the letters glowed — faint and urgent — made me do it anyway.

The woods were empty.

At least, they looked empty.

Then I saw it.

A figure. Tall. Motionless. Standing between the trees in the fading light.

I blinked, and it was gone.

The phone slipped from my hand and landed in the mud. The screen went black.

And this time, it stayed that way.