My Ex Only Texts Me When Someone’s About to Die

I thought I blocked his number. I thought he was dead. But then the texts started again—just before people I love started dying.

1. The First Text Came at 3:14 AM

I remember the exact time because my phone lit up in the dark like a flare.

I groaned, half-asleep, rolled over, and blinked at the screen.

Jake: “Don’t let your mom go to work today.”

I sat upright.

Not because of what the message said.

But because Jake had been dead for eighteen months.

2. The Death I Didn’t Stop

My mother died that morning.

A drunk driver ran a red light. It was quick, the police said. Merciful. Instant. The kind of lie they tell you when there’s nothing merciful about losing the only parent you have left.

I stared at the text for hours, rereading it.

It came at 3:14 a.m.

The crash happened at 7:42 a.m.

I never responded.

I didn't even consider the possibility. I thought it was a cruel joke, a hacker, a glitch in the cloud.

Until the second text came.

3. “Don’t Let Him Board the Train.”

That one came six weeks later.

I was in Boston visiting my best friend, Marcus. We were laughing in his kitchen, half-drunk, talking about how badly we needed to take a break from work, from dating, from the city itself. He was heading into town the next morning to see his boyfriend. Taking the red line.

At 11:21 p.m., I got another text from Jake.

“Don’t let him board the train.”

I didn’t show Marcus. I didn’t even tell him. Because how could I?

I just said, “Hey, maybe Uber instead?”

He laughed. “Trying to save me from the subway rats?”

I said nothing. I wish I had.

Because the red line derailed that morning.

Marcus was in the second car.

They said he died on impact.

4. Jake, The Boy Who Vanished

We had broken up before he died.

And by “broken up,” I mean he ghosted me. He disappeared one day—no calls, no texts, nothing. Just… gone. His apartment had been emptied out. His phone disconnected. No social media.

I filed a missing persons report.

Three months later, they found a body in a ravine off Route 27. Burned beyond recognition. Dental records confirmed it was him. They said it looked like a suicide. The coroner’s report said he likely set the fire himself.

I never believed it. Jake wasn’t like that.

But then again, I didn’t really know him, did I? Not entirely.

5. When the Dead Reach Out

After Marcus, I couldn’t dismiss the messages anymore.

I dug out my old phone—the one I used when Jake and I were still together. The number wasn’t saved under any name. No profile photo. No record of it in my contact list. But the messages were there. Five in total.

One before my mom.

One before Marcus.

The three earlier ones were even more chilling.

“Don’t let her go on the boat.”

“Tell your uncle to take a different route.”

“Don’t pick up that unknown call.”

Each time, someone I knew had died within 24 hours of the message.

6. The Pattern

It was always a warning.

It always came a few hours before.

It was always short, cryptic, and from Jake’s number.

I started logging the dates, the times, the deaths. I even tried replying once.

Me: “Who is this?”

No answer.

Me: “Are you Jake?”

Nothing.

Me: “How are you texting me? You’re dead.”

Still silence.

Until the night I got a response.

7. “I’m Trying to Help.”

That’s all it said. Four words.

I sat on the floor of my apartment for what felt like hours, clutching the phone like it might explode. I read the message 200 times.

“I’m trying to help.”

I stared at his old pictures. His smile. The tattoo on his wrist. The one he got with me. A phrase in Latin: Memini ergo sum.

“I remember, therefore I am.”

It made no sense then.

It makes too much sense now.

8. The One I Saved

The first time I tried to act on a warning, it worked.

Jake: “Don’t let your neighbor go running tonight.”

It was 6:02 p.m.

Jenna, my neighbor, always jogged after work. Headphones in. Same route.

I knocked on her door, made up some lie about a stray dog roaming the area. She rolled her eyes but decided to stay in.

That night, a woman matching her description was attacked two blocks away.

Beaten. Left in the bushes.

She survived. Barely.

When I told Jenna the truth later, she just stared. She moved out two weeks later.

I never saw her again.

9. Am I a Messenger Now?

I started waiting for the messages.

Living around them.

Setting alarms at 3 a.m., checking my phone obsessively.

Sometimes they came once a week.

Sometimes not for months.

Sometimes I couldn’t save them.

Either I didn’t act fast enough—or I couldn’t find the person in time.

Like the one that read:

“The woman in red on 4th and Main. Noon.”

I got there at 12:03.

She was already on the ground.

10. The Night Everything Changed

The latest message didn’t follow the pattern.

“He’s coming for you next.”

No other context.

No name. No time. Just a warning.

It came at 2:17 a.m.

My blood turned to ice. I locked every door. Closed every window. Stayed up till sunrise. Nothing happened.

But I started seeing things.

A man standing across the street for too long.

A reflection in a mirror that didn’t match mine.

A voicemail full of static.

And then I got the second part of the message.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

11. Jake’s Death Was No Suicide

I requested the original police file. They hesitated at first—then relented.

Jake’s last location ping was from a gas station. He bought a lighter and three gallons of gas.

But the fingerprints on the canister? Not just his.

There was a partial match. Unknown.

Someone else was there.

And the ravine where they found him?

The ground showed signs of struggle. Broken fingernails. Bruised ribs. He hadn’t gone quietly.

He was murdered.

And somehow, his death turned him into… this.

A whisper across timelines. A thread between worlds. A warning that something—someone—was still out there.

12. The Final Message

Yesterday, I got another text.

“He knows you know.”

That’s it.

I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Every sound makes me jump.

Because I know now.

Jake was killed.

And his killer is still watching me.

The messages weren’t just about others.

They were leading to me.

Preparing me.

13. What You Need to Know

I’m sharing this now because if you’re reading it, and something happens to me—

Check my phone.

Look at the messages.

Find the numbers.

Find the warnings.

Because Jake isn’t just reaching out to me anymore.

I’ve seen new numbers appear.

New people getting texts.

From their own “Jakes.”

We’re messengers now.

Between the living and the dead.

And the thing that killed Jake?

It’s not done yet.