One Call. Two Minutes. The Rest of My Life Changed.

I bought a secondhand phone last week. The screen was slightly cracked, the battery wasn't great, but it was cheap—and I needed something fast.

That night, it rang.

No caller ID. No ringtone, just a vibration that felt like a warning.

I didn’t answer.

Then came the voicemail.

A man’s voice. Frantic. Short of breath.

> “Dira, you don’t know me, but please listen carefully. You need to leave your apartment tomorrow night at 2 AM. Don’t ask why. Don’t try to figure it out. If you’re still there… they’ll come.”



I froze.

He said my name.

I played it again—but the voicemail was gone.

I searched the number, the call log. Nothing. Like it never happened.

The next day, I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was a prank.

But at 1:58 AM, I couldn’t sleep. The silence was too loud. So I grabbed my keys and stepped out, just to shake the nerves.

The elevator creaked down. As I reached the lobby, the power cut out.

Screams echoed from upstairs. Something heavy crashed. And then… a sound like claws dragging along the hallway walls.

I never went back to that apartment.

I moved. Changed numbers. Threw away the phone.

Yesterday, I got a new voicemail.

> “Thank you for listening. But we’re not done yet.”