She Called Me From the Other Side

I never believed in ghosts. That was my sister Maya’s thing — spooky stories, horror movies, candles lit on stormy nights. I used to tease her for believing in the supernatural. But everything changed on the night I got the call.

It was 2:37 AM. I remember the exact time because I was wide awake, scrolling endlessly through social media, too anxious to sleep. Life hadn’t been easy lately. After losing Maya in a car accident a year ago, silence became my daily companion. My parents stopped talking much. I stopped living. The world had moved on, but I was stuck in that single, horrible moment.

Then my phone rang.

At first, I ignored it. Who calls at that time? I assumed it was some spam or wrong number. But then I saw the name flashing across the screen.

Maya.

My heart stopped. I stared at the screen, paralyzed. It couldn’t be her. It shouldn’t be her.

Yet, I picked up.

The line crackled with static. Then, her voice.

“Hey... it’s me.”

I froze. It was Maya. Her soft, teasing tone, the way she always spoke when she was hiding something. It was unmistakable.

“This can’t be real,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, her voice cutting in and out like a distant radio signal. “You have to go to the lakehouse. Today. Check under the floorboard in the living room. Please, promise me.”

Then, silence.

The call ended.

I stared at the screen, numb. The call log showed no incoming call. No number. As if it had never happened.

Was I dreaming? Hallucinating from lack of sleep and grief?

But something inside me shifted. I felt... pulled. I remembered the lakehouse. It belonged to our grandparents. We hadn’t been there in years. Last time we visited, Maya and I were kids, playing hide and seek in the dusty old rooms, chasing fireflies in the backyard. That house held secrets—now I was sure of it.

Despite how insane it sounded, I drove there early that morning. The place looked abandoned, overgrown with vines and shadows of the past. As I stepped inside, the air was thick with the scent of dust, pine, and forgotten memories.

I walked straight to the living room. The floor creaked under my feet. My hands trembled as I began tapping and checking for loose boards.

Then I found one.

I pried it open with a pocketknife. Beneath it was a small metal box wrapped in an old, worn-out scarf. Inside were faded Polaroids, a silver locket… and a folded letter. The handwriting made my breath hitch.

It was Maya’s.

---

“Dear Ayaan,

If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it. I found something—something dangerous. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. But you deserve to know.”

The letter revealed a family secret that chilled me to the bone.

Maya had discovered that our uncle had been involved in some illegal business. Money laundering, threats, even suspected links to people who’d mysteriously vanished. Maya had overheard things, found documents, even took photos. She had hidden everything at the lakehouse, scared that confronting him might cost her life.

Her death hadn’t been an accident.

Tears streamed down my face as I clutched the letter. Beneath the heartbreak, I felt rage and a deep, aching guilt. She had tried to protect us, and it had cost her everything.

But even in death, Maya wasn’t done fighting.

She had reached out to me — across time, across life and death — to finish what she couldn’t. And I would.

I turned everything over to the police. At first, they didn’t believe me. But after weeks of pressure, evidence from the box, and a reopened investigation, our uncle was arrested. His entire network began to unravel. Maya had been right all along.

But I never got another call.

Just that one night. That one message. Her voice… carried by something I still don’t understand.

Now, I don’t mock those who believe in spirits. I don't laugh at ghost stories.

Because I lived one.

And I know that sometimes, love refuses to die — even when the body does.