The Last Message

It was 2:17 AM when Lily’s phone buzzed on her nightstand. She groaned, rolling over, expecting another spam message or maybe an accidental late-night text. She squinted at the glowing screen.

“Don’t answer the door.”

The message was from Nina — her best friend since college. Strange. Lily sat up, the sheets falling from her shoulders. A chill passed through her, not from the cold, but from something else. Uncertainty. Fear.

Before she could even type out a reply, her doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her apartment was on the fifth floor of a secure building. The front door had a buzzer, and she hadn’t heard it. No one could just walk up and knock.

Her phone buzzed again.

“No matter what, don’t open it.”

Now her breath quickened. She turned on the lamp and stared at her phone, her fingers hovering above the screen.

She called Nina. No answer.

Again, the doorbell rang. But this time, longer… slower. As if whoever was on the other side wasn’t in a rush.

Lily stood, tiptoeing toward the front door. She didn’t make a sound. Every creak of the floor felt like thunder in the silence.

She peeked through the peephole.

Nobody.

Her phone buzzed again.

“I’m not sending these messages.”

Lily stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest. Her mouth went dry.

Her fingers trembled as she typed:

“Nina? What’s going on? Where are you?”

The typing dots appeared for a moment — then vanished.

And then the door handle turned.

Just a little.

She jumped back. The sound was slow, deliberate.

She ran to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife she owned. She didn’t care if she looked paranoid. Something was wrong.

She dialed 911.

The operator answered calmly. “911, what’s your emergency?”

Lily tried to speak but only breath came out at first.

“There’s someone at my door,” she finally managed. “They’re trying to get in. My friend—she’s texting me—but she says she isn’t. Something’s wrong.”

“Ma’am, what’s your address?”

She gave it quickly.

“Police are on their way. Stay on the line.”

Another message came through.

“He’s already inside.”

Lily dropped the phone.

Her body turned cold. Her breathing became shallow.

The apartment was small. One bedroom. One bathroom. Kitchen and living area all in one. She could see everything from where she stood.

Or so she thought.

She checked every door. Every corner. Nothing.

She tried Nina again. No answer.

The operator’s voice came from the floor. “Ma’am? Are you safe? Stay with me.”

Lily picked the phone up and whispered, “I’m alone. But… it said he’s already inside.”

She closed every door, locked every window again. Just in case.

Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds. Time didn’t feel real anymore.

Then the TV turned on.

Full volume.

Static.

She screamed.

The remote sat untouched on the couch.

She ran to turn it off. And there, written in the dust on the screen:

“You looked away.”

She stumbled back, knocking over a lamp. Her pulse was racing so fast she felt faint.

A loud bang came from the bathroom door.

I didn’t check the bathroom, she realized. I didn’t open the shower curtain.

Knife in hand, she slowly made her way to the bathroom. Each step was heavier than the last.

The door creaked open.

Silence.

She flipped on the light.

Everything was in place. Towels folded. Mirror foggy from her earlier shower. Nothing out of place.

But the curtain was drawn.

Her heart told her to run. Her gut begged her to call someone, to wait for the police.

But something pulled her forward.

She grabbed the curtain and yanked it open.

Nothing.

No one.

She laughed nervously, almost crying from the tension.

And then—behind her—a voice whispered:

“Too late.”

The lights cut out.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

---

Lily woke up to police officers standing above her. Flashlights scanned the room.

She was lying on the living room floor. The knife still in her hand. The front door wide open.

She was alive.

But something was different.

One officer leaned down. “Ma’am, we found no one inside. No signs of forced entry.”

“But I saw…” Her voice cracked. “There were messages. My friend, Nina—check the messages!”

They took her phone.

Only the call to 911 remained.

No messages. No texts. Not even Nina’s contact.

“It’s gone,” one officer said. “There’s nothing here.”

They helped her to her feet.

“What about the TV?” she asked. “The writing?”

Clean. Not a speck of dust.

Lily tried to explain everything, but it sounded insane even to her own ears.

They offered to escort her to a friend’s place. She declined.

Instead, she called Nina again.

This time, Nina answered.

“Lily? It’s 3 AM. What’s wrong?”

“I—” Lily paused. “You didn’t text me tonight?”

“No. Why? Are you okay?”

Lily didn’t know how to answer.

She hung up. Locked her doors. Sat in the center of her living room, staring at the silent TV.

Then, as if mocking her sanity, one final message appeared on the screen:

> “Now you believe me.”