The Last Call

It started with a ring.

12:01 a.m., precisely.

Elena Moore had been asleep for barely an hour when the shrill sound of her old landline jolted her upright. She blinked at the red digits glowing on her bedside clock. Who called at this hour? No one used the landline anymore—except spammers or the occasional wrong number.

Still groggy, she answered.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then, a whisper.

“Elena…”

Her heart skipped. “Who is this?”

But the line was dead.

She sat there, phone pressed to her ear, listening to the quiet buzz. There was something haunting in the way her name had been said—familiar, sorrowful, and heavy with unspoken meaning.

The next night, it happened again.

12:01 a.m.

“Elena…” the same whisper, barely audible.

This time, she didn’t hang up. “What do you want? Why are you calling me?”

Again, silence. Then static. Then a click.

The third night, Elena unplugged the phone. But at 12:01 a.m., her cell rang.

Unknown number.

She nearly dropped it. This wasn’t coincidence.

“Elena…”

The same voice. But something had changed in the tone—urgency.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Who are you?”

“Don’t trust him,” the whisper came. “He’s lying.”

Before she could ask who, the line went dead again.

Elena didn’t sleep that night. The voice haunted her—soft, broken, but unmistakably real. It felt like someone was trying to tell her something important. Something dangerous.

She went to the police the next morning, but they dismissed it as a prank. Maybe someone using a voice modulator. No threats, no crime.

But Elena knew better. The voice stirred memories—things she’d buried long ago.

Twelve years ago, her sister Rachel vanished without a trace. No leads, no suspects. Only a frantic phone call the night she disappeared.

A whisper.

“Elena…”

Back then, she’d thought she’d imagined it. But now—now she was sure. The voice belonged to Rachel.

Desperate for answers, Elena dug through old records, police reports, and phone logs. Most of it led nowhere. But then she found something odd.

A number that had dialed their house the night Rachel went missing. Traced back to a cabin on the edge of Black Hollow Woods, just outside town.

The cabin had belonged to Daniel Cross—Rachel’s boyfriend at the time. He claimed he hadn’t seen her that night. The police questioned him, but never charged him.

Elena remembered his charm, his calm demeanor during the investigation, and how he seemed too perfect, too unaffected.

She decided to visit the cabin.

It was abandoned now, sagging and overgrown. Inside, dust coated every surface, but nothing looked disturbed—except for a drawer in the back room, left slightly ajar.

Inside it, she found a box. Tapes. Cassette recordings, each labeled with a date. She recognized the last one—October 12, 2013—the day Rachel disappeared.

Her hands trembled as she played it on an old recorder she’d found nearby.

Static. Then a voice.

Rachel’s.

“If anything happens to me, it’s Daniel. He’s not who he says he is. He found out I knew. Please, if you hear this, tell Elena—don’t let him get away with it.”

The tape ended with a muffled scream.

Elena fell to her knees.

The whispering calls, the messages—they were Rachel, reaching out somehow, urging her to uncover the truth.

She returned to town and went straight to the police with the tape. This time, they listened.

Daniel Cross was arrested two days later. In his storage unit, they found more tapes, diaries, even Rachel’s locket. Enough evidence to convict him.

The trial was swift. The town was stunned. For years, Daniel had been a respected figure, a community volunteer, even ran for city council. But beneath the surface was a monster.

Rachel’s case was finally closed.

But the calls didn’t stop.

At 12:01 a.m., Elena’s phone rang one last time.

She answered.

“Elena…” the voice was softer now, peaceful.

“Rachel,” she whispered. “I know. I did it. He’s gone. You’re safe now.”

There was silence. Then one final word:

“Thank you.”

The line went dead. Forever this time.

Elena placed the phone down, tears streaming down her face—not of fear, but of release. She’d carried guilt for years, thinking she hadn’t done enough. But Rachel had known she’d come.

In the quiet of the night, Elena looked to the stars and whispered back.

“You’re not alone anymore.”