Every Night at 3:17 AM, Something Calls My Name

I always thought that nights were quiet-peaceful-safe.

That belief ended the moment I started waking up at precisely 3:17 AM every single night because something was calling my name.

At first, I just told myself it wasn't anything. Half of a dream. My head was just playing tricks on me. People say that your brain can do some pretty weird things when it's fatigued, right? I wanted to believe that. I had to believe it.

But the voice didn’t sound like it was part of a dream.

It sounded real.

Clear.

And close.

The first night it happened, I woke up suddenly, heart racing, my sheets damp with sweat: the room was dark, silent, cold in a way that felt unnatural. I checked my phone; 3:17 AM glowed back at me. I sighed in relief, blaming a nightmare I couldn't remember.

Then I heard it.

My name.

It wasn't shouted. It wasn't whispered. It was spoken softly-almost gently-as if someone had been standing beside my bed.

I froze.

I am staying alone.

The apartment was small-one bedroom, one bathroom, a tiny kitchen. There was literally nowhere anyone could hide. Still, I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I stared into the darkness, waiting for footsteps, a laugh, anything that would prove I wasn't imagining things.

Nothing came.

By the morning, I was laughing it off-stress, I told myself, too much screen time in the evening, too many late nights. It won't happen again, I promised myself.

It did.

The next night.

And the following night.

Always 3:17 AM.

Always my name.

Sometimes, it sounded like a person that I know. Other times, it didn't. Sometimes, it felt male. Sometimes, female. Once, it sounded disturbingly like my own voice.

That was the night when fear truly invaded my chest.

I started recording my sleep. Every night, I placed my phone on the bedside table-microphone on-hoping to capture proof. If I heard it again, I wanted evidence-something tangible, something rational.

On the third recording, I found silence… until 3:17 AM.

There was a pause.

Then static.

Then a faint sound-not clear enough to understand, but clear enough to make my stomach twist. My name wasn't loud, but it was there. Stretched. Warped. As if spoken through water.

I didn’t sleep after that.

I scoured the net compulsively. Forums. Medical sites. Paranormal discussions. Some had linked it to stress-induced hallucinations. Others referred to hypnagogic phenomena-voices one hears between sleep and wakefulness.

Then I found postings I wished I had never read.

Stories told by strangers from all over the world.

People who woke up at the same time.

People who heard their names.

It is reported by people who claimed that after a while, the voice would start asking them to come closer.

Most of those accounts just stopped abruptly. No updates. No conclusions.

That frightened me more than the voice itself.

I tried changing my routine. Sleeping earlier. Sleeping later. Leaving the lights on. Playing music. Even sleeping with the TV on full volume. Nothing worked.

3:17 AM always arrived.

But the voice always followed.

One night, I finally answered.

I don't know why. Curiosity. Fear. Exhaustion. Maybe all three.

I then whispered into the darkness, "Who is there?" as it spoke my name again.

The silence which followed was thick with the stark sensation that the air itself was standing still, holding its breath.

Then the voice replied.

Not with my name.

But with words.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

My heart just felt like it had stopped. The voice wasn't in my head anymore; it came from somewhere-from the corner of my bedroom, from near the old closet I never used.

I slowly turned my head.

The closet door was open.

I could have sworn I closed it before sleeping.

Inside, it was just blackness-squarer, darker blackness than the rest of the room. It felt wrong, he thought, like looking into a place that wasn't meant to be seen.

Then the voice spoke again.

“Tomorrow night,” it said serenely, without passion, without interest, “you will understand.”

The clock on my phone flipped to 3:18 AM.

And for the first time in weeks, the voice didn’t return.

But I did not feel relieved. I felt chosen. And whatever was calling my name wasn’t done with me yet.