Ghost in the Group Chat

Ghost in the Group Chat

The notification tone pinged just as the group chat fell into one of its usual awkward silences. For the past year, the five of them—Maya, Chris, Jordan, Leah, and Sam—had struggled to keep the thread alive. The group used to be constant noise: memes, late-night rants, pictures of half-eaten pizza. But ever since Alex’s accident, the chat felt like a hollow shell of what it once was.

No one had the courage to remove Alex from the group. His name still sat there in faded gray letters: Alex (last seen one year ago). His profile picture—grinning wide in a ridiculous dinosaur onesie—watched over them every time they scrolled.

So when the phone buzzed and Maya saw the name lighting up the screen, her heart nearly stopped.

Alex: “Hey, guys.”

The air seemed to go still. Maya’s throat tightened as she stared at her phone. She waited, thinking it must be some kind of glitch. But then another bubble appeared.

Alex: “It’s been a while.”

Her hands shook as she typed.

Maya: “Who is this? This isn’t funny.”

Within seconds, everyone else appeared.

Chris: “Yo what the hell??”

Leah: “Not cool. Whoever hacked his account, stop.”

Jordan: “Maya’s right. Delete this number.”

But the messages kept coming.

Alex: “I miss our late-night calls. I miss when we laughed about stupid stuff. You guys still go to the old café?”

Leah threw her phone down, refusing to read more. Chris swore he felt cold air sweep through his apartment. Maya, trembling, whispered Alex’s name into the empty room as if he might answer.

The texts didn’t stop. Every night around midnight, another message would appear. Sometimes it was just a line—inside jokes only Alex would know. Other times, it was more.

Alex: “Remember the cabin trip? The dare game?”

Alex: “Maya, you cried when you thought the raccoon was a bear.”

Alex: “I never told you guys something…”

At first, they tried to rationalize it. Maybe someone stole his phone. Maybe it was synced somehow, still connected to the cloud. But Alex’s phone had been destroyed in the crash. His parents had held it in their hands at the hospital—shattered beyond repair.

And no hacker could have known those details. The cabin trip had never been posted online.

One Friday night, unable to stand it anymore, they decided to meet in person. The old café was nearly empty, its yellow lights buzzing faintly. They sat at their usual booth, the space where Alex always took the middle seat.

“This has to stop,” Leah said, her eyes red. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“What if…” Maya’s voice cracked. “What if it is him?”

Chris slammed his hand against the table. “No. Don’t start with that. Ghosts don’t text, Maya.”

But just then, their phones buzzed in unison. They froze, and slowly lifted them.

Alex: “Look behind you.”

The café door creaked open. No one was there. Just the faint sound of wind. Leah whispered, “Okay, I’m done,” and stood up, grabbing her coat. But Jordan’s hands were trembling as he held up his screen.

“There’s something weird,” he said. “I went back through the messages. They’re not coming from Alex’s old number. Look.”

He tilted the phone toward them. The contact info listed the sender as an unrecognizable string of digits, not tied to any real phone.

That night, Maya couldn’t sleep. She sat with her laptop, scrolling back through months of unread conversations, trying to piece it together. At 12:07 a.m., another message came through.

Alex: “Maya. Don’t be scared. Please listen.”

Her heart raced. She typed, “What do you want from us?”*

The reply came instantly.

Alex: “I never left. Check the drive.”

She frowned. The drive?

Then it hit her. Alex had always been the tech guy, the one who stored everything—photos, videos, notes—on his cloud drive. Maya pulled up the old shared link Alex once sent. She hadn’t opened it in over a year.

Inside was a new folder. Timestamp: two days ago.

Folder Name: “Truth.”

Her hands shook as she clicked. Dozens of voice memos appeared. She clicked the first one. Static filled the speakers, then Alex’s voice broke through, raw and tired.

“If you’re hearing this, it means they never found out what happened. It wasn’t an accident. Someone ran me off the road.”

Maya’s breath caught. She clicked another file.

“I know who it was. I saw the truck. I wrote down the plate number. If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll tell the truth.”

Her fingers went numb. She scrolled faster. At the very bottom of the folder was an image file. It was a photograph of a notepad, Alex’s messy handwriting scrawled across the page.

A license plate number.

The next day, Maya called the group together. With shaking hands, she showed them the files. Silence fell over the table as they listened to Alex’s voice again and again, the reality sinking in.

Chris whispered, “He’s not haunting us. He’s… begging us.”

Jordan nodded slowly. “The texts weren’t random. They were leading us here.”

Leah was pale, her eyes brimming with tears. “He wanted us to finish what he couldn’t.”

Maya gripped the phone tightly, Alex’s last words still ringing in her ears.

The ghost in the group chat wasn’t just a memory. It was justice, waiting to be set free.

And now, it was in their hands.