"I Found a Phone in the Woods... What I Saw Changed Everything"

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon when I decided to go for a walk in the woods near my house. I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. I wasn’t looking for adventure. I just needed to clear my head. Life had been overwhelming lately — work, relationships, the endless noise of social media. The forest was my escape, my reset button.

The trail was familiar. I had walked it countless times before. But that day felt... different.

There was a strange stillness in the air. No birds, no rustling leaves. Just silence. The kind of silence that makes you feel like you're being watched. I shrugged it off and kept walking, telling myself I was overthinking. But about twenty minutes in, I noticed something out of place — a faint glint of light reflecting off something half-buried in the dirt under a tree.

I knelt down and brushed away the leaves.

It was a phone.

An iPhone. Newer model, silver edges, slightly cracked screen.

No case. No ID. No signs of how it got there.

Curiosity kicked in. I pressed the power button.

To my surprise, it turned on immediately.

No lock screen. No password. It just opened directly to the home screen — or what should have been the home screen. But it was blank. No apps, no widgets, no background. Just a single notification from WhatsApp.

“1 new message from: DO NOT OPEN CAMERA.”

I stared at it, confused. Was this some kind of prank?

I opened WhatsApp.

There was only one conversation. No texts. Just a single voice message — ten seconds long.

I hesitated, then pressed play.

A deep, distorted voice said:

“If you’ve found this phone, it’s already watching. Do NOT open the camera. Leave now.”

Goosebumps shot up my arms. What the hell was this?

Naturally, I did the one thing the message told me not to do.

I opened the camera.

And that’s when things got truly strange.

Instead of showing my face or my surroundings, the screen showed a dim, flickering room. A single chair in the middle. A man sat in it. Pale, motionless, staring directly into the lens — or was it at me?

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t speak.

But I could feel it — he knew I was watching.

Then the screen glitched.

A loud screech. Static.

And then… black.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. I thought the phone had died. But then a new notification appeared.

“YOU’VE BEEN SELECTED. RETURN TO THIS LOCATION — 3:00 AM.”

I dropped the phone in shock, stumbling back. My heart was racing.

What did that even mean? Selected for what?

I looked around. Still no signs of anyone. No footprints. No cameras. Just me and the trees.

I picked the phone back up, but this time it was completely dead. No matter what I tried — holding buttons, plugging it into my portable charger — nothing worked.

Still shaken, I shoved it in my backpack and left the forest as fast as I could.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept replaying the image of that man. His eyes. The voice in the message. The notification.

“Return to this location — 3:00 AM.”

It felt like a warning… or an invitation.

And the worst part? A part of me wanted to go back.

Something deep inside told me this was more than just a prank.

This was something else.

At 2:30 AM, I grabbed a flashlight, the phone, and a jacket, and headed back into the forest.

The night was colder than I expected. Every step I took echoed louder than it should’ve. By the time I reached the spot where I found the phone, it was 2:59 AM.

I stood there, heart pounding, waiting.

Then — without me touching it — the phone powered on.

The camera app opened by itself.

And the screen once again showed that dim room… but this time, the man wasn’t sitting.

He was standing.

Closer. Still staring.

Then he pointed — not at the camera, but at me.

The phone vibrated.

Another message appeared:

“TURN AROUND.”

I froze. My flashlight flickered. My breath caught in my throat.

I turned slowly.

There was nothing there.

Just trees. Fog. Darkness.

But then I heard it — a faint whisper, like wind through leaves, only it was saying something. My name.

The phone slipped from my hand and hit the ground, still lit. When I picked it up again, the camera showed a live view of me, standing in the woods, but from above, like someone was watching from the trees.

Then the screen glitched again — and this time it showed a countdown.

00:59… 00:58… 00:57…

I didn’t wait to see what would happen at zero.

I ran.

All the way home. I didn’t look back.

The phone hasn’t turned on since.

I’ve tried everything — new chargers, tech experts, even the Apple Store. Nothing. They say the phone doesn’t exist in their system. No serial number, no IMEI, nothing.

But I still have it. And sometimes, late at night, I think I hear it vibrating. I check, but the screen is always black.

I haven’t gone back to the woods since that night.

And I never will.

But there’s one thing I haven’t told anyone — something I haven’t dared to say out loud.

Every night, at exactly 3:00 AM, I hear footsteps outside my window.

They stop right beneath it.

Then they wait.

And I know, deep down… one day, they’ll knock.