The Call Lasted for Thirteen Seconds

I wasn’t supposed to answer the phone.

It was 2:13 a.m. I was alone in the apartment, lights off, laptop closed, and every part of me convinced the ringing was a dream.

It wasn’t.

The old rotary phone — the one nailed into the wall for aesthetics — was ringing.

That phone wasn’t even connected.

I stared at it for maybe five seconds before I stood up.

It rang again.

The sound didn’t echo like a normal ring. It was flat. Dead. As though it came from under the floorboards.

I picked it up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end wasn’t mine, but it knew mine.

It spoke like someone remembering a secret.

“You die in thirteen seconds.”

No emotion. Just certainty.

I didn’t recognize the voice. Male. Calm. Young.

The call ended.

Click.

I stared at the receiver, heartbeat pounding. The room felt colder.

Then I heard my phone buzz.

A text.

[2:16]: UNKNOWN — “Check the hallway.”

I turned. The hallway light was off. It had been on five minutes ago.

I live alone.

I opened the door slowly.

The hallway outside my apartment was empty — just peeling paint, flickering overhead bulbs, and the hum of silence.

Then something moved.

Far end. Just behind the corner.

A shadow.

Too tall. Too still.

I shut the door.

Locked it.

Put a chair under the knob just to be sure.

When I turned around, every light in the apartment was off.

I didn’t flip them. They just... died.

Then my phone lit up again.

Another text.

[2:17]: UNKNOWN — “Twelve.”

Twelve what?

The voice had said I’d die in thirteen seconds.

The next message came exactly one minute later.

I waited.

At [2:18], another buzz.

“Eleven.”

panic struck me like lightning.

I grabbed my jacket and keys and ran for the door.

When I opened it, the hallway was gone.

I don’t mean empty.

I mean gone.

Just black space. Endless, quiet, heavy like a vacuum. The kind of black that eats sound.

My doorframe led to nowhere.

Another buzz.

[2:19]: UNKNOWN — “Ten.”

I threw my phone across the room.

It landed face-up. Buzzed again.

“Nine.”

I rushed to the window.

Six stories up. Streetlight below flickered weakly.

I pried it open. Cold wind hit me.

Then I saw it.

A man. Standing on the sidewalk. Directly under my window. Wearing my jacket. My shoes.

He looked up at me.

He smiled.

My phone buzzed again.

“Eight.”

The man on the street moved.

I mean—I moved. Because he looked like me.

Exactly like me.

Same scar under the right eye. Same chipped tooth.

I shouted.

He raised his hand and waved.

I slammed the window shut.

Backed away.

The power came on all at once — every light flickering to life with a low electric groan.

I ran to the phone on the wall.

Still disconnected. Still warm from where I’d held it.

I picked it up.

No dial tone.

Only breathing.

Mine?

No. Slower. Hungrier.

Then the voice returned.

“Seven seconds left.”

I screamed into the receiver. “WHO ARE YOU?!”

The line crackled.

“I’m what answers when you pick up a call that wasn’t meant for you.”

“I’m who fills the silence when you speak to the wrong night.”

“I’m the echo. And I’m coming home.”

The power went out again.

My phone buzzed.

[2:23]: “Six.”

[2:24]: “Five.”

I closed my eyes. Breathed hard. Tried to center myself.

But there it was — the hum again. Like the old rotary tone. Rising behind the walls. Like it was inside them.

The building was breathing.

[2:25]: “Four.”

I grabbed a knife from the kitchen.

Turned on the flashlight.

Tried the hallway again.

This time, it was there — the corridor I remembered. Still. Dim. But not gone.

I ran.

Past Mrs. Delaney’s door.

Past the elevator.

Down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

[2:26]: “Three.”

I reached the lobby.

Everything was wrong.

The security desk had no chair. The mirror was shattered. The exit door was covered in chains I’d never seen before.

There were shapes behind the glass.

Not people.

Watching.

[2:27]: “Two.”

My phone vibrated again.

I didn’t check it.

I knew what it would say.

“One.”

I stood in the middle of the lobby.

Alone.

Then the front door opened by itself.

A man walked in.

Not the one from the street.

This one was older.

Grey coat. Hat. No face.

Where it should’ve been was just a smooth stretch of skin, like a painting left unfinished.

He held out a rotary phone.

It wasn’t connected.

I didn’t take it.

But I heard it ring.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

I couldn’t help it.

I reached for it.

My fingers brushed the receiver.

And the world reset.

My apartment.

2:13 a.m.

Lights off.

Laptop closed.

And the phone on the wall... ringing.

This time, I don’t answer it.

But someone else will.