The Killer Call

In the isolated town of Applegate Estates on Old Hwy 90, Jaclyn lived in a house so old it seemed to groan in protest every time the wind blew. Her days were simple and quiet until a new smartphone arrived at her doorstep, sleek and black, inside an unmarked package. She hadn’t ordered it, but there it was—gleaming, far more advanced than anything she’d seen. Thinking it might have been a gift, Jaclyn powered it on.

From that moment, nothing in her life was right.

The phone had quirks—its screen flickered with static when she wasn’t using it, and it sometimes turned on by itself, emitting a low, mechanical hum. At night, the glow from the screen would catch her eye, casting strange, warped shadows across the room that seemed to stretch and twist in unnatural ways. It made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

One night, deep into sleep, Jaclyn was ripped awake by the sound of her phone vibrating violently on the nightstand, louder than it should’ve been. The screen was pulsing a sickly green, the glow sharp enough to hurt her eyes. She reached for it, blinking away the grogginess.

The phone displayed a single message, with no name or number:

“ANSWER ME.”

Her heart began to race. No one had her number. She hesitated, staring at the message. The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time, as if the device itself was impatient. Against her better judgment, Jaclyn swiped her finger across the screen and answered.

The line was dead, no sound but a faint crackling static. She was about to hang up when a voice spoke, low and distorted, as if it had crawled up from the depths of the phone.

“I’ve been watching,” it said, each word oozing through the static, dripping with menace.

Jaclyn’s blood ran cold. “Who…who are you?” she stammered, her voice shaking.

“You know me,” the voice rasped. “And tonight, I’m coming for you.”

Panicking, she threw the phone onto the bed and backed away. The room felt colder, and an oppressive weight pressed down on her chest. The shadows cast by the phone's eerie light twisted into jagged shapes that crawled up the walls like skeletal fingers.

The phone buzzed again. This time, the screen showed a new message: “TONIGHT, YOU’LL SCREAM.”

Jaclyn’s hands shook as she tried to turn the phone off, but the screen refused to go dark. The battery wouldn’t come out. She hurled it across the room in terror, but the phone didn’t stop—it began to vibrate and spin on the floor, moving of its own accord, like something possessed.

Her breathing quickened as she scrambled for the door, but the knob wouldn’t turn. It was stuck, as if the whole house was holding her captive. The phone, now glowing a sickly green, began to hover in the air, floating toward her, buzzing louder and louder, filling the room with a deafening hum. Her heart pounded in her ears as the voice returned, this time clearer, crueler, and far too close.

“I’m already inside.”

Her body seized up, an icy cold wrapping around her limbs. She tried to scream, but her voice was strangled by invisible hands gripping her throat. The phone pulsed again, and the glow intensified, casting long shadows that danced grotesquely on the walls.

Suddenly, Jaclyn’s body jerked forward, as if yanked by some unseen force. Her reflection appeared on the phone’s screen—her own face, twisted and grotesque, eyes wide with terror, though she hadn’t moved. The distorted version of herself began to smile, its lips pulling back into a grin far too wide for a human face.

Pain shot through her chest, sharp and overwhelming, as her limbs jerked against her will. Her hands clawed at her throat, her legs buckling beneath her as the room spun. The phone buzzed louder, the screen flashing more violently, and the shadows seemed to thicken, closing in around her like the walls themselves were alive.

Jaclyn collapsed to the floor, her vision blurring as she struggled to breathe. In the corner of her eye, she saw the phone’s screen flicker one last time, displaying a final message before the light consumed her.

“YOU’RE MINE NOW.”

The next morning, her body was found slumped against the wall, her eyes wide open, staring into the void. Her face was frozen in an expression of unspeakable terror, her mouth twisted into a scream that had never escaped. Beside her lay the phone, its screen cracked but still glowing faintly, the light flickering like a dying star.

There were no signs of forced entry, no physical wounds. The coroner couldn’t explain what had happened to Jaclyn—her heart had simply stopped, as if something had drained the life from her. The only thing left was that shattered phone, which now hummed quietly in the evidence locker.

That night, it rang again.

The detective who answered it heard a voice—low, broken by static, yet unmistakably sinister.

“I’m still watching.”

And the phone, waiting patiently, would soon ring for another.