The Last Message

Emily had always been skeptical about the old abandoned house at the end of Willow Street. Stories of strange noises, ghostly figures, and people disappearing had circulated for decades, but Emily never believed them. That was until she received the text.

It came on a rainy Thursday evening, just as she was scrolling through her phone, bored and looking for something to distract her from her loneliness. The message was from an unknown number.

“Don’t come to the house.”

She frowned, assuming it was a prank. But curiosity gnawed at her. The house had been empty for years, its windows shattered, doors hanging off their hinges. Yet tonight, something felt different.

Unable to resist, Emily grabbed her flashlight and headed out, rain pelting her as she walked the cracked sidewalk toward the infamous house. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows that twisted with the wind.

As she reached the rusty gate, it creaked open on its own. Heart pounding, Emily stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood and decay. Her flashlight beam danced over peeling wallpaper and broken furniture.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed again.

“Get out now.”

She swallowed hard. Was someone else here? She spun around but saw nothing but darkness.

Then, a whisper—barely audible—brushed past her ear.

“Help me…”

Emily froze. Her mind raced, but she told herself it was the wind playing tricks. She forced her legs to move forward, deeper into the house.

On the second floor, the hallway was lined with old portraits, their eyes seeming to follow her. The whisper came again, this time clearer.

“Please… don’t forget me.”

She reached a door at the end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, a faint light flickering inside. Pushing it open, Emily found a small room with an old rotary phone sitting on a dusty table. The phone suddenly rang.

Shocked, she picked up. A crackling voice whispered, “You shouldn’t be here.”

The line went dead.

Her phone buzzed once more.

“I’m trapped.”

Panic surged through her veins. She ran down the stairs, but the front door slammed shut and locked itself. Her flashlight flickered and died, leaving her in complete darkness.

Then she saw it—a shadowy figure standing at the top of the stairs, eyes glowing faintly.

“You heard me,” it said, voice hollow. “Now, you’re part of the house.”

Emily screamed, but no sound escaped. Her phone slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

The next morning, neighbors found the house quiet again. But Emily was never seen. Her phone was discovered on the porch, the last message still on the screen:

“Don’t come to the house.”