The Last Text

The rain tapped against the window like impatient fingers, the kind that drum on a table when someone is waiting for a reply. Ella checked her phone again—still nothing from Mark. He’d promised to call after his business trip, but three days had passed with only silence.

Then, at exactly 12:03 AM, her screen lit up.

You should have answered.

No sender. No number. Just those four words glowing in the dark.

Ella frowned. A wrong number, probably. Some drunk texting the wrong person.

She swiped it away.

Five minutes later, another buzz.

He won’t call you. He can’t.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button. Creepy, sure, but nothing worth panicking over. Still, something cold slithered down her spine.

She typed back: Who is this?

The reply was instant.

Look outside.

Ella’s breath hitched. The rational part of her brain screamed prank, but her body moved on its own, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek into the darkness.

The streetlamp flickered. A shadow shifted beneath it—too tall, too still.

Then, her phone buzzed again.

I see you.

She dropped the curtain, heart hammering. When she dared another glance, the figure was gone.

But on her phone, a new message waited.

You have until sunrise.

Ella called Mark’s number for the tenth time.

Straight to voicemail.

Desperate, she scrolled through their last texts. His final message, sent three days ago: Flight’s delayed. Love you.

But then she noticed something.

The timestamp.

Mark’s last text had been sent after his plane had already crashed.

The texts grew more frequent, more personal.

He’s here with me.

A photo followed—blurry, dark. A figure slumped in a chair.

Ella’s hands shook. She recognized the watch on the wrist. Mark’s watch.

She typed frantically: What do you want?

The reply came as dawn broke.

You.

Her phone died.

The door creaked open.

And then—silence.

A week later, Ella’s friend Jess found her phone on the kitchen counter. The screen was cracked, the battery dead. When Jess charged it, a single unread message waited.

Delivered.

The Lost Books - Libri Perditi

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