The Midnight Caller – Part Two

The Echo in the Trees**

Ravenwood woke slowly, as it always did. Morning sunlight spilled across the rooftops, warming the quiet streets and breaking through the thin November frost. But beneath that gentle stillness, the town buzzed with a nervous electricity. Rumors spread faster than truth ever could.

By noon, everyone knew Liam Graves had been found unconscious in the woods.

And everyone whispered the same thing:

The Midnight Caller was back.

Liam sat on the edge of his hospital bed, fingers tapping rhythmically against the white mask resting in his lap. He hadn’t spoken much since waking. Doctors said he was in shock. His mother hovered nearby, whispering reassurances he barely heard. The events of the night blurred inside his mind, forming a tangled mess of shadows, footsteps, and that voice—playful, cold, and too close.

Officer Mara Collins stepped into the room, her expression calm but her eyes sharp. She was new to Ravenwood, having moved there only a few years earlier. She didn’t grow up with the stories. She didn’t fear them—yet.

“Liam,” she said softly, pulling a chair beside him, “we need to talk about last night.”

Liam lifted the mask slightly, as if showing her proof he wished he couldn’t hold. “He was in my house,” he whispered. “He touched my shoulder. He followed me. He knew things he shouldn’t know.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Liam shook his head, then hesitated. “He… he told me to run.”

Officer Collins leaned forward. “Why didn’t he hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” Liam said. “He wanted me awake. Aware. Like this is some kind of… test.”

His mother shuddered, turning away. Officer Collins placed a reassuring hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’re not leaving you alone. I promise you that.”

But promises, Liam knew, meant nothing to something like the Caller.


---

That evening, Ravenwood’s sky darkened earlier than usual, as if the town itself feared the night. Clouds drifted low, swallowing the moon. Every lamp post hummed faintly, each flicker making residents glance nervously over their shoulders.

Liam was released from the hospital under strict police watch. Officer Collins personally drove him home, though Liam kept his eyes fixed on the forest they passed. Every branch looked like a hand. Every shadow looked alive.

“You said he never touched you,” Officer Collins said. “No scratches, no bruises. Are you sure that’s everything?”

Liam nodded, hugging the mask tighter. “He wanted me to wake up. I think he wants Ravenwood to wake up too.”

“What does that mean?”

Liam didn’t answer, because he didn’t know.

But the woods did.


---

When they pulled into his driveway, the house looked different. Not physically—just wrong. The curtains were drawn though his mother had left them open earlier. The porch light flickered with the same faint heartbeat he recognized from last night.

Two officers waited inside, having swept the house in advance. They assured Liam everything was safe.

Safe.

The word felt empty.

Liam walked upstairs alone, gripping the mask like a shield. His bedroom door creaked softly when he pushed it open. His posters, books, and unmade bed were exactly as he’d left them—normal, familiar.

But normal no longer felt real.

He sat on the bed and stared at the mask. The cracked surface seemed deeper now, the fissures spidering like veins.

You hide. I seek.

A shiver crept down his spine.

Downstairs, voices murmured. Officer Collins, his mother, and the patrol officers were discussing security measures. Cameras. Alarms. Motion lights. The Midnight Caller had lived in stories for decades—no police force had ever caught him. Some believed it was always a copycat. Others believed something darker passed from one generation to the next.

A curse. A legacy. A game.

Liam lay back on his pillow, exhaustion weighing him down. Slowly, his eyes closed.

The last thing he heard before slipping into sleep was the hallway light clicking off by itself.


---

He dreamt of the woods.

Branches clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers. The wind carried whispers—layered, overlapping, all speaking the same word:

Run.

A figure stood at the edge of the clearing. White mask. Black hood. Still as stone. Liam tried to speak, to move, to breathe, but the world around him froze.

Then the figure tilted its head slowly, deliberately, as though curious.

The voice seeped out of the darkness.

“Why did you stop running, Liam?”

Liam tried to shout, “What do you want from me?” but no sound left his mouth.

The Caller stepped forward. One step. Two. The ground trembled beneath each movement.

“You’re listening now,” the Caller whispered. “Good.”

The figure reached up, touching the cracked mask with one gloved finger.

“This time,” the Caller said, “you’ll understand.”

The world shattered into darkness—

—and Liam woke gasping.

His room was pitch black.

The power was out.

He sat up slowly, heart thudding so violently he could hear it in his ears. Somewhere in the house, a door creaked open. Not his mother’s room. Not the bathroom.

The basement.

Soft footsteps followed.

Liam crawled out of bed, moving silently across the floor. He reached for his phone—dead. He grabbed the flashlight from his dresser and flicked it on. A dim beam cut through the dark.

He opened his door and stepped into the hallway.

Halfway down the stairs, Officer Collins appeared, flashlight in hand, gun drawn.

“Liam?” she whispered. “Stay behind me.”

“My phone’s dead,” he murmured.

“Power outage,” she said. “But the basement door opened by itself.”

No wind could have done that.

They descended the stairs together.

The living room was silent, lit only by their beams. One officer stood near the kitchen, tense.

“Basement’s open,” he said. “We didn’t open it.”

Collins nodded, signaling him to stay behind Liam and cover the rear.

They reached the basement door.

It was wide open.

A soft creaking echoed from below—as if someone were swaying back and forth, gently brushing against boxes or pipes.

Officer Collins began down the steps, gun raised.

“Police!” she called. “If someone is down here, identify yourself now.”

Silence.

Liam felt it before he heard it—a pressure in the room, like the air had thickened. The sense of being watched grew heavy, suffocating.

When they reached the bottom, Liam’s beam caught something on the concrete floor.

Another white mask.

He crouched down, hands trembling. This one was different. Older. The cracks were deeper, almost forming a smile.

“Is it the same mask?” Collins whispered.

“No,” Liam breathed. “He left this one too.”

A faint vibration buzzed through the basement, like a phone on silent. Liam checked his pockets—nothing.

Then Officer Collins lifted her radio. “This is Collins. We found—”

Static filled the device.

Then a voice emerged, distorted through the radio, soft as silk and twice as cold:

“Liam…”

Officer Collins froze.

Liam’s blood ran cold.

The Caller was speaking through the police radio.

“Round two,” the voice whispered. “Ready?”

The basement lights flickered once, flared to life—

—and the Caller stood behind them at the top of the stairs.

Liam screamed.

Collins fired once, the bullet striking the wall as the figure vanished into darkness. The officers scrambled up the steps, Liam rushing behind them. They burst into the living room—

Empty.

The front door slammed on its hinges, swaying.

“He was right here!” Collins shouted.

Liam backed away slowly, scanning the room. His breath fogged the air, though the house wasn’t cold.

A soft tap came from the window.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Liam turned.

The Caller stood outside, mask illuminated by the faint moonlight. But something was wrong—not with the figure, but with the reflection in the glass. The reflection wasn’t matching the movements.

The reflection was smiling.

The Caller raised a phone.

Liam’s dead phone buzzed in his pocket.

No power. No battery. No signal.

It still buzzed.

He pulled it out with shaking hands.

Unknown Number.

Officer Collins shouted, “Don’t answer it!”

But Liam already had.

The voice seeped into his ear, so quiet he almost mistook it for his own thought:

“Do you see now?”

The Caller tilted his head slowly, the mask splitting into that unnatural cracked grin.

“This story doesn’t end with you running,” the Caller whispered. “It begins with you remembering.”

Liam stumbled backward. “Remembering what?”

The answer came not from the phone but from behind him.

A whisper.

Close.

Too close.

“Everything.”

The lights went out.

The house plunged into darkness.

And The Midnight Caller laughed—soft, patient, certain.

Waiting for the next move.