The Midnight Caller

The Midnight Caller

The town of Ravenwood had always worn its silence like a badge—quiet streets, predictable nights, and the same familiar faces behind every window. But all of that changed the night The Midnight Caller returned.

Seventeen-year-old Liam Graves never believed the local urban legend. Every generation, someone in a white mask and black hood would appear, terrorizing the town with phone calls, stalking shadows, and a final attack that left the community shaken for years. No one had ever proved the Caller was real. But Ravenwood remembered.

It was almost midnight when Liam’s phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.

He smirked, assuming it was one of his friends pulling a prank.
He answered. “Who is this?”

A voice, cold and playful, replied, “Do you like scary stories, Liam?”

Liam froze. The voice was distorted—too calm, too confident.

“Very funny,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady. “Who’s doing this? Mark? Evan?”

The voice laughed softly. “I like your house. The lights in the hallway… they flicker.”

Liam slowly turned toward the hallway. The lights were flickering—just barely, like someone was brushing a hand across the switch.

His heart thumped. “If you’re outside, I’m calling the police.”

“You think I’m outside?” the Caller whispered. “Check again.”

The call ended.

Liam’s breath quickened as he locked the doors, double-checked the windows, and grabbed the kitchen knife his mother kept next to the counter. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—terribly wrong.

Just as he reached for his phone to call 911, it buzzed again.

Unknown Number.

He answered with shaking hands.
“What do you want?”

“Just to play,” the Caller said. “You hide. I seek.”

A loud bang echoed through the house. Liam jumped. It came from upstairs.

He forced himself up the stairs, one trembling step at a time. At the top, the hallway light flickered again. A shadow moved behind his bedroom door.

Liam pushed it open fast.

Nothing.

His room was empty—too empty.

Then he heard slow footsteps behind him.

He spun around.

At the end of the hallway stood a figure in a cracked white mask, black hood pulled low. The Midnight Caller. Not a legend. Not a prank.

Real.

The figure tilted its head, stepping forward with deliberate, almost graceful movements. Liam stumbled backward, nearly falling down the stairs.

The Caller raised something—a phone. Liam’s phone buzzed again in his pocket.

He answered without thinking.

“Run,” the Caller whispered, voice now almost gentle. “Let’s see how far you get.”

Liam bolted down the stairs, burst out the back door, and sprinted toward the woods behind his house. His lungs burned, his feet tangled in roots, but he didn’t stop.

Behind him, soft footsteps followed—steady, patient.

The Caller wasn’t rushing.

They didn’t need to.

Liam crashed into a clearing and pressed his back against a tree, trying to silence his breathing. The woods had gone silent, as if holding their breath with him.

His phone lit up. A message.

Turn around.

Liam clenched his eyes shut. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He screamed—

And then everything went silent.


---

Morning sunlight filtered through the trees when Officer Mara Collins found him. Liam lay on the ground, unconscious but unharmed.

No cuts. No bruises.
Just a white mask placed gently on his chest.

The officer exhaled in relief when Liam’s eyes opened.

“You’re safe,” she assured him.

Liam looked at the mask, confusion mixing with fear.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Liam whispered. “Why didn’t he hurt me?”

Officer Collins shook her head. “We don’t know who did this. But you’re alive—and that’s what matters.”

Liam stared into the trees, feeling the weight of the mask in his hands.

The Midnight Caller didn’t want him dead.

Not yet.

He wanted him to remember.

And to wait.

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