The 3 AM Call

Title: The 3 AM Call

By: [Your Name]

Riaz was just an ordinary man — quiet, reserved, and living alone in a small apartment in Karachi. His daily routine was simple: wake up early, head to work, come back exhausted, make a cup of tea, scroll through his phone, and sleep. There was nothing particularly unusual about his life... until the night the phone calls began.

The First Call

It was a Friday night. Rain tapped gently against the window panes, and the city was unusually quiet. Riaz was deep in sleep when his phone rang — sharp and unexpected in the stillness of the night.

He groggily reached for it and looked at the time: 3:00 AM.

The caller ID said: Private Number.

He answered with a sleepy “Hello?”

There was silence. Then came a whisper — soft, urgent, chilling:

“Run… he’s coming.”

A cold shiver ran down Riaz’s spine. “Who is this?” he asked, now fully awake.

No reply. The line went dead.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, confused and unsettled. Eventually, he convinced himself it was a prank — maybe a wrong number — and went back to bed.

The Second Night

The next night, at exactly 3:00 AM, his phone rang again. Same private number. Same eerie whisper:

“He’s near. Run… now.”

Riaz’s throat went dry. He shot up from bed and turned on all the lights. He checked the door — locked. Windows? Closed. Everything seemed normal, yet the air felt heavier… different.

He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The Third Call

By now, fear had replaced sleep. Riaz set an alarm for 2:50 AM to be ready. He sat by his bed, heart pounding, phone in hand.

3:00 AM. The phone rang.

He answered instantly.

“He’s outside. Don’t open the door.”

The whisper was louder this time. More desperate.

Riaz ran to the door and looked through the peephole — no one.

He cautiously peered out the window. At first, nothing. But then… at the far end of the empty street… a shadow moved.

Tall. Unnaturally tall. Slowly walking… then stopping.

Riaz shut the curtain, locked the door again, and backed away, breathing hard. He wanted to call someone, anyone — but who would believe a ghostly call warning about a shadow?

The Fourth Night

This time, he tried to avoid the call. He switched off the phone and buried it under his pillow. But the phone still rang.

No light, no ringtone — just a faint vibration. It was 3:00 AM again.

He picked it up. No screen lit up. But the call connected.

“Too late… he’s inside.”

A chill swept through his spine like a blade of ice.

Then — a knock.

Soft, deliberate, slow. Right on his front door.

Riaz’s breath caught in his throat. He tiptoed toward the door and looked through the peephole.

Nothing.

Another knock. This time, from the window behind him.

He turned around — the curtain moved.

Something was inside.

He screamed.

The Disappearance

The next morning, neighbors found Riaz’s apartment door slightly open. The lights were still on, the tea kettle still warm. But Riaz was gone.

No sign of forced entry. No struggle. No blood.

Just his phone on the floor, displaying one last message on the lock screen:

3:00 AM - 1 missed call: Private Number

Epilogue

No one ever saw Riaz again.

But a month later, his cousin, Faizan, moved into the apartment. He laughed off the stories — ghosts, shadows, phone calls? All nonsense.

On his third night in the apartment, at exactly 3:00 AM… his phone rang.

Private Number.

He answered.

“Run… he’s coming.”