🌒 “The Last Message Wasn’t Me”

I almost ignored it.

No one texts that late unless it’s bad news—or a mistake.

But then I saw the name.

Me.

Not “Unknown.” Not a glitchy number.

Just… me.

Same contact photo. Same name.

Same everything.

I opened the message.

“Don’t go to the kitchen.”

I stared at it, half-asleep, half-annoyed.

“Very funny,” I muttered, assuming it was some weird app bug.

Then another message came in.

“I’m serious. Stay in your room.”

A chill crept up my spine.

I checked the contact info.

It was my number.

Exactly my number.

I typed back:

“Who is this?”

The reply came instantly.

“You. Just… a few minutes ahead.”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Because what else do you do when something is this ridiculous?

Then I heard it.

A soft sound.

From the kitchen.

My apartment was small.

Bedroom. Hallway. Kitchen.

That was it.

And I lived alone.

Another message:

“Did you hear that?”

My fingers hovered over the screen.

“Yeah. What is that?”

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Came back.

Then:

“I don’t know. But you went to check last time.”

“Don’t do it again.”

I froze.

“What do you mean ‘last time’?”

No response.

Just the quiet hum of my fridge down the hall.

Then—

A crash.

Loud.

Something falling in the kitchen.

My heart started pounding.

Another message:

“You’re about to stand up.”

I was.

I didn’t even realize it.

“Stop. If you go, it sees you.”

My breath caught.

“What sees me?”

No answer.

Silence filled the apartment.

Thick. Heavy.

Wrong.

Then my phone buzzed again.

“Too late.”

Every light in my apartment went out.

At once.

Total darkness.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

And then—

From the hallway—

Footsteps.

Slow.

Dragging.

Getting closer.

My phone lit up again, the only light in the room.

Another message:

“Hide.”

I slid off the bed and crawled under it, every movement shaking.

The footsteps stopped outside my door.

Something scratched against the wood.

Long.

Deliberate.

Then—

My bedroom door creaked open.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The floorboards groaned.

Heavy.

Slow steps inside my room.

Then silence.

A new message:

“Don’t make a sound.”

Something was breathing.

Not mine.

Too wet.

Too uneven.

It moved closer to the bed.

I could see it now.

Barely.

Just a shape.

Too tall.

Bent wrong.

Then—

My phone buzzed again.

Loud.

Too loud.

The breathing stopped.

Slowly—

Very slowly—

The thing turned toward the light.

Toward me.

Another message appeared:

“I’m sorry.”

The bed dipped.

And then—

Nothing.

At 2:19 a.m., my phone buzzed one last time.

A new message.

From me.

“Don’t check your phone.”