Horror · 28 chapters · by Royendgel Silberie · in english
“Don't turn around yet.” The text lands at 11:47 PM, and the buzz is the loudest thing your apartment has ever produced. Sender: your own number.…
Chapter 1: 11:47 PM
“Don't turn around yet.” The text lands at 11:47 PM, and the buzz is the loudest thing your apartment has ever produced. Sender: your own number. Attached: a photo of you, on this couch, in this shirt, taken tonight — from somewhere behind you. Your thumb hovers over the reply field. The radiator ticks. And somewhere in the room, very softly, something else buzzes too.
What happens next? I turn around. Nothing sneaks up on me. · I text back: who is this? · I run downstairs and bang on Marcus's door.
Chapter 2: The Closet Was Closed
You turn. Empty couch shadow, empty kitchen alcove, the window a black mirror holding only you. Then you see it: the closet door stands open an inch. You closed it. You always close it. The phone buzzes against your palm like something alive. New text, from your own number: “told you that you'd look. i know you before you do.” The second, softer buzz in the room has stopped.
What happens next? I get Marcus. I shouldn't be alone with this. · I search the apartment myself, room by room. · I photograph the closet and send it: I see you too.
Chapter 3: Timestamped Tomorrow
“Heard you through the floor,” Marcus says, already sweeping your apartment with flashlight discipline — closet, bathroom, fire-escape latch. Nothing. Nobody. “Windows locked from the inside.” Then both your phones light up at once. A new photo: you and Marcus, right now, taken from the dark hallway behind you. The timestamp reads tomorrow, 11:47 PM. “That's not possible,” Marcus says quietly. The caption types itself out: “see you then.”
What happens next? I call 911 right now. · I call Dana. She'll know I'm not crazy. · I open the closet myself. Now.
Chapter 4: Fourteen Calls
The 911 dispatcher's voice flattens the moment you give your number. “Ma'am. This line has called us fourteen times tonight. Every call is a woman screaming for exactly six seconds, then a dial tone.” You haven't touched the phone since eleven. Marcus takes it from your shaking hand. On the screen, a new message assembles itself, letter by letter: “they'll trace it here. to your couch. where you're sitting.”
What happens next? I hang up. The police can't fight this. · I beg them to send a car anyway. · I hand Marcus the phone and just breathe.
Chapter 5: Read This When It Starts
Dana calls back at midnight, voice sanded down to nothing. “I got these texts last year. I replied. That's all you need to know—” “It isn't,” you say. Marcus, scrolling your phone for evidence, goes very still. “Riley. Your notes app.” One locked entry. Title: READ THIS WHEN IT STARTS. Created three weeks ago, 11:47 PM — by you. You have no memory of writing it. The phone buzzes: “go ahead. you left yourself a gift.”
What happens next? I open the locked note. I wrote it for a reason. · I call Dana back and demand the whole truth. · I can't tonight. I sleep at Marcus's.
Chapter 6: The Password
The note demands a password. The hint, typed in your own voice: “you already know it. you just haven't thought it yet.” Your birthday. Dana's. The dog. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Then a new text arrives, one letter at a time, like something enjoying itself: R-E-P-L-Y. You type it. The lock spins open onto a single line — “NOT YET. it reads what you read. wait for the last hour.” — and the hallway light dies.
What happens next? I memorize the line and kill my screen. · I ask the dark, out loud: what last hour? · I grab Marcus and get out until morning.
Chapter 7: The Ticket
The 24-hour repair kiosk hums with dying fluorescents. Kaz, the tech, scans your SIM and stops chewing his gum. “This number's been in here before.” He digs out a paper ticket, hands not quite steady. “Last year. Girl swore her texts knew what she'd think next. Paid cash. Never came back for the phone.” He turns the ticket around. The customer name, in careful ink: DANA CHEN.
What happens next? I shove this ticket in Dana's face today. · I ask Kaz how the last girl made it stop. · I go home and build a trap with Marcus.
Chapter 8: What Dana Paid
Dana meets you at the kiosk because you don't give her a choice. She sees the ticket and folds against the counter, all the evasion going out of her at once. “I replied until it stopped needing text, Riley. It could finish my sentences from the inside. There was exactly one way to make it move on.” She still can't look at you. “It asked for a number. I gave it yours.”
What happens next? I forgive her. Fear makes monsters of us. · I walk away. She's dead to me tonight. · I ask the only question left: how do I end it?
Chapter 9: Tomorrow, On Schedule
Night two, and tomorrow starts arriving on schedule. The mug breaks at 9:03, exactly as photographed. Marcus's radio plays six seconds of a woman screaming, then a dial tone. The texts have stopped asking questions; now they only narrate ahead: “9:41 you cry. 10:15 he holds your hand. 11:47 you finally call me. i already answered.” You look at Marcus. There's one thing it hasn't predicted: your terms.
What happens next? I call it now, on my terms, face to face. · I send Marcus home first. Then I dial. · I set the phone to record, and I dial.
Chapter 10: She Answers
You press video call on your own number. It rings once. She answers. You — your face, your kitchen behind her, but a half-second wrong: she smiles before you feel anything, mouths words you haven't thought yet. And on her screen you can see her screen: you, from behind, live, right now. The Echo speaks for the first time, in your voice, warm as a sister. “Finally. Now turn around.”
What happens next? I turn around. Slowly. · I keep my eyes on the screen. It doesn't own me. · I smash the phone on the floor.
