It was a weekend trip to the city, just me and a few friends looking for something fun. We took the train into town and spent the day at the amusement park, riding coasters, eating too much junk food, and laughing until we lost our voices. It was one of those days that didn’t feel important until it was over.

  The ride home was quieter. I sat alone on the train, half-asleep, scrolling through my phone to kill time. The excitement had drained out, and boredom settled in.

  By the time I got home, the house was dark. I tossed my bag on the bed and started unpacking. That’s when I found it.

  A phone.

  Not mine.

  I picked it up. It was black, no case. The screen was already on—no lock screen, no wallpaper. Just the home screen and one lonely contact.

  “DO NOT CALL”

  So naturally, like any idiot in a horror movie, I called it.

  It rang once. Then it hung up.

  A second later, a message popped up on the screen. "Now you’re part of it."

  I didn’t understand what the message meant, so I dropped the phone on my desk and went to bed. It buzzed once after I turned away, but I ignored it. I was tired, too tired to care.

  No dreams that night. Not even flashes of anything. Just a solid, heavy sleep—like I'd sunk into a void. A few seconds after my head hit the pillow, I was gone.

  The next morning, sunlight crept through the crack in my curtains and lit a strip across the ceiling. For a second, I just lay there, cocooned in the blankets, pretending I didn’t have school. But the clock blinked 6:47, and I groaned, dragging myself out of bed.

  The house was quiet. Mom was already in the kitchen downstairs. I dressed fast, pulled on my hoodie, and started stuffing books into my backpack. That’s when I noticed the phone. Still on my desk. Still lit.

  I blinked. Had I forgotten to turn it off?

  One new message appeared on the screen.

  "Check the park bench tomorrow."

  I stared at it. A chill rolled down my back. I hadn’t saved the number. I hadn’t responded. I hadn’t even touched the thing since last night.

  “This is stupid,” I muttered.

  Whoever was doing this—some creep, some hacker, some loser with too much time on their hands—I wasn’t playing their game. I grabbed the phone, shoved it into my hoodie pocket, and stormed downstairs.

  Mom offered to drive me to school.

  Halfway down the road, I cracked the window and pretended to stretch. When I was sure she wasn’t looking, I pulled the phone out and threw it into the bushes near the sidewalk.

  The clunk it made against a metal pole echoed.

  “What was that sound Ava?” Mom asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  I shrugged. “Probably someone throwing something. Litter or whatever.”

  She made a face. “People are disgusting.”

  I didn’t answer. I just kept staring out the window, watching the world pass, my heart beating harder than it should have.

  School was the same as always. Loud. Bright. Smelling vaguely of disinfectant and overcooked fries.

  I met my friends at the lockers, Lina and Jace, both half-asleep and nursing energy drinks. I told them about the phone, the message, and the weird feeling I couldn’t shake.

  Lina looked at me like I was telling her a true crime story. “That’s... seriously messed up. Like, you called the number?”

  “I didn’t expect it to do anything,” I said.

  “Girl, that’s how horror movies start,” she said, she was being dead serious. “You’re about to get haunted by a Nokia.”

  Jace laughed. “It’s probably some guy playing around. You know, baiting people with weird messages. You remember that one guy on TikTok who sent people riddles through AirDrops?”

  “I don’t think it’s that kind of joke,” I said, more to myself than to them.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of math problems and whispered theories. By sixth period, I’d nearly convinced myself I was being dramatic. It was just a phone. Maybe someone nearby was sending texts through a connected app or something. Whatever. It was gone now.

  After school, Mom was waiting in the car again, waving lazily through the windshield. I got in and sank into the passenger seat, the sunlight warming my face as we drove home.

  I was quiet. My mind was already letting go of it. One weird night, one weird message, done.

  Then I walked into my room.

  I dropped my backpack onto the floor and turned to shut the door.

  That’s when I saw it. Sitting on my desk. Screen lit.

  The phone.

  Back right where I left it.

  I stood frozen in the doorway, stomach turning to ice.

  My hand shook as I stepped closer. The screen blinked once. A new message appeared.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  I didn’t know what was happening. My chest was tight, my thoughts all tangled up. Who was doing this? What did they want from me?

  I grabbed the phone off the desk and shoved it into the drawer like that could make it go away. Slammed it shut and just stood there for a second, trying to breathe.

  I crawled into bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t stop. I kept thinking—what if this drags my mom into something? What if this is some sick creep? What if it’s worse?

  I turned over a hundred times. Closed my eyes, opened them. Nothing helped.

  And then—I must’ve gotten knocked out. Just like that. I don’t know how. My brain felt fried, like it finally short-circuited and shut off. But the peace didn’t last.

  A buzzing sound broke the silence.

  I opened my eyes. The room was still dark.

  I reached for my phone instinctively, but it wasn’t mine buzzing.

  It was that phone. I sat up, my heart already pounding.

  3:11 a.m.

  The drawer shook from how violently it was vibrating. I opened it slowly, The screen lit up the moment I touched it.

  One new message.

  “Task 1: Leave your house. Go to the train station. Find locker 107.

  Time remaining: 59:57.”

  I stared at it like maybe if I looked long enough, the screen would blur and I’d realize I was just half-asleep. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe this was a dream.

  But I didn’t wake up. The numbers were real. The countdown was real. My panic was real.

  My chest felt tight. Like someone was pressing down on it with both hands. I looked toward the door, then back at the phone, then the window. My thoughts were flipping over each other so fast I couldn’t even catch one to hold onto. What was I supposed to do? Sneak out? What even was this? Some twisted game?

  I opened my bedroom door a crack. The hallway was dark. I couldn’t hear anything but the faint buzz of the fridge downstairs. Mom was asleep. Probably on the couch again, with the TV still glowing. I didn’t want to risk waking her.

  I backed into the room, shut the door slowly so it wouldn’t click too loudly, and just stood there. I didn’t move for a full minute. I was shaking. I could feel it in my arms, in my knees.

  Then I grabbed the phone, shoved it into my hoodie pocket, and threw on my sneakers—no socks. Whatever. I needed to go. I didn’t even know why I was listening to this thing. I just… I couldn’t not do it. The second I read that message, it felt like something locked onto me.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Like, I was already part of it. Like saying no didn’t matter anymore.

  I tiptoed down the stairs, holding my breath every time a step creaked under my feet. When I reached the bottom, I peeked into the living room. Mom was asleep alright—blanket pulled over her legs, the TV murmuring to itself, one slipper hanging halfway off her foot. She didn’t move.

  I stood there for a second. I could’ve told her. I should’ve. But I didn’t.

  I opened the front door and stepped outside.

  The air hit me like a slap. Cold and sharp. I hadn’t even grabbed a jacket—just the hoodie I slept in. I crossed my arms, tucking my hands into my sleeves, and started walking fast.

  The street was empty. No cars, no voices, not even any wind. It was like the world had just… stopped. I kept glancing behind me, even though I knew no one was there.

  I passed the old mailbox on the corner, the one with the weird sticker that said “DOOMSDAY IS COMING.” Normally, I’d laugh. Tonight, it just made my skin crawl.

  Every little sound felt too loud. A bottle clinking in the distance. A rustle in the bushes. My footsteps on the sidewalk. I started walking faster.

  The train station wasn’t far—maybe a fifteen-minute walk, but in the dark, it felt longer. Way longer. The lights at the crossing blinked red, even though no trains were coming. I hated that. It felt like the world was glitching.

  When I finally saw the outline of the station, my stomach dropped. It looked like something from a horror movie. The sign was flickering. Half the letters were dead. The front door was cracked open.

  Inside, it was worse. The lights were dim and yellow, buzzing faintly overhead. The floor was scuffed tile. Trash in the corners. A broken vending machine blinked “OUT OF ORDER” near the wall.

  There was no one around. No security. No workers. Just me. And the lockers.

  They lined the left wall—rows of old, rusted doors with chipped paint and random scratches. I walked past them slowly, counting.

  101… 102… 103…

  My hands were sweating even though I was freezing. My heart was pounding in my chest like it wanted out. I wiped my palms on my hoodie and kept walking.

  104… 105… 106…

  107.

  It was smaller than I expected. There was a dent in the corner, and someone had scratched a name into it. I couldn’t tell what it said. My hand hovered over the latch. Then my mind started racing again. Don’t open it. Just leave. Walk away. Throw the phone in a sewer and go home.

  I opened it.

  Inside was a crumpled piece of paper. That’s it.

  I stared at it for a second before picking it up, half expecting it to scream or something.

  It was a note.

  "You made the right choice. Most don’t."

  That was all it said. No signature. No instructions. No hint about who wrote it or what the hell this was about.

  I felt sick. My legs were weak. I slammed the locker shut and leaned against the cold metal.

  The phone buzzed again in my pocket. I took it out slowly, hands shaking.

  "Task complete."

  I didn’t move for a full minute. I just stood there, in the cold, empty train station, holding this stupid phone, trying not to cry.

  Eventually, I backed away from the lockers and left. I didn’t run. I couldn’t. My legs felt too heavy, like they were made of cement. I just walked. Block after block. Past the same dark houses, the same broken sidewalk, the same mailbox.

  By the time I got home, the sun still hadn’t come up. I stood on the porch with my hand on the doorknob for way too long. I didn’t want to go back inside. I didn’t want to lie to my mom again. I didn’t want to sleep in the same room where that phone had just... shown up.

  But I didn’t have a choice. I opened the door and crept in.

  Mom was still asleep.

  I went up to my room, closed the door, and locked it. I sat on the floor with my back against the bed. The phone was still in my hand.

  I turned it off. Held the button until it went black. Then I stuffed it under a pile of clothes in my closet, kicked the door shut, and curled up on top of my blanket.

  I didn’t sleep. Not for a second.

  The next day felt like I was walking underwater. Everything was too loud and too quiet at the same time. I moved through the morning like I wasn’t there. Just going through the motions, brushing my teeth, putting on clothes, packing my bag.

  Mom was making coffee when I came downstairs. She glanced up from her phone and raised an eyebrow.

  “You look pale. Everything okay?” she said

  “Didn’t sleep much,” I replied.

  She gave me this long, concerned look, then went back to her screen. “You should eat something.”

  I didn’t.

  The ride to school was quiet. She had the radio on low, some soft piano thing that made everything feel even more distant. I stared out the window the whole time, watching the cars blur past.

  At school, the noise hit me like a wall. People were shouting across the halls, slamming lockers, and laughing way too loudly. My head already hurt, and it wasn’t even second period.

  Lina caught up with me outside the homeroom. “You okay? You look like you’ve been in a horror movie.”

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, but she didn’t buy it.

  By lunch, Jace joined in.

  I was sitting at the table, picking at a sandwich I wasn’t going to eat, when Lina dropped her tray next to mine and Jace flopped across from us with his hoodie pulled halfway over his face.

  “You look like crap,” Lina said bluntly, while putting her straw into her iced coffee.

  “Thanks. Always love the appreciation and support,” I said, my voice barely coming out.

  Jace tilted his head. “Seriously, though. What happened? Was it the phone again?”

  I shook my head. “No. I turned it off. It’s in my closet. I’m done with it.”

  Lina narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t look like someone who’s done with it.” I didn't answer. The truth? Even with the phone shut off and stuffed behind an old box of clothes, I could still feel it. Like it had left something behind. Something in my head.

  I kept imagining it buzzing. Kept checking my own phone out of reflex. Couldn’t focus on anything. Couldn’t laugh at Lina’s jokes or pretend to care about the drama Jace was retelling from his last class. I was just...there. Sitting still, but vibrating on the inside.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Jace asked after a beat.

  I forced a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” And the day went on.

  The ride home was quiet. Mom had her sunglasses on, even though the sky was overcast and moody. Her hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, like she was stressed but trying not to show it.

  I sat in the passenger seat, curled into myself, staring out the window. The air in the car felt heavy, like even the silence had weight.

  She glanced at me once. “Rough day?”

  I shrugged. “Just tired.”

  A beat passed.

  “You want to talk about anything?”

  “Nope.”

  She sighed. Not annoyed, just tired as well. Maybe she could tell I wasn’t okay, or maybe she just didn’t have the energy to press. Either way, I was glad she didn’t.

  The tires made soft sounds against the wet road as we drove through the neighborhood. We pulled into the driveway, and I got out. My eyes drifted to my bedroom window, second floor, where the curtains were still drawn tight. We got in, and I ran to my room. Then the phone again.

  I kept waiting for it to turn back on. For another message to pop up. For something worse.

  But nothing happened.

  Not that day. Not that night.

  Not until the next morning.

  I woke up to the sound of buzzing.

  I sat up slowly, my hands already shaking. I didn’t want to go over there. I didn’t want to open the closet door.

  But I did. I reached past old sweaters and forgotten sneakers and found it.

  I pulled out the phone. It was on, screen glowing bright in the dark closet.

  One new message.