“I never thought this would come back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I stared at the box in my hands, feeling an unexplainable heaviness. The box was old, its surface adorned with intricate, faded carvings, and its rusted latch creaked as I opened it. Inside, carefully wrapped in yellowed paper, lay an old flip phone.
“This… this belonged to your father,” Mom said, her gaze flicking toward the front door nervously, as though she expected someone—or something—to be lurking outside.
“But Dad passed away years ago,” I said, my voice trembling.
Mom nodded solemnly. “Yes. And I haven’t touched that phone since the day he died.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I carefully lifted the phone from its resting place, my hands trembling as I pressed the power button. The screen flickered, dim and grainy, as it came to life. My stomach churned as I saw what appeared: an unsent message.
“I got robbed! Come fast!”
The exact words I had received that night. The words that had haunted me ever since. But how was this possible? This phone had been dead for years.
I looked up at Mom, my heart racing. Her face was as pale as a ghost. “This phone has been off since the day your father… disappeared,” she whispered.
“Disappeared?” I echoed, my mind struggling to process the word.
Mom swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “They said he died in an accident. But I never believed it. He always told me, if something happened to him, I should never look for him… that he would find a way to reach us.”
My hands shook as I stared at the message again. Was this really him? Had he been trying to warn us all this time?
Suddenly, a loud knock echoed through the house, causing both of us to jump in surprise.
We exchanged terrified glances. The front door had been left slightly ajar, and the darkness beyond it felt unnervingly heavy.
The knock came again, louder this time. More urgent.
I hesitated, stepping toward the door with a sense of dread building in my chest. I peered through the peephole, my breath catching in my throat. The porch light flickered erratically, casting long shadows over a figure standing motionless on the other side. It was a man, tall and hooded, his face hidden in darkness.
Just then, my phone buzzed again, jolting me out of my trance.
A new message had appeared on the screen.
“Don’t open the door.”
My breath hitched. I stared at the sender’s name. Dad’s old number.
Mom grabbed my wrist, her grip tight with panic. “We need to stay away from the door,” she whispered urgently.
The knocking intensified, becoming a violent pounding that shook the door on its hinges. My heart raced in my chest, and my legs felt as though they might give way beneath me.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, everything went quiet. The pounding ceased.
We waited, frozen in fear, as the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. Finally, I mustered the courage to look through the peephole again.
The figure was gone.
I locked the door, my hands shaking uncontrollably. My mind was spinning with questions—too many questions. Who had sent the message from Dad’s phone? What really happened to my father all those years ago? And, most unsettling of all, who had been standing at the door that night?
The mystery deepened with every passing second, but one thing was clear: the warning was far from over.
Sophia Reynolds is a dedicated journalist and a key contributor to Storyoftheday24.com. With a passion for uncovering compelling stories, Sophia Reynolds delivers insightful, well-researched news across various categories. Known for breaking down complex topics into engaging and accessible content, Sophia Reynolds has built a reputation for accuracy and reliability. With years of experience in the media industry, Sophia Reynolds remains committed to providing readers with timely and trustworthy news, making them a respected voice in modern journalism.
