"The Midnight Caller"
It was a chilly October night when Josh, a college student, received a strange phone call. He was studying for his finals alone in his apartment when his phone buzzed on the table. The clock read 11:59 PM. The number was unknown.
“Hello?” Josh answered, expecting it to be a wrong number.
At first, there was nothing—just static. Then, a voice, faint and distorted, whispered, “Help me...please.”
Josh’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t make out if the voice belonged to a man or a woman, but it sounded desperate. He was about to hang up, thinking it was a prank, but then the voice added something that sent chills down his spine: “I’m in your apartment.”
Josh froze. He looked around the dimly lit room, but nothing seemed out of place. His apartment was small—just a living room and kitchen with a door leading to his bedroom and bathroom. All the windows were locked. But the voice continued, now clearer and more insistent.
“I’m in the closet.”
Josh stood, his heart racing. He stared at the closed door of his bedroom. He knew he hadn’t been in there since earlier that afternoon, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He grabbed a kitchen knife, holding it tight as he approached the bedroom door.
With a shaking hand, he turned the doorknob and flicked on the light. The bedroom looked normal. His closet door, though, was slightly ajar. The voice came again, this time louder and more urgent.
“I’m in here. Please help me!”
Josh held his breath as he slowly walked toward the closet. His heart pounded in his chest as he flung the door open. But it was empty—just his clothes and a few boxes. Confused, he looked around, but there was no one.
Relieved yet unsettled, Josh stepped back. But before he could close the closet door, his phone rang again.
It was the same number.
Hesitant, he answered, his voice shaking, “What do you want?”
The same voice, now even closer, whispered, “I told you...I’m in your apartment.”
Just then, Josh felt a cold breath on the back of his neck.
He whipped around, knife raised, but saw nothing. The room was empty. His pulse raced, and his mind scrambled to understand what was happening. He slowly backed out of the room, locking the bedroom door behind him.
As he stepped into the living room, his phone buzzed once more.
This time, the voice was clearer, as if the caller was standing right beside him.
“I’m in your kitchen now.”
Josh spun around toward the kitchen, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles turned white. The kitchen light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He moved cautiously, glancing around, but again—nothing.
He was about to call the police when a cold, disembodied hand grabbed his wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Panic surged through him as he tried to scream, but no sound came out. The hand yanked him backward toward the bedroom.
As he struggled, the phone rang one final time, the voice now clear and unmistakable.
“I told you. I’m already inside.”
With a terrifying force, Josh was pulled into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
The next morning, his apartment was quiet. The knife lay on the kitchen floor, and Josh’s phone sat on the table, ringing. But no one was there to answer it. His apartment remained empty, except for the sound of faint static echoing from the phone, and a chilling voice whispering, “I’m still here.”
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