A Short Horror Story
At exactly 3:17 AM, Emma’s phone buzzed.
She was half-asleep, staring at the ceiling of her dark apartment. No notifications. No missed calls. Just one new message.
Unknown Number:
“Don’t turn around.”
Her heart skipped. She slowly sat up in bed, staring at the glowing screen.
She lived alone. Always had.
Trying to calm herself, Emma typed back:
Emma: “Who is this?”
The reply came instantly.
“You already know.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. She laughed nervously and blamed it on a prank. Still, she didn’t turn around.
Another message arrived.
“I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”
Her breathing became shallow. The room felt colder, heavier. The silence screamed louder than any sound.
Emma reached for the lamp beside her bed and turned it on.
Nothing.
Relief washed over her—until her phone buzzed again.
“Lights don’t help.”
Her hands trembled. Slowly, against every instinct, she opened her camera app—switching to the front camera.
The screen showed her pale face…
and someone smiling behind her.
The phone slipped from her hand.
At 3:18 AM, the messages stopped.
The police later found Emma’s phone on the bed, screen cracked.
The last unsent message read:
“I turned around.”