It was precisely 11:17 p.m. when someone rang the calling bell.
The sound jolted me upright, sharp and hollow, like a knife cutting through the stillness of the night. It wasn't just the time that disturbed me—it was where the bell had come from. In my house, the calling bell is installed inside the main gate. And the gate? It was closed. I had locked it myself before sunset, the metal click echoing in my ears as I secured the latch.
I stared at the front door, frozen, my pulse pounding in my ears. The house was silent except for the eerie hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house settling.
Then it came—three slow, deliberate presses of the bell.
The sound was so unnaturally calm it made my skin crawl. My heartbeat quickened, rising in my throat, heavy and fast. I was alone. My husband was out of town on work, and wouldn’t return until the next evening.
The house stood in a rural village, at the far edge of a sparsely developed area. Most of the surrounding flats were unoccupied—half-constructed concrete shells, silent and lifeless, like tombstones for forgotten dreams. The nearest neighbor was nearly half a kilometer away.
And beyond my backyard… lay the forest.
The wind outside howled like a wounded animal, rattling dry branches against the windows. The trees swayed and creaked, their limbs scraping the glass as though whispering secrets I wasn’t meant to hear.
I grabbed my phone with trembling hands, the plastic case cold against my fingers, and tried to call my husband. Nothing. The screen showed "No Service." Panic rose like bile in my throat. I opened WhatsApp to message my friends.
"Connecting…"
Then it failed. The silence of the house seemed to press in on me, suffocating. I checked the Wi-Fi—disconnected. The green light on the router was off, dead, like a heartbeat that had flatlined.
I stood there, frozen in shock. Trapped in silence. No way to call for help. No one around to hear me if I screamed.
And outside, just beyond the glass, someone waited.
I was completely alone.
And then—the TV turned on by itself.
The screen flickered with static, buzzing with a low hum, like the air was alive with energy. The glow from the screen illuminated the dark room, casting long, twisted shadows across the walls. It cleared to show a live feed of my own house—the view from behind me.
Someone was walking through my living room… slowly… and laughing.
A low, horrible laugh that scratched at the walls of my sanity, vibrating in my chest, making my teeth ache.
I ran to the TV, trembling, and slammed the power button. Nothing happened. I unplugged it. But the image stayed… until, finally, it blinked to black with a sharp, almost mocking flicker.
I dove under the bed, the cool floorboard pressing into my skin, phone clutched tight, breath shallow and ragged. Then came the sound that shattered my last hope:
Footsteps. Inside the house.
Slow. Deliberate. Heavy.
The wood creaked with every step, each one louder than the last, sending waves of panic through my veins.
And then… my husband’s voice. Soft, gentle, familiar.
Calling my name.
Room to room.
"Where are you? It's me…"
Then silence.
I peeked out.
No one.
I waited. Counted my heartbeats. The sound of my pulse thundered in my ears.
Then, slowly, I began to crawl out—
But just as I did, from the dark space behind me under the bed, a second pair of eyes opened.
I screamed. The air felt thick, suffocating, as I scrambled to escape.
Crawling out in panic, I turned to face the figure standing in my bedroom doorway. It looked human, but its face was… wrong. It twisted into a grotesque grin that stretched too wide, lips curling in a way that made my stomach churn.
In a voice that dripped with mockery, it said:
"Before death, no one usually gets to feel this much thrill. You are very lucky."
My knees went weak. I cried out, "Who are you?! Why are you here?!"
It stepped closer, its feet dragging, each movement sending an icy shiver down my spine. Eyes glowing faintly, it whispered:
"I am going to kill you. You're not fit to live in this world. Come with me."
Its hand extended, long fingers curling unnaturally, nails scraping the air like the sound of a knife against stone.
The lights flickered again, the room plunging into darkness. The air grew colder, the oppressive stillness broken only by the pounding of my heart.
And then—
Darkness.
I screamed—
And suddenly, woke up, gasping for breath, soaked in sweat. The coldness of the sheets clung to me, my skin slick with fear.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
Relief flooded me—until I turned and noticed something near my bed.
A folded piece of paper.
With trembling fingers, I picked it up, the rough texture of the paper scraping against my fingertips.
In jagged handwriting, it read:
"You saw the devil.
It will kill you. Surely."
I stared at it, my heart thudding in my chest. The faint smell of old paper and ink filled my nostrils, making my stomach tighten.
And then—my phone started ringing.
A call.
From an unknown number.
Still shaking, I picked it up.
There was silence. Then a whisper:
"I'm still here…
I won't let you alone…"
The wind howled outside.
The TV turned on by itself again—static flickering, humming louder.
I looked back at the note.
Now, there was something new. Another line… not there before. Faint, like someone had just written it with a trembling hand:
"Unless you like, share… and send it to someone else before midnight".
My blood turned to ice.
And the screen of my phone lit up—
"Share?"
A notification.
Already selecting contacts.
Already ticking names.
I stared at it, unable to breathe.
What about you?
Will you share it… or will it come for you next?
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