The first message
11:11 PM.
That’s when it started.
At first, I thought it was just a glitch.
My phone buzzed softly against my pillow, lighting up the dark room with a pale glow. I groaned, turning over, half-asleep, expecting some random notification or a late-night text.
But there was no name.
Just a number I didn’t recognize.
And a message.
“I didn’t mean to leave like that.”
I frowned.
Wrong number, I thought.
I was about to ignore it when another message appeared.
“Please tell my mother I’m sorry.”
A strange chill ran down my spine.
My fingers hovered over the screen. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to reply.
Instead, I checked the number again.
Unknown.
No profile picture. No status. Nothing.
Just those words.
I swallowed hard and typed back:
“Who is this?”
The reply came instantly.
“Too late.”
My breath hitched.
And then—
The number disappeared.
Not blocked. Not deleted.
Just… gone.
As if it never existed.
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding louder than the silence in my room. The air suddenly felt heavier, colder.
“This is stupid,” I whispered to myself.
Probably a prank.
It had to be.
But the next morning, everything changed.
I was scrolling through the news while eating breakfast when a headline caught my eye.
“19-Year-Old Boy Dies in Late Night Accident at 11:10 PM.”
My fingers froze.
My chest tightened as I opened the article.
There was his picture.
And beneath it—
His phone number.
The same number.
The same one that had texted me last night.
My stomach dropped.
“No…” I breathed.
That’s impossible.
I looked back at my phone, my hands trembling now.
The messages were gone.
Every single one.
Like they never happened.
But I knew they did.
I wasn’t crazy.
I couldn’t be.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I kept staring at my phone, waiting.
Watching.
Counting every second.
10:59 PM.
11:00 PM.
11:05 PM.
My heartbeat echoed in my ears.
And then—
11:11 PM.
My phone buzzed.
Again.
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
I picked it up instantly.
Another unknown number.
Another message.
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
My throat went dry.
And before I could even think—
Another message appeared.
“You’re the only one who can fix this.”
