Chapter 1
UNKNOWN NUMBER
At 2:13 a.m., Ethan woke to the sound of his phone vibrating.
The room was dark.
Rain whispered against the bedroom window, steady and almost soothing. Beyond the curtains, the neighborhood had disappeared beneath a curtain of water and darkness.
Ethan reached across the mattress and picked up his phone.
The screen illuminated his face.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
He stared at it.
For several seconds, he considered answering.
Instead, he let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The call ended.
Ethan placed the phone face down on the mattress and pulled the blanket over himself.
He had almost closed his eyes when the phone vibrated again.
He sighed.
“Seriously?”
He picked it up.
The same number.
This time, he answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Ethan waited.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Then he heard it.
Breathing.
Slow and uneven.
Not the sound of someone speaking into a phone. It sounded closer than that—almost as if someone were standing directly behind him.
Ethan turned.
Nothing.
He swallowed.
“Who is this?”
The breathing stopped.
A faint crackle passed through the speaker.
Then a voice whispered his name.
“Ethan.”
His expression changed.
He sat upright.
“Who are you?”
No answer.
“How do you know my name?”
The line went dead.
Ethan lowered the phone slowly.
He looked at the screen.
The call had disappeared.
There was no record of it.
No missed call.
Nothing.
He opened his call history and refreshed it.
Still nothing.
A strange uneasiness settled over him.
He told himself it was a glitch.
A prank.
Anything but what his instincts were telling him.
He placed the phone on the bedside table.
Then he noticed the window.
The rain had stopped.
Completely.
Ethan looked toward the glass.
A layer of condensation covered the inside of the window.
At first, he thought it was simply the result of the cold air.
Then he saw the writing.
Three words had been traced across the fogged glass.
DON’T ANSWER AGAIN.
Ethan didn’t move.
His heart began to pound.
He hadn’t written that.
Slowly, he got out of bed.
He approached the window.
The writing was unmistakable.
He lifted a trembling hand and touched the glass.
Cold.
Very cold.
His reflection stared back at him.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
Then Ethan noticed something.
His reflection was smiling.
He wasn’t.
Ethan stepped backward.
The reflection remained perfectly still.
Then its smile disappeared.
The bedroom lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The room went black.
Ethan froze.
His phone lit up on the bedside table.
A message appeared.
I CAN SEE YOU.
His throat tightened.
Another message followed.
LOOK BEHIND YOU.
Ethan stared at the screen.
He didn’t turn around.
Another message appeared.
DON’T MAKE ME ASK AGAIN.
The bedroom suddenly felt smaller.
Ethan slowly looked over his shoulder.
Nothing.
His wardrobe stood against the wall.
His desk was beneath the window.
His bedroom door was closed.
Everything was exactly where it should have been.
He exhaled.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m losing it.”
Then he noticed the door.
It was open.
Only a few inches.
Ethan knew he’d closed it before going to bed.
He was certain.
He stared at the dark gap beyond it.
A sound came from downstairs.
A soft creak.
Then another.
Someone was walking across the floor.
“Ethan?”
He stopped breathing.
The voice had come from downstairs.
It was a woman’s voice.
Familiar.
Gentle.
His mother’s voice.
“Ethan, come downstairs.”
He closed his eyes.
His mother had been dead for three years.
The silence returned.
Then—
“Ethan.”
This time, the voice sounded closer.
He opened his eyes.
His phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
THAT IS NOT YOUR MOTHER.
Ethan’s fingers tightened around the phone.
The bedroom door moved.
Slowly.
It opened another inch.
He backed away.
“Who’s there?”
Nothing answered.
The door opened wider.
Darkness filled the hallway.
Then a voice whispered from somewhere beyond the doorway.
“Why did you stop answering my calls?”
Ethan stumbled backward.
The lights suddenly came back on.
The hallway was empty.
The door stood wide open.
For several seconds, he couldn’t move.
Then something scraped across the floor downstairs.
A chair.
Slowly dragged across wood.
Ethan grabbed his jacket.
He didn’t know what was happening.
He didn’t want to know.
He only knew he had to get out of the house.
He reached for the window.
His phone rang.
Ethan stopped.
He looked down.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
He ignored it.
The ringing continued.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then the caller ID changed.
The word UNKNOWN disappeared.
A name appeared beneath the familiar telephone icon.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
NOAH
He stared at the screen.
His younger brother.
Noah had disappeared eleven years ago.
He had been twelve years old.
There had been police searches, missing-person posters, interviews, rumors, and years of unanswered questions.
But no body had ever been found.
Noah was simply gone.
And now his name was calling Ethan’s phone.
The ringing stopped.
Ethan stared at the screen.
A message appeared.
ANSWER ME.
His hands began to shake.
Another message appeared.
I’M STILL HERE.
Ethan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Noah?”
The phone rang again.
This time, Ethan answered.
He pressed the phone against his ear.
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then he heard a child’s breathing.
“Ethan?”
He couldn’t speak.
The voice came again.
Older than Ethan remembered.
But unmistakably Noah’s.
“Come find me.”
The call ended.
Ethan lowered the phone.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
Then, somewhere beyond the house, a child’s laughter drifted through the darkness.
Ethan slowly turned toward the front door.
It was open.
He was certain he had locked it.
A cold breeze moved through the hallway.
And from somewhere outside came a whisper.
“Ethan...”
He stood frozen in the middle of the room.
The voice came again.
“You’re almost here.”
Ethan looked at his phone.
The screen displayed one final message.
11 YEARS AGO, YOU PROMISED YOU’D COME BACK.
His face went pale.
Because he had no memory of ever making that promise.
And yet, somewhere deep inside him, beneath eleven years of forgotten memories, something stirred.
Something he had spent his entire life trying not to remember.
Then the lights went out again.
