The Midnight Caller

Rain hammered against the apartment windows while a young university student sat alone on the couch, staring blankly at her phone. The tiny apartment felt unusually cold that night. Every sound seemed sharper in the silence — the ticking clock on the wall, the wind outside, even the sound of her own breathing. It was just after midnight. She hated nights like this. Ever since moving away from home for university, loneliness had slowly become part of her life. During the day, crowded classrooms and noisy streets kept her distracted. But at night, when her roommates left for the weekend and the apartment became silent, the emptiness felt unbearable. A flash of lightning lit up the room for a split second before darkness returned. Then her phone rang. Unknown Number. She frowned. Nobody ever called this late. For a moment, she thought about ignoring it. But curiosity got the better of her. “Hello?” she answered carefully. Only static replied. A faint crackling sound echoed through the speaker. “Hello?” she repeated, sitting up straighter. Then a voice whispered softly: “Don’t turn around.” Her entire body froze. The voice sounded strange — low, distorted, almost robotic — yet there was something disturbingly human about it. “What?” she asked nervously. The call disconnected. For a few seconds, she simply stared at her screen. Then she let out a weak laugh, trying to calm herself. It had to be a prank call. Maybe one of her classmates trying to scare her. Still, goosebumps slowly spread across her arms. Against her better judgment, she slowly turned around. Nothing. The kitchen was empty. The hallway leading to her bedroom sat in complete darkness. “You’re overthinking,” she whispered to herself. She locked her phone and leaned back against the couch. A minute later, the phone rang again. The same unknown number. This time, her hands trembled before she answered. “What do you want?” Static filled the line once more. Then the voice returned. “I told you not to turn around.” A cold wave of fear rushed through her body. The words felt different this time. The caller had spoken after she turned around earlier. As if he already knew she had done it. As if someone was watching her. Her eyes slowly drifted toward the apartment windows. Rain blurred the outside world, turning the glass into moving shadows. “Who are you?” she demanded, though her voice cracked with fear. The caller ignored the question. “You left your kitchen window open.” She immediately looked toward the kitchen. The window above the sink was slightly open, moving gently with the wind. Her stomach dropped instantly. Nobody should have known that. She hurried to the kitchen and slammed the window shut before locking it tightly. Her breathing became uneven. This wasn’t funny anymore. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and held it tightly in her shaking hand. “Listen,” she said into the phone, trying to sound braver than she felt. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m calling the police.” The voice chuckled softly. A dry, lifeless laugh. “You won’t have enough time.” The call ended again. Panicking, she quickly tried calling her best friend, but the moment she pressed the call button, the signal bars on her phone disappeared. No service. “That’s impossible,” she whispered. Outside, thunder shook the sky violently. Then came three slow knocks at the apartment door. Knock. Knock. Knock. She nearly dropped the knife. Every instinct inside her screamed to stay silent. Again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. Then a man’s voice spoke from outside the door. Soft. Familiar. The exact voice of her father. For one brief second, relief washed over her. But that made no sense. Her father lived hours away. “Dad?” she whispered unconsciously. Then the voice outside laughed. Not her father’s laugh. Something darker. Something wrong. At the same moment, her phone screen lit up by itself. The caller whispered again. “Don’t open the door.” Tears filled her eyes as fear tightened around her chest. “Who are you?” she cried. “What do you want from me?” The answer came instantly. “You already know me.” Suddenly, the apartment lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then complete darkness swallowed the room. She gasped and quickly turned on her phone flashlight with trembling fingers. The weak light barely reached beyond the living room. The knocking had stopped. Now there was only silence. A horrible, unnatural silence. Then she heard it. Footsteps. Inside the apartment. Slow dragging footsteps coming from the hallway near her bedroom. Step. Drag. Step. Drag. “No…” she whispered. Her flashlight shook violently as she pointed it toward the hallway. At first, she saw nothing. Then the light flickered. And a figure appeared at the end of the corridor. Tall. Thin. Its body looked twisted in unnatural ways. Its face remained hidden completely in shadow. Her breathing stopped. The caller whispered again: “He’s behind you.” She spun around instantly. Nothing. But when she turned back toward the hallway, the figure was gone. A loud crash suddenly exploded from somewhere inside the apartment. She screamed and ran into the living room, slamming the door behind her. Something hit the other side immediately. BANG. The entire door shook violently. Another hit. BANG. The wood cracked slightly near the handle. Panicking, she searched desperately for a way out. Her eyes landed on the apartment keys near the couch. If she could just reach the front door— The banging stopped. Complete silence returned. Then the phone whispered one final sentence. “He’s not in the hallway anymore.” Her blood turned ice cold. Slowly… painfully slowly… she looked down beside the couch. Underneath it, hidden in darkness, were two pale eyes staring directly at her. A huge grin stretched across a ghostly white face. The creature crawled out unnaturally fast. She screamed and sprinted toward the apartment door. Her hands shook so badly she could barely unlock it. Behind her came the sound of rapid crawling across the floor. Closer. Closer. Closer. Finally, the lock clicked. She threw the door open— And froze. There was no hallway outside. No apartment building. No city lights. Only endless black darkness stretching forever. The caller spoke one last time. “Nowhere left to run.” Something cold touched her shoulder. Then everything disappeared. --- The next morning, the apartment was found completely empty. No signs of forced entry. No blood. No evidence of a struggle. Only her phone remained on the living room floor. Police investigated the case for weeks but found nothing except one disturbing detail: Her phone records showed seventeen incoming calls from the same unknown number between 12:01 AM and 12:47 AM. The number did not exist. Three months later, another student moved into the apartment. On her first night there, during another violent storm, her phone rang at exactly 12:01 AM. Unknown Number. Curious, she answered. A whisper came through the static. “Don’t turn around.”