The Person Who Texts Me from Unknown Numbers

No one noticed when Lila Hart stopped talking.

She had always been quiet—the kind of girl who sat in the back of the class, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes down, answers correct but barely audible.

People called her “weird.”

She preferred to be invisible.

The first message came during math class.

Her phone buzzed softly against the desk.

Unknown number.

She almost ignored it.

Almost.

You braid your hair when you’re nervous.

Lila froze.

Slowly, her hands dropped from her hair.

Her stomach twisted.

She looked around.

No one was watching her.

No one cared.

She deleted it.

Blocked the number.

Told herself it was a prank.

Until the next one came.

Ten minutes later.

You always check the door lock three times before bed.

You forgot last night.

Her breath hitched.

That wasn’t something anyone could see at school.

She stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly.

“Bathroom,” she muttered, not waiting for permission.

Inside the stall, she stared at her phone as it might bite her.

Blocked.

Unknown.

No name.

No history.

She turned it off.

Hands shaking.

It didn’t matter.

The messages kept coming.

New numbers.

Every time.

You sit alone at lunch because you hate how they stare.

You still sleep with the lamp on.

You still dream about the lake.

That one made her drop the phone.

The lake.

No one knew about the lake.

No one except—

Lila squeezed her eyes shut.

No.

She went to her teacher first.

“Someone’s texting me,” she said quietly. “They know things about me. Personal things.”

The teacher frowned. “Have you tried blocking the number?”

“I did. It keeps changing.”

“Then it’s probably just someone messing with you.”

Next was the principal.

Then her parents.

Then the police.

Every time—

The same answer.

“Without a name or proof, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Just ignore it.”

“Teenagers play pranks.”

Lila stopped arguing.

Because the messages didn’t stop.

They got worse.

More specific.

More invasive.

You cried in the shower yesterday.

You counted the tiles on your ceiling. Again.

You whispered her name.

Her.

Lila’s hands trembled as she typed back for the first time.

Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

You know me.

Her heart pounded.

No, I don’t.

Three dots.

Typing.

Stopping.

Typing again.

Then—

Not yet.

She stopped going to school after that.

At first, her parents argued.

Then they gave up.

She stayed in her room.

Curtains closed.

Lights dim.

Door locked.

Her phone buzzed constantly.

Even when it was on silent.

Even when she buried it under blankets.

She smashed it one night.

Threw it against the wall until the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.

“STOP!” she screamed, voice breaking.

“JUST STOP!”

The buzzing finally ended.

Silence.

For the first time in weeks—

Silence.

Hours passed.

The room grew darker.

Lila sat curled on her bed, staring at nothing.

Her broken phone lay on the floor.

Dead.

Cracked.

Still.

Then—

It lit up.

A faint glow beneath the fractures.

Lila didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The screen flickered.

Glitched.

Letters stuttering into place like they were struggling to exist.

I F O U N D Y O U M Y B E L O V E D

Her blood turned to ice.

The sender's name loaded slowly.

Pixel by pixel.

A name she hadn’t seen in years.

A name she had buried.

EMMA

Lila’s lips parted.

“No…”

Emma.

Her childhood best friend.

The one who—

The one who drowned.

At the lake.

The screen glitched again.

A new message.

You left me there.

The air in the room dropped.

Cold.

Wet.

Lila’s breath came out shaky.

“I didn’t— I tried—”

Another message.

You let go.

Her chest tightened.

Memories forced their way back.

Water.

Screaming.

Hands slipping.

“I was scared…” she whispered.

The phone buzzed again.

I wasn’t.

Something creaked.

Lila’s head snapped up.

Her closet.

The door—

Was opening.

Slowly.

Too slow.

The wood groaned as it parted, inch by inch.

Darkness spilled out.

Thick.

Heavy.

Lila couldn’t move.

Couldn’t scream.

From inside—

A wet sound.

Like something shifting.

Dragging.

Then—

A voice.

Soft.

Familiar.

Right behind the door.

“…I waited for you.”

The darkness inside the closet moved.

And something stepped forward.

Tall.

Thin.

Soaked.

Water dripped onto the floor.

Pooling.

Spreading.

Its head tilted.

Hair clung to its face—

But Lila knew.

She knew that shape.

That posture.

“…Lila?”

The voice broke slightly.

“…why didn’t you come back for me?”

Lila’s body finally reacted.

She screamed.

But the thing in the doorway smiled.

And the phone buzzed one last time.

You’re not alone anymore.

The neighbors said they heard the scream.

They said it cut off too suddenly.

When the police arrived—

The room was empty.

The window locked.

The door is still shut from the inside.

The closet—

Wide open.

And the floor—

Soaked.

They never found Lila.

But sometimes—

Late at night—

People claim their phones light up.

Cracked screens are flickering.

With messages from numbers that don’t exist.

I FOUND YOU.

Because some obsessions don’t fade.

They wait.