The Last Message

My phone buzzed once a single tone.

A text from me, but not my own.

Don’t turn the key. Don’t step inside.

Sent at 3:07… the exact time I died.

I stood there shaking, staring wild.

At the glowing screen, at those words piled.

My hands were numb, my breath too thin.

Because I’d sent this… from within.

The house was dark. The door was locked.

No footprints fresh, no bell had knocked.

Yet as I watched, another came.

They are in the walls. They know your name.

My reflection blinked just once, just slow.

In the blackened glass. I turned to go.

Then my phone lit up a final time.

Too late. You’re already mine.

"Then my phone died... but the typing didn’t stop."