Caller ID: Myself

It was a quiet night. I was scrolling through my phone when I saw a call from my brother’s

number. Except… he’d died three months ago. I froze. My thumb hovered

over the screen. Every logical part of me screamed don’t answer. I ignored it at

first. But the call kept coming, every night at 2:46 a.m. Same number.

Same ringtone. Then came the texts. Short, simple messages: “Help me.”

“Don’t trust her.” “Look behind you.” My hands were shaking. I checked my apartment. Nothing.

One night, I finally answered. His voice — unmistakable — whispered: “I’m trapped.

You have to find me.” Then silence. I ran through old boxes,