The Message From My Own Number

At exactly 2:17 a.m., my phone buzzed with a notification that made my blood

run cold: I’m standing behind you. I was alone in my locked room, and the message

had been sent from my own number. The lights flickered as a sudden chill crawled up my spine,

and I felt a breath—cold and wet—brush against my ear. The mirror across the room began to

fog despite the fan spinning at full speed, and slowly, as if traced by

an unseen finger, words appeared on the glass telling me to turn around. I froze,

remembering my grandmother’s warning that if a ghost ever asks you to look at it, it’s already too

late. My phone buzzed once more, the screen glowing in the darkness