Scream

The night began quietly. Too quiet to be real that evening. The phone rang at exactly 11:47 PM, strangely enough, it was an old one, with a cord that hadn't been touched in a while. You looked at the screen—there was no number, just a blank space. You don't pick up the phone because you don't understand who even calls these numbers? The phone goes silent, you exhale, but three seconds later it rings again. This time you hang up.

"Hello?" you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Do you like scary stories?” the voice is distorted, as if smiling. You hang up. Your heart beats faster, but you convince yourself that this is some stupid prank your friends are playing. Outside the window, there's a streetlight, and there's no one under it. Only fog, creeping across the asphalt. The phone rings for the third time, you pick it up, your hands shaking. "Have you checked the door yet?" You turn around abruptly. The door is closed, the lock is in place. Everything is fine. You think so—until you hear a soft click, not from outside, but from inside the apartment. You don't understand what it is, and the fear begins to creep back even more strongly. He doesn't break in, he doesn't shout, he just waits, like a wild animal in ambush. Each call is like a step closer, but you don't hear the footsteps. The silence is more oppressive than any scream. And suddenly you understand the worst thing: he's not here to attack. He's here to watch you wait. The phone goes silent. And behind you, someone quietly inhales the air, as if tasting it. And a voice, low and cold: "Do you want to play? The game is your choice." - here you understand that you have no choice but to run, and you can only stop at being subject to him, or accepting eternity.