THE LAST MESSAGE

Chapter 5: It Follows

The next morning, Kwame left the house with a feeling he couldn’t explain, like the air itself had changed overnight and the world around him was pretending to be normal when it wasn’t, and even though the streets looked the same—the same roadside sellers calling out to customers, the same children rushing to school, the same taxis speeding past—everything felt wrong, like something invisible was moving just beneath the surface of it all. He hadn’t told anyone about what happened in his room because saying it out loud would make it too real, and a part of him still wanted to believe exhaustion had made him imagine everything, but the messages on his phone were still there, undeniable proof that something was happening, something far beyond his understanding. He walked faster than usual, keeping his phone in his hand as if holding it gave him some kind of control, though deep down he knew it was the opposite—the phone was no longer his, it belonged to whatever was using it to reach him. Every few seconds he checked behind him, not because he saw anything, but because he felt it, that heavy awareness of being watched, the same way you feel someone staring at you from across a crowded room even before you turn around. At first there was nothing, just people moving through their normal lives, but then he saw it. Across the road, standing perfectly still near an unfinished building, was the figure from his room. Tall. Thin. Wrong. Even in daylight it looked unnatural, like it didn’t belong in the world around it, its limbs too long, its body slightly bent forward, and though the people walking past didn’t react, as if they couldn’t see it at all, Kwame saw it clearly. His entire body froze. Cars passed between them, horns blaring, people shouting, but all sound seemed distant as his eyes locked on the thing standing there. It didn’t move. It only watched him. Then slowly, very slowly, it tilted its head to one side, and the same cold terror from the night before rushed through him so hard it made his hands shake. His phone buzzed. He looked down instantly. Keep walking. His breath caught in his throat. He looked back across the street. The thing was still there. Watching. Waiting. Another message appeared. Do not run. Kwame swallowed hard, forcing himself to move even though every instinct screamed at him to turn and run as far as possible. His legs felt weak as he kept walking, pretending everything was normal while his heart pounded so violently he thought people around him might hear it. He passed shops, crossed streets, and moved through crowds, but every time he dared to glance behind him, it was there again—sometimes closer, sometimes standing at the end of the road, sometimes reflected for a second in a shop window before disappearing—but always there. Following. Never rushing. Never speaking. Just staying close enough to remind him it could. By the time he reached school, his shirt clung to him with sweat and his nerves were stretched so tight he felt like he might snap. He stepped into the classroom, trying to calm himself, and immediately his friend Kojo noticed something was wrong, asking if he had seen a ghost. Kwame almost laughed at how accurate that sounded, but instead he just shook his head and said he was tired, dropping into his seat near the back. He tried to focus on the teacher’s voice, on the lesson, on anything normal, but concentration was impossible because every time he looked toward the classroom window, he thought he saw movement outside, a tall shape standing near the school gate where no one else seemed to notice it. At break time, Kojo dragged him outside, insisting he needed fresh air, and for a few minutes the normal noise of students talking and laughing helped him breathe again, until he noticed Ama standing under a tree near the field, staring at him. Not smiling. Not waving. Just staring. Something about it made his stomach tighten. He walked toward her slowly, asking if she was okay, but before she answered, her eyes shifted to the phone in his hand and her expression changed in a way that made his blood run cold. She stepped closer and spoke so quietly only he could hear. “He says you keep asking the wrong questions.” Kwame’s body went still. “What?” he whispered, but Ama only blinked, confusion suddenly returning to her face like she didn’t even know what she had just said, and she asked why he looked so scared before walking away as if nothing had happened. His hands shook as he stared after her, panic rising inside him, because now it was no longer just following him—it was reaching the people around him. His phone buzzed again. He already knew he wouldn’t like what it said. She listens better than you. Kwame felt his stomach twist as fear turned into anger, and for the first time, instead of typing back carefully, he opened the chat and wrote exactly what he was thinking. Leave my sister alone. The reply came instantly. Then obey. He stared at the word, rage and fear mixing together until he could barely breathe, and before he could stop himself, he typed again. What do you want from me? This time, the response took longer, and when it came, it was only one sentence. At 2:13 AM, I will show you. Kwame stood there in the middle of the schoolyard, surrounded by noise and sunlight and people laughing, yet he had never felt more alone in his life, because he understood now that tonight would be worse than before, and whatever happened at 2:13 AM, it would change everything.