THE LAST MESSAGE

Chapter 2: 8:17 AM

Kwame didn’t sleep at all that night, and by the time morning came, it felt less like waking up and more like surviving until daylight, because even with the sun pushing through the curtains, the memory of the messages and the tapping at the window refused to leave his mind. He sat on his bed staring at his phone, rereading the conversation over and over again as if the words might change, but they didn’t, and the last message stayed the same—From what happens at 8:17 AM. He checked the time again, 7:42 AM, and a strange tension settled in his chest, making it hard to ignore what he had read, even though part of him still wanted to believe it was just a prank. From the kitchen, his mother called his name, telling him he was late, and he forced himself to respond, grabbing his bag and getting dressed slowly, his movements distracted as his thoughts stayed fixed on the time. By 8:05 AM, he stood by the door, his hand resting on the handle, staring at it longer than necessary as the words echoed in his mind—Don’t go outside tomorrow. He exhaled sharply and shook his head, muttering that he wouldn’t let a random message control him, and with that, he opened the door and stepped outside. The morning air hit him instantly, warm and familiar, and for a moment, everything looked normal—vendors shouting, cars passing, children walking to school, and nothing felt out of place, which made him almost laugh at himself as he adjusted his bag and began walking down the street. He kept checking his phone as he moved, but there were no new messages, and by the time he reached his usual waiting spot near the roadside stall, he started to relax slightly, even exchanging a small greeting with the woman who owned the stall, who joked about him being late, and he forced a smile in response. The minutes passed slowly, and he checked the time again—8:15 AM—just two minutes away, and suddenly, the air felt heavier, like something unseen was pressing down on everything, making his chest tighten as an uneasy feeling crept over him, like he was standing exactly where he shouldn’t be. A taxi sped past faster than normal, drawing his attention for a moment, but before he could think much of it, his phone buzzed sharply in his hand, making him flinch as he looked down to see a new message appear: Move. His heart skipped as he stared at the word, confusion flooding his mind, and for a second, he hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then everything happened at once. A loud screech tore through the air as the same taxi lost control, its tires screaming against the road as it veered straight toward the roadside, and someone nearby shouted in alarm, but it was already too late. Kwame didn’t think—he reacted. He jumped back just as the taxi slammed violently into the stall, the impact sending wood and metal flying as the sound of the crash echoed through the street, followed by screams and chaos. He hit the ground hard, his ears ringing as dust filled the air, and for a few seconds, everything blurred together, the noise, the movement, the confusion, until slowly he pushed himself up, his heart pounding so violently it hurt. When his vision cleared, he looked at the wreckage, his breath catching as he realized the exact spot he had been standing moments ago was completely destroyed, and if he hadn’t moved… he didn’t even want to finish that thought. His hands shook as he reached for his phone, and another message appeared on the screen, I told you, sending a cold chill through his body as he stared at it in disbelief, his breathing uneven as the reality of what had just happened settled in. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t luck. Whatever was sending these messages had known exactly what would happen. “Who are you?” he whispered under his breath, but the reply came instantly, Next time, listen faster, and the words made his stomach twist with fear. Around him, people rushed to help, voices shouting, someone crying, others trying to pull the driver from the wreckage, but Kwame barely noticed any of it, because his attention stayed locked on his phone. For a brief moment, the screen flickered, and in that split second, he thought he saw something else—not text, not reflection, but a shape, like a face standing right behind him. His heart jumped as he spun around quickly, but there was nothing there, only the crowd and the chaos, everything looking normal again, yet his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He slowly turned back to his phone, his fear deepening as another message appeared, This is only the beginning, and as he read those words, one thought became painfully clear in his mind—whatever had saved him… wasn’t finished with him yet.