THE LAST MESSAGE

Chapter 1: 2:13 AM

Kwame wasn’t supposed to be awake. The night had settled heavily over the house, wrapping everything in thick, unmoving darkness, and the power had gone out hours ago as usual, but tonight felt different because the silence wasn’t just quiet—it felt like something was inside it, watching and waiting. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling he couldn’t see, sweat clinging to his skin as the heat pressed against him without the fan, making it hard to breathe, so he turned to his side and grabbed his phone, the glow lighting up his face just enough to break the darkness, and the time read 2:13 AM. He exhaled slowly and muttered to himself, wondering why he was even awake, then opened a random app and scrolled without really paying attention before locking the phone again, letting the darkness rush back over him, heavier than before, and just as he tried to settle again, the phone vibrated suddenly in his hand. Kwame froze as the sound echoed louder than it should have, then looked down slowly as it buzzed again, revealing a message from an unknown number with no name or picture, just a single line that read, Don’t go outside tomorrow. He stared at it for a moment before letting out a short, nervous laugh, assuming it was some kind of prank, but something about it didn’t feel right, not the words themselves but the timing and the stillness surrounding him, like the message had always been there waiting for him to notice it. Sitting up slightly, he typed back, Who is this? and the reply came instantly, Listen to me, which caused his smile to fade because it didn’t sound like any joke his friends would make, and when he typed again, warning whoever it was to stop, the response came after a pause, You won’t have time to regret it, sending a cold feeling down his spine. Trying to brush it off, he attempted to call the number, but the call failed immediately, and when he tried again, it still didn’t go through, making him frown as he blamed the network, even though deep down he knew something was wrong. Then a soft tapping sound came from the window, making him turn his head slowly toward the curtain, his heart beginning to beat faster as the tapping came again, softer but closer, like something was right against the glass, and as he tried to convince himself it was just a branch, his phone buzzed again with another message that read, Don’t open it. His heart skipped as he looked back at the curtain, noticing that the tapping had suddenly stopped, as if whatever was there had heard the message too, and with growing fear, he stood up carefully and began walking toward the window, each step feeling heavier than the last, his breathing louder in his ears as he reached out toward the curtain, his fingers inches away from pulling it aside, when his phone buzzed sharply again, making him jump. The new message appeared instantly: Do not look outside. Kwame froze, staring at the words, his hand trembling slightly as he whispered, asking why, but no answer came, and the silence that followed felt even heavier than before, as if something unseen was filling the room. Slowly backing away from the window, he returned to his bed and pulled the sheet over himself despite the heat, gripping his phone tightly as minutes passed without sleep, his mind racing with fear and confusion, until at some point his eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, where for just a second he thought he saw something move, not clearly, just a shift in the darkness, like something stepping back out of sight, and although he squeezed his eyes shut and told himself he was imagining things, he could still feel it, something else in the room with him. His phone buzzed one last time, and when he opened it, the message read, I’m trying to help you, and with shaking fingers he typed back, From what? and after a moment, the reply came, From what happens at 8:17 AM, causing his breath to catch as he stared at the screen, knowing deep down that whatever this was, it wasn’t a prank anymore, and outside his window, unseen in the darkness, something stood silently, watching him.