The Call at 2:17

Maya had stopped sleeping properly after her mother's funeral. Tonight, she was not even trying. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling while rain tapped softly against the bedroom window. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Her mother's apartment had always been quiet at night, but it had never felt this empty before. Maya turned toward the bedside table and checked the time. 2:16 a.m. She closed her eyes. One minute later, her phone rang. Maya opened her eyes immediately. She stared at the screen. Unknown Number. She almost ignored it. Almost. The phone stopped ringing. Maya let out a breath and pulled the blanket higher. Then it rang again. Same number. She reached for it. "Hello?" Silence. Maya frowned. "Who is this?" Nothing. Then she heard breathing. Slow. Uneven. Like someone was trying very hard not to cry. Maya sat up. "Hello?" A faint sound came through the speaker. A whisper. "Maya." Her entire body went cold. She ended the call. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the phone in her hand. She told herself it was a prank. Someone had found her number. Someone from work. Someone from the neighborhood. Anyone. There had to be a normal explanation. The phone vibrated. A message. Maya looked down. DON'T HANG UP. Her heart started beating faster. She typed: Who are you? The reply arrived immediately. You know me. Maya's fingers went numb. She didn't type again. Instead, she opened the contact information for the number. Her breath caught. She knew those digits. She had known them since childhood. She had dialed that number when she was sick at school. When she got lost at twelve. When she had her first apartment. When she had cried after her first breakup. It was her mother's number. Maya stared at the screen. "No." The number had been disconnected three weeks ago. Her mother had been dead for twenty-one days. She dropped the phone onto the bed. "No." She stood up and walked to the window. The rain had become heavier. Across the street, the windows of the apartment buildings glowed with warm yellow light. Normal people were sleeping inside. Families. Couples. People who had no idea that Maya's world had just stopped making sense. She grabbed her phone again. The screen was dark. No missed call. No message. Nothing. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe grief was finally catching up with her. Maya walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She was halfway through drinking when she heard three soft knocks. She froze. The sound had come from the front door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Maya slowly put the glass down. Nobody knew she was awake. Nobody was supposed to be visiting. She walked toward the hallway. Another three knocks. "Who is it?" No answer. Maya stopped several feet from the door. She looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. She opened her mouth to speak, then noticed something on the floor. A small white envelope. It had been pushed underneath the door. Maya didn't move. Her eyes stayed fixed on it. After several seconds, she picked it up. Her name was written across the front. MAYA CARTER The handwriting made her stomach twist. She knew it. It was her mother's handwriting. Maya tore the envelope open. Inside was a single photograph. It showed Maya standing outside a café. She remembered the day. She had been there six months earlier. But there was something wrong. Someone had taken the photograph from across the street. Watching her. Waiting. On the back of the photograph were seven words: I told you not to come back. Maya dropped it. Those were the exact words her mother had said to her on the night she died. Maya backed away from the door. Her mother had said them only once. There was no way anyone else could know. The phone rang again. 2:17 a.m. Maya looked down. The same number. Her mother's number. She answered without thinking. "Mom?" For several seconds, there was only silence. Then came a voice. Weak. Shaking. Terrified. "Maya..." Maya covered her mouth. It was her mother. Not a recording. Not a memory. Her mother. "Mom? Where are you?" A breath. Then a whisper. "Listen to me." Maya's eyes filled with tears. "What happened to you?" The voice became quieter. "You have to leave the apartment." "Why?" A pause. "Because he's already inside." Maya stopped breathing. She slowly turned toward the dark hallway behind her. At the far end of it, the door to her mother's old bedroom was open. Maya was certain she had closed it. Then, from inside the bedroom, she heard a floorboard creak. Someone was standing in the dark. The phone remained pressed against her ear. Her mother's voice whispered one final sentence. "Don't let him see you." The call ended. Maya didn't move. Then the bedroom light switched on by itself.