HE’S STILL HERE

I woke up to the buzz of my alarm.

At first, I ignored it. Eyes shut, blanket tight. I assumed it was 6 AM, like always.

But something felt off.

The air was colder than it should’ve been. My body hadn’t reached that waking-point stiffness yet. And the light behind my curtains was missing. Usually, by 6, there’s at least a thin line of yellow across the floor.

None of that today.

Still half-asleep, I waited to see if the alarm would turn off on its own. It didn’t.

So I sighed, got up, and walked to my study table. My phone was there. I picked it up without thinking.

2:43 AM.

What?

I stared at it again. Maybe I was dreaming.

Nope.

The time stayed the same. The alarm was buzzing like it had every right to. I turned it off and rubbed my eyes, already feeling the annoyance settle in.

Why would it ring now?

I hadn’t set anything for 2:43.

I put the phone back on the table and crawled into bed. The buzz still echoed in my ears, even though the room was quiet.

I shut my eyes again and tried to sleep.

A minute passed.

Then it rang.

Louder this time. Same buzz. Same rhythm.

Except now, it came from under my pillow.

I froze.

The phone had been on the table. I had just turned it off. I was sure of that.

Still, my hand moved, hesitant, lifting the pillow slightly.

And there it was.

My phone.

Screen lit.

Time? 2:43 AM.

It vibrated one last time, then went silent on its own.

My heart thudded louder than it should’ve. I sat up straight, staring at it. How could it be here?

I glanced to look at the table. There was nothing there.

My throat dried up.

I put the phone down on the bedside drawer, screen down.

Maybe I was sleepwalking. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe my mind was spinning stories again.

I tried to sleep again.

But what I heard this time wasn’t buzzing.

It was ringing.

The same tone I use for incoming calls.

I tried to reach for the phone on the drawer. But…there wasn’t anything there. 

The sound was coming from the study table.

I turned slowly.

The same phone, mine, was on the table again.

Ringing.

“What the fuck,” I muttered. I had to see if it was my phone messing with me or my mind. Or both.

I walked up to the table to check the screen.

Still 2:43 AM. Like time itself was stuck. Like it didn’t want to move forward.

Zero notifications. Just my lock screen and wallpaper. A photo I didn’t remember setting.

It was blurry. Looked like a low-lit shot of my corridor. Tilted frame.

It took me a second to recognise it.

That tilt of the door. The long shadow across the wall. The way the light fell just short of the switchboard.

It was mine.

My house.

But then I saw the bedroom door.

Slightly ajar.

And in the corner of the frame—

Me.

Faint, but visible. Standing near the doorway.

Wearing what I was wearing now.

It looked like the photo was taken just moments ago. When I got up the first time to walk to the table.

I blinked fast. And hard.

The photo was grainy. Looked like it was taken in a rush. 

I turned around.

The bed was empty. The drawer was shut.

I gripped my phone tightly.

Cautiously, I walked to the door. The door was slightly ajar from earlier. I didn’t remember leaving it that way.

I opened it and stared down the corridor.

Exactly like the one in the photo.

Same shadows. Same light. Same open crack in the bathroom door.

But there was no one there.

I should’ve called someone then. But fear doesn’t think. It just stares.

And I couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone had just been here. That if I’d opened the door thirty seconds earlier, I’d have seen them.

I shut the door quickly. I wanted to sleep through this nightmare.

My hands were sweating.

I got back into bed. Pulled the blanket over me.

I realised my phone screen was still lit, so I tried to power it off.

It wouldn’t. 

Instead, it began playing a recording.

No title. No source. Started on its own.

And in that recording, I heard it.

My voice.

Panicked. Breathing heavy.

Saying one line, over and over again.

“He’s still here. He’s still here. He’s still here.”

I stopped it. The phone locked on its own. 

Silence.

The kind that makes your ears ring.

I wanted to throw the phone. Or leave. Or scream.

But I just sat there, holding it. Scared stiff.

That’s when the screen lit up again.

New wallpaper.

Same corridor.

Same angle.

Same time.

But this time?

It was closer.

In the photo, I was now on my bed.

Leaning forward. Checking my phone. Just what I’d done, when I awoke the second time.

And there was a blur in the corner of the frame.

A blurry hand.

Holding a phone. Taking the picture.

From just outside my room.

While you’re here, do check out other stories I’ve written. Linked here.

Image credits: Pinterest.

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Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. || Contents of this story should not be reproduced in any manner without permission.