For 10 Years, the Burnt-Out Wooden Mansion Sat Silent in the Forest—Until His Phone Rang with His Own Number… And the Voice on the Other End Was Predicting His Every Move
The two-story wooden mansion at the edge of the forest had been half-gutted by fire ten years ago.
No electricity. No signal. Not a single soul around.
An insurance claims adjuster was assigned to inspect the site one last time before the company finalized the liquidation.
Dusk fell rapidly. Heavy rain began to pour.
He switched on his heavy-duty flashlight and stepped alone through the lopsided wooden door, entering a living room covered in soot and rotting timber.
The surroundings were swallowed in an eerie silence, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain on the rusted tin roof.
Suddenly…
Buzz… buzz…
The phone in his chest pocket vibrated.
He frowned and pulled it out. He clearly remembered having zero reception the moment he entered the forest.
Yet the screen was glowing bright.
The caller ID displayed on the screen made his heart skip a beat.
It was his own name.
And the incoming number… was the exact number of the phone he was currently holding.
He swallowed hard, hesitated for a few seconds, and swiped to answer.
He pressed the phone to his ear. No static.
Just heavy, frantic breathing.
Then a voice came through the speaker. It sounded identical to him—the tone, the cadence, everything.
But it was whispering in sheer panic:
“Listen to me… Don’t shine your flashlight up at the ceiling. Whatever you do, don’t look up.”
His hand trembled violently. The flashlight beam flickered wildly.
The voice on the phone continued, faster and more desperate:
“I am you from 5 minutes in the future. You are standing in the middle of the living room. Do not look up. It is crawling on the rafters right above your head… and it’s staring down at you.”
PART 2 IN THE FIRST COMMENT…
His entire body froze solid.
The heavy flashlight trembled violently in his sweat-slicked palm.
The sound of rain pounding on the tin roof seemed to fade into the distance. Right above his head, among the charred rafters… a sickening rustle echoed.
The sound of broken claws scraping softly against rotting wood.
The voice on the phone whispered again, its breath ragged as if speaking while on the run:
“Listen… I’m hiding in the wardrobe at the end of the hallway. My hand is bleeding. Don’t let it know you notice. Take three steps… backward. Slowly.”
He swallowed the bitter lump in his throat, forcing the flashlight beam to stay fixed on the opposite wall.
One step.
Two steps.
Click.
His heel struck a hard object. He tilted the flashlight beam downward.
On the floor… lay a shattered smartphone, its screen flickering with one last line of light before going completely dead.
It was his phone. Covered in dust and soot, as if it had been lying there for a long time.
His heart stopped beating.
If his phone was smashed on the floor… then what was the object he was pressing against his ear?
The voice on the other end suddenly warped. The panicked breathing vanished, replaced by a low, drawn-out rasping chuckle, cold and lifeless:
“I told you not to look up… I never said don’t look down.”
The flashlight beam flickered wildly and cut out. Darkness swallowed the room whole.
And right on his shoulder, a soaking wet, ice-cold hand… gently rested down.
FOLLOW FOR THE FINAL PART TOMORROW…
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