BoldVoices.in

It was a typical Wednesday evening when Sarah settled into her cozy living room, the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace. She had just finished dinner and was ready to unwind with a good book. The storm outside raged on, rain pelting against the window, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the dark corners of her home.

As she flipped through the pages, her phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating incessantly. She glanced at the screen; the caller ID showed an unknown number. With a fleeting sense of curiosity and a hint of trepidation, she answered.

“Hello?” she said, her voice steady despite the tension that gripped her.

“Sarah… I see you,” came a raspy voice on the other end. It sent a chill down her spine, and her heart raced. “You’re not alone.”

She instinctively looked around her living room, shadows dancing in the flickering light. “Who is this?” she demanded, her composure wavering.

There was silence, and then the line went dead. Confused and anxious, Sarah set the phone back on the table, trying to shake off the feeling of dread. Surely it was just a prank, she reassured herself. But as she glanced out the window, the rain slashed against the glass, and the storm felt more menacing than ever.

Moments later, her phone rang again. This time, it was a text. With shaky hands, she opened the message: “I’m getting closer.”

Fear gripped her heart, and she looked back out the window. The street was deserted, the only sound the downpour cascading from the sky. She considered calling the police but hesitated, unsure if the threat was real or simply a sick joke. But the stranger’s voice replayed in her mind, sending waves of discomfort through her.

As she paced the room, Sarah heard a soft thud from the back of the house, where the kitchen was located. She held her breath, the blood in her veins turning cold. Mustering her courage, she moved cautiously toward the sound, creeping through the dimly lit hallway.

With every step, her mind raced, conjuring images of potential danger lurking in the darkness. Had someone really entered her home? Was this just a trick of the storm?

Reaching the kitchen, she hesitated at the doorframe, peering inside. The room was empty, but the back door creaked slightly, a reminder that she never locked it when she returned home. Panic surged through her. She rushed to secure it, bolting the lock tightly.

As she emerged back into the hallway, her phone buzzed again. This time, a picture message appeared: a blurred image of the back of her house taken from the yard. It was a dark silhouette—someone standing just beyond the shadow of the trees.

Sarah’s heart pounded as she stepped back, frantically scanning the room for any means of defense. She reached for the fireplace poker, her breath steadying as she prepared herself for confrontation. “You want to play games? Come on then!” she shouted, her voice ringing with a desperation she barely felt.

Silence enveloped her, heavy with the weight of impending dread. Just as she thought perhaps the intruder had retreated, her phone rang again—a call this time. She answered without checking the number. “What do you want?” she barked.

“Look out your window,” the raspy voice commanded, cold and chilling.

Against her better judgment, Sarah swung toward the window. The rain had eased, and she squinted through the glass, searching for any movement. Suddenly, she saw it—just beyond the tree line, a figure stood motionless, hidden partially by the shadows, but unmistakably gazing right at her. Panic surged through her chest again, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

“Run, Sarah! Run!” she heard the voice say suddenly, the urgency sharper than before.

With no time to think, she bolted toward the front door, grabbing her jacket as she rushed past. She fumbled to open it, bursts of adrenaline fueling her. Outside, she could barely see the figure anymore, the storm now lighting the way with flashes of lightning.

But before she could take another step, a hand grasped her shoulder from behind. Sarah spun, ready to strike the intruder. But it was just her neighbor, Mr. Abernathy, having rushed over in concern.

“Are you okay? I heard shouting,” he exclaimed, worry etched into his features.

“It’s… It’s nothing. I need to call the police!” she exclaimed, turning back to face the house.

“Wait! You might not want to—” he started, but it was too late.

Her instincts kicked in, and she ran back inside, slamming the door behind her. Panting and shaking, she dialed 911, desperation creeping back into her veins.

As she spoke to the operator, she gazed out the window again. The figure was gone, but a terrifying realization settled in her mind: the unknown caller was not just a threat. The feeling of being watched clung to her like fog, lingering as she awaited help, already knowing it wouldn’t just end here.

Moments later, the sound of sirens echoed in the distance, but in the shadows of the night, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that the caller was still out there, lurking nearby, waiting for the next moment to strike. And she was not yet safe.