Lost Phone

Tuesday Evening 8th December 2009

The night bit at my skin, sharp and unrelenting. December had a way of seeping into your bones, making you shiver no matter how many layers you wore. My breath visible in the icy air, puffing out in small, misty clouds. The world around me felt silent, muffled by the thick blanket of cold. Even the faint hum of distant traffic seemed subdued. I was sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the ride home after art class. The streetlights were flickering, and the place was eerily quiet. My sketchbook was in my lap, smudges of charcoal on my hands, and I stared at the empty street, lost in thought. Such quiet nights make me doubt if I like or not this ever-ending routine.. Adult life will also be like that? Surely… no school, nor art school, but some lame job, and chores back home? Such thoughts maybe are not fit for a fourteen years old girl. I tried to brush off those thoughts, and had a glance to my surroundings,

That’s when I saw it—the phone.

It was lying on the ground behind the bench, half-hidden in the dirt. At first, I ignored it. Someone would come back for it, right? But as the minutes ticked by and no one appeared, my curiosity grew. I glanced around, just to make sure I was alone, then I pick it up.

The phone was sleek, modern, but strange. No logo, no brand name, nothing. I tried turning it on, but the screen stayed black. Dead battery, I thought. Still, it felt odd. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to leave it there.

The bus pulled up, and I shoved the phone into my bag, deciding to figure it out later. The air was stale, a mix of faint rubber and the hint of someone’s leftover cologne. The seats were lumpy, patched in places with mismatched fabric. A few passengers sat scattered around, heads down, staring at their phones or nodding off. Nobody spoke. Nobody even looked up.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the phone. The way it looked so polished, almost too perfect. I tried to focus on the view outside, but there wasn’t much to see. Just the same stretches of road, the same rows of closed shops and empty parking lots. I traced patterns on the glass with my finger, the faint chill seeping through the surface.

The stops felt endless, the bus making stops every few blocks with the same mechanical sigh of its doors. Sometimes someone got on or off, but it barely registered. Just more faces, tired and blank like the rest of us. I checked my phone out of habit, though I wasn’t expecting anything. The time seemed to mock me—still far too long until I’d be home. I sighed and leaned back against the seat, the vibrations of the bus rattling faintly against my back. Even the music in my headphones wasn’t helping, the songs blending into the background like everything else.

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My home was just few minutes away from my stop. By the time I walked through the door, it was almost 9 PM. Mom was in the kitchen, and she called out as soon as she saw me. “Nora, you’re late! How were your art lessons?”

“They were fine,” I replied, slipping off my shoes. “Miss Harper said my perspective drawing is getting better.”

Dad was sitting at the dining table, having a smoke, along with a glass of whiskey. “ You’ve got an eye for this stuff, like your old man. Maybe you’ll be famous one day, and don’t end up like me.” he casually joked. My dad was working in a law firm, as an office clerk. He was a heavy smoker, but lately he promised he will quit it. Usually he was drinking a couple of whiskey’s after long days at work. Alcohol has a calming effect on him, and he was always cheerful.

I smiled and set my bag down by the stairs. “Maybe I will my good sir” I replied playfully.

Dinner was nice—plates clinking, the usual chatter about our day. Dad told a story about some disaster at work that had both Mom and me laughing. But even as I laughed, I felt distracted. That phone was like a puzzle I couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Nora, you’re awfully quiet tonight,” Mom said, giving me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, snapping out of my thoughts. I decided not to mention the phone. It was probably just some lost gadget, nothing worth worrying about. “I’m just tired.”

Dad gave me a knowing smile. “You’ve been working hard. Don’t overdo it.”

After dinner, I headed to my room. I sat at my desk and pulled the phone out of my bag, examining it under the soft glow of my desk lamp. No buttons, no logos, not even a charging port. It felt almost alien. I fiddled with it for a while, but nothing happened. Eventually, I shrugged and set it down. Maybe it was just some weird prototype or a knockoff.

Sliding into bed, I pushed the thoughts away and closed my eyes.

===================================================================================

I don’t know what woke me up, but when I opened my eyes, the room was flooded with light. At first, I thought I’d left my lamp on, but no—the glow was coming from my desk.

The phone.

It was lit up, brighter than any phone I’d ever seen. The light wasn’t just bright; it was unnatural, spilling across the walls and casting strange, shifting shadows. My heart pounded as I climbed out of bed and approached it.

The screen wasn’t black anymore. A single word glowed in bold letters: “HELLO.”

I stared at it, frozen. My breath hitched. How was this possible? The phone had no battery, no way to charge. And then, another word appeared.

“NORA.”

My name. My hands trembled as I reached out, but before I could touch it, the room began to change. The walls stretched, the shadows deepened, and the air turned cold. A faint smell of something burnt filled my nose.

Then I heard it. A voice. Faint at first, distant. “Nora…”

It sounded like my mom.

“Mom?” I called out, my voice shaking. I turned toward the door, but the hallway beyond wasn’t right. It stretched on endlessly, the edges smudged like charcoal strokes.

The voice came again, louder. “Nora, come here.”

I saw her—a figure at the end of the hallway. But as she stepped closer, something was wrong. Her head tilted at unnatural angles, her movements jerky, like a puppet on strings. The light cast jagged shadows across her face, hiding her features.

My legs felt like lead, but I wanted to run. I needed to run. Her distorted figure was only a few feet away now. Her neck snapped to the side, and her voice deepened into something guttural. “Noraaa”

She lunged.

I woke up gasping, my heart hammering in my chest. My room was dark again, the phone lying lifeless on my desk. It was just a dream, I told myself, pressing my hand to my chest. Just a stupid dream.

Then, I stayed in the silence for couple of minutes, and fell asleep.

Wednesday 9th December 2009

The alarm blared, dragging me out of the restless haze of sleep. My body felt heavy, my limbs aching like I’d been running all night. I groaned and reached over to turn it off. My eyes drifted toward the desk.

The phone was there, exactly where I’d left it. Its screen was dark, lifeless, like nothing had happened.

I rubbed my face and walked over, picking it up. The events of the night before came flooding back—the light, the messages, the twisted hallway, and… her. I turned the phone over in my hands, but it was just as it had been when I first found it: no battery, no buttons, no logo.

“What the hell are you?” I muttered, giving it a frustrated shake. Of course, nothing happened. I wanted to throw it against the wall, but instead, I stuffed it into my bag. Whatever this thing was, I didn’t want it haunting me anymore.

I joined my parents for breakfast as usual. There was the casual chatter, and morning dad jokes, I finished fast my toast, put on my shoes and left for school.

===================================================================================

On my way to school, I stopped at the corner store, where a rusted metal trash can sat near the pavement. Without a second thought, I pulled the phone out of my bag and dropped it in. The hollow clang of it hitting the bottom was oddly satisfying.

“That’s it,” I told myself.

For most of the day, things felt… normal. I laughed with my friends at lunch, actually paid attention in class, and even got a decent grade on a pop quiz. It was almost like the nightmare had never happened. By the time I got to art class, I’d started to convince myself it was just a bad dream.

Miss Harper walked past my desk, glancing at the woodland scene I was sketching. “That’s beautiful, Nora,” she said, her voice warm. “Your shading has really improved.”

I smiled, the compliment lifting my spirits. “Thanks, Miss Harper.”

For a while, I lost myself in the smudges of charcoal and the comforting hum of the studio. The hours flew by, and when I finally packed up to go home, I felt a little lighter. Maybe I’d finally shaken the feeling.

===================================================================================

Dinner was peaceful. Dad told another one of his goofy stories about work, and Mom shared a funny mishap from her day at the office. I even laughed a little.

When I went to bed that night, I fell asleep quickly.

I opened my eyes. I glanced at the window, was still dark outside. I sat up and had a look around. It was my room alright…but something was off. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I am still semi sleeping. The walls felt too close, then too far away, stretching and shifting like they were alive. Shadows moved where they shouldn’t have, pooling in the corners of the ceiling like dark, watchful eyes.

“Nora…”

The voice came again, soft and sweet, calling my name. My heart clenched. “Mom?” I whispered, stepping toward the door.

I peeked out into the hallway. It stretched into impossible darkness, the edges blurred like a smudged sketch. My feet felt damp on the carpet, as though it were soaked with water—or something else.

The voice came again, louder this time. “Nora, are you okay? Come to me.”

Her figure appeared at the far end of the hall. It was just a silhouette at first, but as it moved closer, my stomach turned. Her head twitched unnaturally with each step, her limbs jerking like they weren’t her own.

Panicking, I darted into a closet and pressed my back against the wall. My chest heaved as I tried to stay silent, my ears straining to hear over the pounding of my heart.

The footsteps stopped outside the closet door.

“Nora…” The sweetness in her voice was gone now, replaced with something guttural, something hungry. “Why are you hiding? Don’t you love me?”

The doorknob turned slowly, the door creaking open. A distorted hand reached in, and I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air.

My room looked normal again. The familiar clutter of my desk, the soft hum of the night—it was all there. But my throat was dry, and my chest still felt tight. I got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floors.

I poured myself a glass of water, trying to calm my racing heart. As I drank, I heard a voice behind me.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

I spun around, clutching the glass. Mom stood in the doorway, her face bathed in the warm glow of the kitchen light. She looked normal. Concerned, even.

“Mom,” I said, my voice shaky. “I… I had the worst nightmare.”

She stepped closer, her expression soft. “Oh, sweetie. What happened?”

I hesitated, then spilled everything—the phone, the messages, the twisted hallway. She listened, nodding gently.

“It sounds awful,” she said, her voice soothing. “But you’re awake now, and I’m here.”

I nodded, feeling a flicker of relief. “Yeah… I guess I’m just—”

Her face twisted.

Her jaw snapped open with a sickening crack, and her eyes burned with that same ember-like glow. Her limbs contorted, bending in ways that made my stomach lurch. Her voice deepened into a guttural growl.

“Are you sure you’re awake, Nora?”

The glass shattered on the floor as I screamed. She lunged at me—

And I woke up again.

I was back in bed, drenched in sweat, my chest heaving. The room was dark and quiet. Normal. But I couldn’t trust it. Not anymore.

For most of the night, I couldn’t sleep. I was scared. I wanted to go to my parents bedroom and crawl and sleep between them, but the thought that might… that might I am still sleeping.. that it’s another dream.. kept me from going..

I burst into tears, and I finally fall asleep around 4 am. The few hours I slept till morning were dreamless.

Thursday 10th December 2009

The alarm blared, pulling me out of a restless haze. My body was heavy, my limbs trembling with exhaustion. The nightmares had drained me, and the few stolen moments of sleep I’d managed felt more like drowning than resting.

When I finally dragged myself to the kitchen, Mom and Dad were already there. I sat down at the counter.

“Mom.. can I have some coffee too?”.

Mom’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Nora, are you okay? You don’t look well. I am not sure giving you a coffee at that age is…”

“She will be fine” said my dad. “She is like zombie, she most likely stayed awake all night because……”

“I was studying..” I lied, “this week is full of quiz tests,,”

My dad smiled. Not sure if he believed me or not.

Mom hesitated at first, but then prepared a cup for me.

I forced a smile, lifting the cup to my lips. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep much.”

Dad gave me one of his looks—the kind that meant he wasn’t buying it. “Seriously now, don’t make a habit out of it. You need to sleep properly. And if something bothers you, stress, or…”

“I said I’m fine,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. Their concern felt suffocating. I softened my tone immediately. “Sorry. I’m just… tired. I’ll be okay.”

They exchanged worried glances, but I quickly grabbed my bag and left before the conversation could continue.

The cold morning air hit my face like a slap, but it did little to clear my head. I kept glancing over my shoulder as I walked to school, half-expecting something—or someone—to be following me. But the streets were empty.

===================================================================================

The day dragged on, each class blurring into the next. My teachers’ voices sounded like distant murmurs, words slipping through my mind without sticking. I tried to focus, but it felt impossible. The numbers on the whiteboard seemed to shift and crawl, and the edges of the room felt too sharp, almost alive.

“Miss Norris?” my math teacher’s voice broke through the fog. “Are you paying attention?”

I blinked, snapping my head up. “Y-Yeah,” I stammered, though I had no idea what he’d just said.

A few of my classmates snickered. I ducked my head, staring down at my notebook. The page was blank, the pencil in my hand trembling. I clenched my fist around it, trying to steady myself.

At lunch, my friends tried to pull me into their conversation, but I barely heard them. Their voices sounded distant, like they were underwater. I nodded along, forcing a smile, but I could feel their eyes on me, their concern palpable.

“You sure you’re okay?” one of them finally asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight.

===================================================================================

Art class was usually my sanctuary, the one place where my mind could quiet down. But today, even that felt different. As I worked on my charcoal drawing of a forest, the shapes on the page seemed to shift. The shadows between the trees deepened, forming faces I didn’t remember drawing.

Miss Harper walked by, pausing to look at my work. “That’s… interesting, Nora,” she said, her voice hesitant. “You’ve always had a unique style.”

Her words felt distant, like everything else. I nodded absently, not trusting myself to speak. My hands moved over the page, almost without my control. The faces in the trees became clearer, their mouths open in silent screams.

When the bell rang, I packed up quickly and left, the whispers of concern trailing behind me.

===================================================================================

The bus was unusually crowded for a Thursday evening. I found a seat near the middle and slumped against the window, my forehead pressing against the cold glass. The steady hum of the engine and the faint murmur of passengers should have been comforting, but instead, it set my nerves on edge.

I glanced around. The people looked normal—a man scrolling on his phone, a woman flipping through a magazine, a teenager with headphones bobbing to music. An older woman sat a few rows ahead, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

The bus rumbled forward, the streets outside growing darker. The lights inside flickered once, then twice. My pulse quickened. It’s just bad wiring, I told myself. Nothing weird. Nothing wrong.

But the flickering grew worse. The bus lights strobed, but non of the passengers seemed to be annoyed by it. My heart pounded as I realized the murmurs had stopped. The engine’s steady hum was gone. The bus was silent.

I turned back to the passengers. Their faces had changed.

The man with the phone turned his head slowly, his neck creaking like old wood. His eyes were sunken and milky. The teenager’s headphones hung around his neck, his mouth stretched unnaturally wide in a frozen scream. The woman with the magazine had no eyes, just smooth, empty sockets.

My breath caught in my throat. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The older woman turned to me, her expression calm, almost kind. “Are you feeling alright, dear? You look pale.”

Her voice was gentle, but it only made my skin crawl. I shook my head, unable to form words. She smiled faintly, turning back to face the front.

The flickering stopped, and for a moment, I thought it was over. But then I saw it—the reflection in the window beside me. The passengers were still staring at me, their distorted faces frozen in grotesque expressions.

The older woman’s reflection was the worst of all. Her head tilted at an impossible angle, her kind smile replaced with a jagged, toothy grin. Her mouth moved as though whispering words I couldn’t hear.

The bus jolted to a stop, and I stumbled out of my seat. The passengers were normal again. The older woman was looking out the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Miss, are you alright?” she asked again, her voice steady.

I didn’t answer. I bolted off the bus at the next stop, several blocks from home, and started walking. My legs trembled with each step, and I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder.

===================================================================================

By the time I got home, I was too terrified to sleep. I waited until my parents were in bed, then slipped into the kitchen. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, every sound amplified in the silence.

I brewed myself cup after cup of coffee, gulping it down with shaking hands. The bitter taste burned my throat, but I didn’t care. Anything was better than closing my eyes.

Back in my room, I blasted music through my headphones, the chaotic beats drowning out my thoughts. I pulled out my sketchpad and began to draw, my hands moving frantically over the paper. I didn’t care what I was drawing—just that I was doing something.

The shapes on the page grew darker, more frantic. I barely recognized them as they formed—a twisted forest, shadowy figures with hollow faces. My hands wouldn’t stop. I wanted them to stop.

By 3 AM, I was slumped over my desk, my music still blaring. My body felt like it was breaking, but the fear of sleep kept me awake.

Friday 11th December 2009

The smell of coffee greeted me as I stumbled into the kitchen, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My parents were already there, their conversation stopping when they saw me.

“Nora, you’re up early,” Dad said, eyeing the nearly empty coffee pot. “Did you even sleep last night?”

I grabbed a fresh mug and poured myself another cup, the hot liquid trembling in my hands. “Not really,” I muttered. My voice sounded raw, even to me.

Mom frowned, setting down her toast. “Honey, you don’t look good. Maybe you should stay home today—”

“I’m fine,” I cut her off, the words sharp and defensive. My hands shook as I took a sip, the coffee burning my tongue. I forced a grin, trying to mask the panic bubbling beneath the surface. “Really, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Her concerned gaze softened into something more hesitant, but she didn’t push it. Dad, however, wasn’t convinced.

“You’re burning yourself out,”

“We have a couple of quizzes today, and I really want to ace them” I lied.., immediately feeling the weight of their stares. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry..”

Dad shook his head, but neither of them said anything as I grabbed my bag and rushed out the door.

===================================================================================

The caffeine coursing through my veins made everything feel sharper, almost too sharp. The lights in the hallway were too bright, the chatter of my classmates too loud. But for the first time all week, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. I felt… energized.

Math class was a breeze. I nailed every question, my hand shooting up to answer before anyone else. Even my teacher gave me an impressed nod.

“Looks like someone got some sleep,” one of my friends whispered during lunch, grinning.

“Something like that,” I replied with a forced laugh. Inside, I knew the truth. I was riding on borrowed time.

Art class went even better. The sketch I’d been working on for weeks came to life beneath my hands, each line flowing effortlessly. Miss Harper paused at my desk, her eyes lighting up as she studied the piece.

“This is incredible, Nora,” she said. “You’re really hitting your stride.”

I smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. For a moment, I forgot about the nightmares, the phone, I felt at ease.

I stayed in the art school longer than usual, completely lost in my work. The charcoal smudges on my hands felt comforting, grounding. It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock that panic set in.

8:50 PM.

I packed up my supplies in a rush and sprinted outside, only to see the bus pulling away from the stop. Its taillights disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing there, breathless.

I checked the schedule on posted over the bus stop. Forty-five minutes until the next bus. My stomach turned. I couldn’t wait that long. The thought of sitting at the empty bus stop, alone in the dark, made my skin crawl.

I texted Mom as I started pacing: Missed the bus. Walking home through the park. Be there soon.

No reply.

My phone buzzed a minute later. It was a message from Dad. I swiped to open it, but before I could read the text, I heard it.

“Nora…”

My blood ran cold. The voice was faint, distorted, but unmistakable. It was my mother.

“Nora… come here.”

I spun around, scanning the street. There was no one there. Just the empty sidewalk and the faint glow of a nearby lamppost. My chest tightened as I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and started walking. Fast.

“It’s not real,” I whispered to myself.

But the voice came again, closer this time. “Nora… sweetheart, wait.”

The park loomed ahead, its trees stretching like skeletal fingers into the night sky. My hands shook as I stepped onto the path, the gravel crunching beneath my feet. The lampposts lining the walkway flickered, their light barely piercing the dense shadows.

As I walked, the air grew colder, heavier. The trees seemed to close in around me, their branches shifting as if they were alive. My breathing quickened. The sound of footsteps echoed behind me, growing louder with each step.

I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. But the footsteps didn’t stop.

“Nora,” the voice called again, low and guttural now. “Why are you running?”

My heart pounded as I broke into a run, the path twisting and warping beneath my feet. The lampposts went out one by one, plunging me into darkness. I turned off the path, crashing through the underbrush, branches clawing at my face and arms.

===================================================================================

The forest was alive with whispers, low and insistent. Shapes moved in the shadows—faces, pale and hollow, their mouths stretched into silent screams. My legs burned as I pushed forward, my lungs heaving with every breath.

Then I tripped. My foot caught on a root, and I hit the ground hard. My phone flew out of my pocket, skidding across the dirt. I scrambled to my hands and knees, reaching for it, but something loomed over me.

A figure stepped into the faint moonlight. It was my mother—or something wearing her face. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, her mouth curling into a jagged grin.

“Nora,” she hissed, her voice layered and distorted.

She lunged.

I screamed, scrambling to my feet. My legs felt like lead, my body too tired to run, but fear drove me forward. The shadows around me twisted, forming faces—grotesque parodies of people I knew. Their eyes glowed faintly, tracking my every move.

The whispers grew louder, overlapping into a deafening roar. My vision blurred, the world spinning as exhaustion overtook me. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to my knees.

The figure—my “mother”—stepped closer, her movements jerky, inhuman. Her face shifted, flickering between hers and something monstrous. Her eyes burned like embers as she crouched in front of me.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered.

I couldn’t move. My body was frozen, my chest heaving with shallow breaths. The edges of my vision darkened as my heart raced, each beat weaker than the last.

But as the darkness closed in, something shifted. The grotesque faces around me softened, their features becoming normal. The whispers faded, replaced by voices—real voices. Concerned. Frantic.

I looked up and saw her—my real mother, her face streaked with tears as she reached for me. “Nora, wake up! Please!”

The shadows melted away, and the world came back into focus. I was lying on the cold ground, surrounded by strangers. Their worried faces hovered above me, their voices a blur.

But it was too late. My vision dimmed, and my body gave out. The last thing I saw was my mother’s face, her hand brushing my cheek as the void swallowed me whole.