It said, “Don’t turn around.”
A chill ran through me as I locked the phone screen, my hand suddenly unsteady. My wife stared at me, her confusion shifting into fear as she whispered, “What does it mean?” I couldn’t answer. Something about the message felt wrong—too deliberate, too aware. Slowly, against every instinct, I glanced at the rearview mirror.
Nothing.
Just the empty parking lot behind us, dimly lit by flickering streetlights. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Probably just a prank,” I muttered, trying to convince both of us.
Then the phone buzzed again.
I hesitated before looking. Another message.
“You looked.”
My stomach dropped. My wife grabbed my arm. “We need to leave. Now.” I nodded, starting the engine, but the car wouldn’t turn over. The lights flickered once… twice… then died completely.
Buzz.
A third message lit up the dark interior.
“I’m closer now.”
We both froze. The silence outside felt heavier, like something was pressing in on us. Then, from the back seat, came a soft, unmistakable sound—
A slow, deliberate breath.
I didn’t dare turn around this time.
