Writers 
The Last Voice Note — Part 2
The figure in the corner smiled.
I couldn't move.
For several seconds, neither of us said anything.
Then the figure raised the phone.
My phone.
The same phone I had dropped beside the bed.
The screen was glowing.
A voice note was being recorded.
I watched the timer begin.
00:01.
00:02.
00:03.
My hands started shaking.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The figure didn't answer.
Instead, it pressed stop.
Then my phone vibrated.
A notification appeared.
Voice note sent.
I looked at the recipient.
My own number.
The figure had just sent me another voice note.
I didn't want to play it.
But something about the situation made me feel like I already knew what I was going to hear.
I pressed play.
My voice came through the speaker.
“Don't worry. You have about six minutes.”
I stared at the figure.
It tilted its head.
Six minutes for what?
I backed away slowly.
“Who are you?”
This time, it answered.
And the voice nearly made my knees give out.
It was mine.
Exactly mine.
“I already told you.”
The figure stepped forward.
“I'm you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You're not me.”
A small smile appeared.
“Not yet.”
My phone slipped from my hand.
The screen went black.
Then the lights in my bedroom went out.
Complete darkness.
I heard footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Coming toward me.
I ran.
I didn't know where I was going. I just reached for the bedroom door and pulled it open.
The hallway light was still on.
I rushed into the sitting room and locked the bedroom door behind me.
My hands were trembling so badly that I almost dropped the keys.
Then I heard a knock from inside the bedroom.
Three slow knocks.
I froze.
The same knocks from earlier.
Then my voice came through the door.
“Open up.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
A pause.
Then:
“You don't understand.”
“I don't need to.”
Another pause.
“Actually, you do.”
The voice became quieter.
“Because tomorrow morning, you're going to forget this happened.”
I stared at the door.
“What?”
“You'll wake up and everything will feel normal.”
I didn't answer.
“You'll go to work.”
Silence.
“You'll take the shortcut through the old market.”
My stomach dropped.
“And you'll see the man in the blue shirt.”
I remembered the photograph.
The man.
The phone.
The old market.
Everything suddenly connected.
“Who is he?” I asked.
The voice behind the door answered:
“Your first mistake.”
I swallowed.
“And you?”
Silence.
Then:
“Your second.”
I stepped away from the door.
My phone suddenly rang from somewhere inside the bedroom.
I knew exactly who was calling.
Me.
Again.
I didn't answer.
The ringing stopped.
Then another notification appeared.
A photograph.
This time, it showed my apartment.
Taken from outside.
The curtains were closed.
The picture had clearly been taken that night.
But there was something strange.
In the upstairs window, I could see myself.
Standing in the bedroom.
Looking out.
Except I wasn't standing there.
I was in the sitting room.
I zoomed in.
There were two people visible through the window.
One was me.
The other was standing directly behind me.
I stopped breathing.
Then another message appeared.
Look behind you.
I didn't.
I refused.
Whatever was happening, I had learned one thing.
The messages wanted me to react.
So I stayed still.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Nothing happened.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Good. You finally learned.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared immediately.
Now check the time.
I looked at the wall clock.
2:13 a.m.
I blinked.
That was impossible.
It had been nearly midnight when everything started.
I checked my phone.
2:13 a.m.
I checked the clock again.
2:13.
The same time.
Exactly the same time as the first voice note.
Then the bedroom door unlocked itself.
Click.
I stepped backward.
The door opened slowly.
The room was empty.
The figure was gone.
Only my phone remained on the floor.
I picked it up.
There was one new voice note.
This one wasn't from my number.
It came from an unknown contact.
I pressed play.
For the first time all night, it wasn't my voice.
It was a man's.
Calm.
Almost amused.
“You've made it further than she did.”
I stared at the screen.
“Who is this?”
The recording continued.
“She thought the messages were warnings too.”
I felt cold.
“What messages?”
A second voice note arrived.
“She received them for seven days.”
Another.
“On the seventh day, she disappeared.”
Another.
“You are currently on day one.”
I looked at the date.
My heart sank.
It was Monday.
I checked the photograph again.
The one showing the old market.
The date printed in the corner wasn't yesterday.
It wasn't even today's date.
It was dated six days from now.
Friday.
I stared at the screen, trying to understand.
Then another message arrived.
Don't go home tomorrow.
The exact words from the first voice note.
Except this time, there was something underneath them.
A location.
The old market.
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the whole thing had become too impossible to process.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
The man's voice returned.
“Listen carefully.”
I didn't speak.
“Tomorrow, someone will ask you for directions.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Don't answer them.”
“Why?”
“Because they already know the way.”
The call ended.
I stood there for a long time.
Then I heard something outside my apartment.
Footsteps.
Someone was walking down the hallway.
Slowly.
They stopped directly outside my door.
I looked through the peephole.
Nobody.
Then my phone vibrated.
A new voice note.
I pressed play.
My own voice whispered:
“He's outside.”
I stared at the door.
Another voice note arrived.
This one said:
“But he's not the one you should be afraid of.”
I didn't move.
Then, from the other side of the door, someone whispered my name.
I knew that voice.
It was my voice.
And then came the final message.
Day One is over.
Six more to go.