Writers 
THE MESSAGE AT 3:17 AM
PART TWO — THE PERSON UPSTAIRS
AKT Writes ✍️
There are sounds you hear in the middle of the night and immediately forget.
Then there are sounds that make you realize something is terribly wrong.
The sound I heard that night belonged to the second kind.
Creak.
A door had opened upstairs.
I stood completely still.
My hand remained on the front door, but I couldn't bring myself to turn the handle.
The message on my phone was still staring back at me.
UNKNOWN:
I'm already inside your house.
I swallowed hard.
My first thought was my mother.
Then my younger brother.
Were they safe?
I wanted to call out to them, but the warning from the unknown number stopped me.
Don't tell your mother.
Why?
What did this person know that I didn't?
And more importantly...
Who was upstairs?
I slowly removed my hand from the front door.
The house was unusually quiet.
Even the rain had become softer.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked toward the staircase.
Darkness covered everything above me.
I couldn't see the top of the stairs.
I couldn't see anyone.
But I knew I had heard that door.
I took one careful step forward.
Then another.
My heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid whoever was upstairs could hear it.
I reached the first step.
Then my phone vibrated.
I almost screamed.
I pulled it out.
Another message from the unknown number.
UNKNOWN:
Don't go upstairs.
I stared at the words.
A second message appeared.
UNKNOWN:
Whatever you hear, don't answer.
I looked up at the staircase.
Then—
Creak.
Another sound.
This time, it was louder.
Someone was moving.
I quickly stepped away from the stairs.
Then I heard my mother's voice.
“Is someone there?”
My heart sank.
“Mum?”
There was no answer.
I waited.
Then I heard her again.
“Is that you?”
I almost called out.
But something stopped me.
Her voice sounded different.
Not completely different.
Just...
wrong.
I couldn't explain it.
It sounded like my mother's voice, but it seemed to be coming from somewhere far away.
I checked my phone again.
The unknown number had sent another message.
UNKNOWN:
That isn't your mother.
My blood ran cold.
I stared at the staircase.
Then a thought entered my mind.
If that wasn't my mother...
Who was upstairs?
I slowly backed toward the front door.
I tried the handle.
It didn't move.
Locked.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Panic began rising in my chest.
I searched my pockets for the key.
Nothing.
I remembered leaving it on the small table beside the door earlier that night.
I looked toward the table.
The key was there.
Only a few steps away.
I moved toward it.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Then I stopped.
There was something on the floor.
A wet footprint.
I stared at it.
Then another appeared.
Step.
My heart nearly stopped.
I hadn't seen anyone move.
Yet another wet footprint had appeared on the floor.
Step.
Another one.
They were coming toward me.
I backed away.
My phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN:
Don't look behind you.
I froze.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
I could feel something behind me.
Not touching me.
Just standing there.
Watching.
I didn't turn around.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I heard breathing.
Slow.
Heavy.
Right behind my ear.
I closed my eyes.
My hand trembled around the phone.
Then the breathing stopped.
I waited.
Nothing.
I opened my eyes.
The hallway was empty.
I spun around.
Nobody.
I nearly collapsed from relief.
Then I noticed something.
The front door was open.
I stared at it.
I was certain I had tried to open it only moments earlier.
But now it stood wide open.
Rainwater had begun creeping across the floor.
And in the middle of the doorway was something that hadn't been there before.
A small brown envelope.
My name was written on it.
I picked it up with shaking hands.
There was no stamp.
No address.
Just one word:
OPEN.
I looked toward the staircase.
Then at the envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
I nearly dropped it.
It was an old photograph of my family.
My mother.
My younger brother.
And me.
But there was something strange about it.
I couldn't remember ever seeing that photograph before.
I turned it over.
Written on the back were four words:
THE NIGHT OF THE FIRE.
My breathing stopped.
The old library.
The fire.
Why was my family connected to it?
I immediately grabbed my phone.
ME:
What happened at the library?
The unknown number didn't respond.
I typed again.
ME:
How do you know about my family?
Nothing.
Then, after almost a minute, the reply appeared.
UNKNOWN:
Because I was there.
I stared at the screen.
My hands went cold.
ME:
Who are you?
This time, the answer came almost immediately.
UNKNOWN:
Someone who tried to save you.
I frowned.
Save me?
From what?
I looked again at the photograph.
There was something else I hadn't noticed.
In the background, behind my mother, stood a man.
His face was partly hidden by the darkness.
But I knew that face.
Or at least...
I thought I did.
My fingers began trembling.
I zoomed in.
The photograph became blurry.
But the man was still visible.
I whispered the only word that came to mind.
“Dad?”
A sudden noise came from upstairs.
BANG!
I dropped the phone.
My mother screamed.
This time, I knew it was really her.
“Mum!”
I ran toward the staircase.
“Don't!” she shouted.
I stopped.
She appeared at the top of the stairs.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were wide with fear.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at the photograph in my hand.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
I slowly raised it.
“It was inside an envelope at the door.”
She came down the stairs.
One step.
Then another.
Her eyes never left the photograph.
When she reached me, she took it from my hand.
She stared at it for several seconds.
Then she whispered:
“You shouldn't have seen this.”
I felt a chill run through me.
“What is it?”
She didn't answer.
“Mum, what happened at the old library?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She looked away.
I stepped closer.
“Who is that man?”
She became completely still.
I pointed at the photograph.
“The man behind you.”
She didn't look at it.
She already knew who I meant.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Who is he?”
She finally looked at me.
And what she said next changed everything.
“He was supposed to be dead.”
I couldn't speak.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“I made a promise never to tell you.”
“A promise to who?”
She looked toward the open front door.
Then toward the dark staircase.
And finally back at me.
Before she could answer, my phone vibrated from the floor.
We both looked down.
A new message had appeared.
UNKNOWN:
She is lying to you.
My mother saw the message.
The colour disappeared from her face.
Then another message arrived.
UNKNOWN:
Ask her who locked the library door that night.
My mother dropped the photograph.
I stared at her.
“Mum?”
She didn't answer.
“Mum, what does that mean?”
Her lips began trembling.
Then—
Knock.
We both turned toward the front door.
Knock.
This time, louder.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Don't open it.”
I stared at the door.
“Who is it?”
She didn't answer.
Three more knocks followed.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Then a man's voice came from outside.
“Open the door.”
My mother's grip tightened around my arm.
I looked at her.
She was crying now.
Not quietly.
Not from fear alone.
It was the kind of crying that comes when someone hears a voice they thought they would never hear again.
The man outside spoke once more.
This time, he called my name.
I froze.
Nobody outside should have known I was awake.
Nobody should have known my name.
I looked at my mother.
“Mum...”
She shook her head desperately.
“Don't.”
My phone vibrated.
I looked down.
The unknown number had sent one final message.
UNKNOWN:
Whatever you do, don't let your mother open that door.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the door.
Then, slowly...
She reached for the handle.
And just before her fingers touched it, the man outside whispered:
“Tell him the truth, or I will.”
My mother froze.
And I suddenly realized...
The person outside wasn't here to hurt us.
He was here because he knew something about my family.
Something my mother had spent years hiding from me.
And whatever happened at the old library that night...
was only the beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED...
