"The Last Call" - Suspenseful Short Story -- 2
Budget: ₹100 – ₹400 INR
The Last Call
Riya was alone at home that night. It was raining heavily, and the power had gone out an hour ago. The only source of light was her phone screen, which was slowly running out of battery. Her parents had gone to visit a relative in another city, and she had decided to stay back to study for her upcoming exams.
She checked the time—11:45 PM. The storm outside was getting worse. The wind howled through the cracks of the windows, and distant thunder rumbled like an angry beast.
Just as she was about to lie down, her phone buzzed. An unknown number was calling.
She hesitated. Who would call her at this hour?
Curious yet uneasy, she picked up the call.
"Hello?"
For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, a deep, raspy voice whispered—
"Don’t turn around."
Her heart stopped.
"Who is this?" she demanded, but the line went dead.
She sat frozen, her breath shallow. A joke? A prank? Maybe one of her friends messing with her?
She turned on her phone’s flashlight and looked around. The dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the silent house seem even more sinister.
Then she heard it.
A faint creak—like a footstep—coming from the kitchen.
Her pulse quickened.
She told herself it was just the wind. But then came another sound—a soft tapping on the floor. Deliberate. Slow.
Someone was inside.
Her hands trembled as she locked her phone and sat completely still, listening. The rain was drowning out the smaller sounds, but she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.
The footsteps stopped.
Then—another sound.
A sharp inhale.
Not hers.
Right behind her.
She spun around, flashing her light at the empty space behind her. Nothing.
Then the phone rang again. The same unknown number.
She almost dropped it in fear. With shaking fingers, she answered.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
The voice on the other end was softer this time. Almost... amused.
"You didn't listen, Riya," it said.
The call cut off again.
Riya’s blood turned to ice. How did they know her name?
She grabbed the nearest object—a metal pen stand—and stood up, trying to keep her breathing steady. She needed to get out. Now.
She tiptoed toward the main door, gripping her phone like a lifeline. Just as she reached for the lock—
BANG!
Something slammed against the kitchen counter.
She choked back a scream. The sound had come from the kitchen entrance—between her and the door.
Tears pricked her eyes. No. No. No.
She turned back slowly.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then her flashlight flickered—
And she saw it.
A shadow.
Standing at the edge of the darkness, just beyond the flashlight’s reach.
It didn’t move. It didn’t breathe.
But it was watching.
Riya’s chest tightened. She wanted to run, scream, **anything—**but her legs felt rooted to the spot.
Then, in a horrifying instant, the shadow lurched forward.
She stumbled back, barely managing to unlock the door.
Just as she flung it open, the power came back on—
And the house was empty.
Nothing was there.
No shadow.
No sound.
Nothing.
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
From the same number.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
It was a photo.
A blurry image of her, sitting in the dark, holding her phone—
Taken from right behind her.
Riya was alone at home that night. It was raining heavily, and the power had gone out an hour ago. The only source of light was her phone screen, which was slowly running out of battery. Her parents had gone to visit a relative in another city, and she had decided to stay back to study for her upcoming exams.
She checked the time—11:45 PM. The storm outside was getting worse. The wind howled through the cracks of the windows, and distant thunder rumbled like an angry beast.
Just as she was about to lie down, her phone buzzed. An unknown number was calling.
She hesitated. Who would call her at this hour?
Curious yet uneasy, she picked up the call.
"Hello?"
For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, a deep, raspy voice whispered—
"Don’t turn around."
Her heart stopped.
"Who is this?" she demanded, but the line went dead.
She sat frozen, her breath shallow. A joke? A prank? Maybe one of her friends messing with her?
She turned on her phone’s flashlight and looked around. The dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the silent house seem even more sinister.
Then she heard it.
A faint creak—like a footstep—coming from the kitchen.
Her pulse quickened.
She told herself it was just the wind. But then came another sound—a soft tapping on the floor. Deliberate. Slow.
Someone was inside.
Her hands trembled as she locked her phone and sat completely still, listening. The rain was drowning out the smaller sounds, but she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.
The footsteps stopped.
Then—another sound.
A sharp inhale.
Not hers.
Right behind her.
She spun around, flashing her light at the empty space behind her. Nothing.
Then the phone rang again. The same unknown number.
She almost dropped it in fear. With shaking fingers, she answered.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
The voice on the other end was softer this time. Almost... amused.
"You didn't listen, Riya," it said.
The call cut off again.
Riya’s blood turned to ice. How did they know her name?
She grabbed the nearest object—a metal pen stand—and stood up, trying to keep her breathing steady. She needed to get out. Now.
She tiptoed toward the main door, gripping her phone like a lifeline. Just as she reached for the lock—
BANG!
Something slammed against the kitchen counter.
She choked back a scream. The sound had come from the kitchen entrance—between her and the door.
Tears pricked her eyes. No. No. No.
She turned back slowly.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then her flashlight flickered—
And she saw it.
A shadow.
Standing at the edge of the darkness, just beyond the flashlight’s reach.
It didn’t move. It didn’t breathe.
But it was watching.
Riya’s chest tightened. She wanted to run, scream, **anything—**but her legs felt rooted to the spot.
Then, in a horrifying instant, the shadow lurched forward.
She stumbled back, barely managing to unlock the door.
Just as she flung it open, the power came back on—
And the house was empty.
Nothing was there.
No shadow.
No sound.
Nothing.
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
From the same number.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
It was a photo.
A blurry image of her, sitting in the dark, holding her phone—
Taken from right behind her.