The Last Notification

At 2:17 AM, Emma’s phone buzzed.

She didn’t wake up right away. The sound blended into her dream like a mosquito whining in the distance. But the vibration came again. And again. Slow. Persistent. Patient.

Her eyes opened to darkness.

Her bedroom was silent except for the faint hum of her ceiling fan. Moonlight spilled through the blinds in thin silver lines across the wall.

Buzz.

Emma frowned and reached for her phone on the nightstand.

Unknown Number: You forgot to lock the door.

Her stomach tightened.

She stared at the message for a long time, waiting for her brain to decide whether this was a prank or something worse. She lived alone. She always locked the door. Always.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

Look behind you.

Her heart slammed so hard it hurt.

She didn’t move. Not even a blink.

The air felt heavier. Like the room had quietly filled with water.

Slowly… painfully slowly… she turned her head toward the bedroom door.

It was closed.

But not fully.

A thin black gap stared back at her.

Emma’s breath stopped.

She always closed it all the way.

Buzz.

You didn’t check the closet.

Her hands trembled so badly she dropped the phone onto the blanket. The screen glowed like a tiny flashlight in the dark.

She listened.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No breathing. No movement.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that feels like someone is holding their breath.

Her mind started racing. Maybe someone hacked her phone. Maybe someone was outside the house. Maybe—

Creeeaaak.

The closet door moved.

Just a little.

Emma gasped and grabbed the lamp beside her bed, clicking it on so fast she nearly broke the switch.

The light flooded the room.

The closet door was half open.

Inside was only darkness.

Her throat went dry.

She slid off the bed, gripping the lamp like a weapon. Every step toward the closet felt like walking through wet cement.

“Hello?” she whispered.

No answer.

She reached the door and yanked it open.

Clothes. Shoes. Boxes.

Nothing else.

Emma exhaled so hard she almost laughed. “I’m losing my mind.”

Buzz.

Her phone lit up again on the bed.

She walked back slowly, picked it up, and read the message.

Wrong closet.

Her chest tightened again.

There was only one other closet.

The hallway.

The long, dark hallway outside her bedroom.

The hallway she hated walking through at night.

Emma swallowed and stepped into the hall.

The house groaned softly, as if it didn’t approve.

The hallway closet stood at the far end, door closed, light switch beside it. She reached for the switch.

Click.

The bulb flickered once… twice… then died.

The hallway fell into pitch black.

Buzz.

Open it.

Emma whispered, “This isn’t funny.”

No reply.

Her fingers touched the cold metal doorknob. It felt damp. Like someone had been holding it.

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the whole neighborhood could hear it.

She pulled the door open.

Darkness spilled out like smoke.

Emma leaned forward, squinting.

And then—

A face.

Right in front of hers.

Pale. Wide eyes. Mouth open.

Emma screamed.

The face screamed back.

Both screams echoed through the house.

Emma fell backward, scrambling on the floor in terror.

Then the hallway light flicked on.

Emma blinked.

The “face” stared back at her.

It was a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning inside the closet.

Her reflection.

Her own terrified reflection.

Emma sat there breathing hard, her brain slowly rebooting like an old computer.

Buzz.

New message.

Okay, that was hilarious.

Emma froze.

Her heart restarted its sprint.

Who is this? she typed furiously.

The typing dots appeared.

Then the reply.

This is Jake.

Jake.

Her best friend.

Her neighbor.

The guy who had her Wi-Fi password.

Another message appeared.

You left your phone number in my phone as “Emergency Pizza Person.” I figured revenge was necessary.

Emma stared at the screen.

Her fear melted into disbelief.

Then into rage.

Then into laughter.

Then back into rage again.

She typed:

YOU ARE DEAD.

Jake replied instantly.

Worth it.

Emma dragged herself up, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and sat at the table shaking her head.

Another message.

By the way…

Emma squinted at the screen.

You really did forget to lock your door.

Emma’s laughter stopped.

She slowly turned toward the front door.

It was wide open.

A cold breeze drifted inside.

Her phone buzzed one last time.

Just kidding. I locked it. Goodnight.

Emma stared at the message.

Then at the door.

Then back at the phone.

Silence filled the house again.

Finally, she whispered to herself:

“I’m changing my Wi-Fi password.”