You have (1) new voice message!
It started with the voicemails.
For context, I’m young enough that voicemail feels… archaic. I barely even check it anymore. People text, email, DM. If it's important, they’ll get through. So when the little phone icon popped up with the notification that I had three new voicemails, I mostly ignored it. It was late on a Wednesday night, and honestly, the idea of wading through telemarketers or wrong numbers felt like too much effort before bed.
Thursday morning, the icon was still there. Annoyance finally nudged me into action. I figured I’d delete them without listening. But curiosity, that insidious little whisper, got the better of me. I tapped the icon, raised the phone to my ear, and braced myself for some robotic sales pitch.
The first one was just static. Pure, hissing white noise for about ten seconds before it cut off abruptly. Weird. I almost wrote it off as a glitch.
The second one was worse. It was just… breathing. Slow, shallow breaths, like someone struggling, or maybe trying to be quiet. It went on for what felt like forever, the amplified sound of someone’s inhales and exhales filling my ear. No words, just breath. Goosebumps prickled my arms. I deleted it instantly.
The third one… this one was different. There was a voice, but it was muffled, like whoever was speaking was talking through cloth, or from very far away. It was distorted, low, and almost guttural. It sounded… male, I think? But again, hard to be sure.
And it said only one thing. One phrase, repeated over and over, in that garbled, echoing tone.
“He sees you, you know. He always sees you.”
It repeated it, maybe five or six times, fading out slightly each repetition, before abruptly cutting off. The phrase itself wasn’t overtly threatening, but the way it was delivered, that distorted, low voice… it sent a cold spike of fear right through me.
I deleted that one too, faster than the breathing one. Then I turned my phone off and just stared at it for a long time.
Rational me kicked in. Spam calls are getting weirdly sophisticated, right? Some kind of bizarre automated message thing. It had to be that. There was no other explanation. Except… why did it feel so profoundly unsettling?
I tried to forget about it. Got ready for work, forced myself to focus on emails, meetings, spreadsheets. By lunchtime, I’d almost convinced myself it was just a strange fluke.
Then, at 3:17 PM, my phone buzzed. Another voicemail notification.
This time, I didn't hesitate. I checked it immediately, fingers trembling slightly.
Static again, like the first one. Then, the breathing, heavier this time, raspier. And then, that voice. The same muffled, low voice.
“He knows what you’re doing. He sees you right now.”
The phrase was slightly different, but the tone… it was the same. The same oppressive, watching feeling that settled in my chest like ice. Again, repeated a few times, then cut off.
Okay, now I was officially freaked out. This wasn't random spam. This was… targeted? But how? And why? Who was "he"? And what was he seeing?
I spent the rest of Thursday on edge, jumping at every unexpected sound. I checked my surroundings constantly, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. I told myself I was being ridiculous, that it was probably still just some elaborate prank or weird tech glitch, but the fear wouldn't dissipate.
Friday morning, another voicemail. I almost didn’t want to listen. But the dread was already there, coiled and waiting. I had to know.
Static. Breathing. The voice, closer this time, clearer, though still distorted. And now, undeniably male. I could almost make out inflections, the way the voice rose and fell, even through the distortion.
“He sees you looking. He knows you’re scared. Don’t look back.”
“Don’t look back.” That one stuck with me. It was the first time the message felt… directive. Like an instruction, not just an observation. I spun around in my office chair, heart pounding, staring wildly at the empty hallway behind me. Of course, nothing was there.
But the feeling of being watched… it intensified. It was like a weight pressing down on my shoulders, the feeling of eyes on the back of my neck, amplified a thousand times.
I didn’t go home Friday night. I stayed late at the office, working uselessly, surrounded by the fluorescent hum of the empty building. I didn't want to be alone in my apartment.
Saturday. Saturday morning, another voicemail. I checked it first thing, before I even made coffee.
This time, no static. No breathing. Just the voice. And it was… softer. Almost conversational, despite the distortion. Still low, but… gentler? In a way that was somehow even more disturbing.
“You’re trying to hide, aren’t you? But he’s always there. He’s closer than you think.”
“Closer than you think.” That hit me hard. I started looking around my tiny apartment, checking under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. Stupid, frantic movements, knowing there was nothing there, but compelled to search anyway.
I didn't leave the apartment all weekend. I ordered food in, kept the lights on, and stared at the phone, waiting, dreading the next notification. I felt like I was losing my mind.
Sunday night. Another voicemail. This was the fifth day in a row. My hands were shaking as I listened.
No static. No breathing. Just the voice. But now, the distortion was almost gone. It was still low, still… off, but clearer. Almost like someone speaking directly into the phone, just with a weird, unnatural resonance.
And what it said… it was specific. Too specific.
“You’re wearing the blue sweater. The one with the little coffee stain on the cuff. He likes that one. He’s right behind you.”
I froze. I was wearing the blue sweater. The old, comfy one. And yes… there was a tiny, almost invisible coffee stain on the left cuff. How…?
Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, I turned my head. I didn’t want to. Every instinct screamed at me not to. But the words… “He’s right behind you”…
I turned.
And I saw… myself.
Sitting on my couch. Looking directly at me. Wearing the same blue sweater. With the coffee stain.
It was like looking in a mirror, except… the figure on the couch wasn’t a reflection. It was… solid. Real. And it was smiling. A slow, knowing, deeply unsettling smile.
My own voice, somehow both muffled and clear, spoke from the figure on the couch.
“You thought you were listening to voicemails from someone else? Silly you.”
The figure – me – raised a hand, phone clutched in its fingers, and pressed a button. The voicemail ended.
And the figure on the couch… winked.
Then it started to fade. To shimmer, like heat rising from asphalt. Until it was just… gone.
Leaving me standing there, alone in my apartment, blue sweater clinging to my skin, phone clutched in my own hand. The voicemail notification was gone. My inbox was empty.
I stared at the blank screen, the silence of the room pressing in on me. He always sees me. He knows what I’m doing. He sees me right now. Closer than you think. Right behind you.
And then, in the silence, I heard it. A faint, shallow breath. Just behind my left ear. And a whisper, so quiet I almost missed it.
"Another voicemail message received."