Anna wiped the sweat from her forehead as she stepped off the crowded bus, her last few naira coins rattling in her pocket. Rent was due in two days. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. If she didn't come up with the money soon, her landlord would change the locks again.
The tiny phone shop on the corner was her last hope. She'd seen the ad online: Secondhand smartphone, cheap. Good resale.
She'd flipped old phones before — buy low, fix them up, sell high. Easy cash. But when she stepped into the dusty store, something about the place made her shiver.
"₦5,000 only," the old shopkeeper croaked, pushing a cracked box across the counter.
Anna peeked inside. A sleek, black phone. No scratches, no dents. Too good to be true.
"Why so cheap?" she asked.
The man just smiled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "Take it or leave it."
Her phone buzzed — low battery. No time to argue. She paid, grabbed the box, and hurried back to her one-room apartment.
By midnight, she'd forgotten about the phone. She lay curled on her thin mattress, scrolling job listings on her old cracked screen, blinking back tears. Her parents had given up on her. Her friends were tired of lending her money. Chris — her ex — had left her the same week she dropped out.
She shut her eyes, trying to block it all out. That's when she heard it.
Ring. Ring.
She sat up. Her own phone was dead. The sound came from the box on her table. The secondhand phone.
Anna's pulse quickened. Who would call an old phone with no SIM card?
Ring. Ring.
Curiosity and fear fought inside her. She stepped closer, lifted the phone. The screen was black, but the ringtone echoed through the room like a funeral bell.
She answered.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked.
Static hissed in her ear. Then a voice — faint, cold, familiar.
"Anna?"
Her breath caught in her throat. "Chris? Chris, is that you?"
"You shouldn't have answered." The voice was so close, it felt like he was in the room. "Now you can't run."
Anna's knees gave way. She grabbed the table to steady herself. "Chris, where are you? How— you're— you're dead."
The line crackled. "Don't smash it. Don't switch it off. Or they'll come for you instead."
Tears stung her eyes. "What are you talking about? Who'll come?"
But the voice faded, replaced by a low hum that made her skin crawl.
She threw the phone onto the floor and stumbled back. But the ringing didn't stop.
Ring. Ring.
She grabbed it, yanked out the battery. Silence.
Her chest heaved. It had to be a prank. Someone messing with her. Maybe the old man at the shop. Maybe—
A knock at her door made her flinch. She peered through the peephole. A man in a dark suit stood there, back straight, eyes cold as ice.
He raised a hand and knocked again, sharper this time. "Miss Anna Blake?"
She didn't answer.
"Open the door. I know you have the phone."
Anna's heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything else. She backed away, her gaze darting to the table — and froze.
The phone lay there. Battery back in. Screen lit up.
Incoming call: Unknown.