The hum was the first thing Blessing noticed.
She was sitting alone at the back of the campus library, the last row of creaking wooden chairs hidden between towering dusty shelves. It was past 11pm — the librarians had long gone, the generator was off, and only the flickering corridor light threw thin, sickly beams over her pile of borrowed textbooks.
She was supposed to be studying for her midterm. But her eyes wouldn't stay on the pages. She kept hearing it — a faint bzzzzz, low and deep like a dying mosquito trapped in the spine of a book.
At first, she thought it was her imagination — maybe she'd drunk too much energy drink. But every time she turned a page, the sound got clearer, a little closer. Like something whispering under her desk.
She leaned down, pushing her chair back. The cold air brushed her cheek as she bent to peek underneath the desk. Nothing — just scuffed tiles, her sandals, a gum wrapper someone had stuck to the bottom of the table years ago.
She let out a shaky breath. Get a grip, Blessing.
She sat back up, hugging her arms tight around herself. The old window near her creaked. Branches tapped against the glass, a dry scraping that made her want to crawl out of her skin.
She should go back to her hostel. Sleep. She was about to pack her books when she heard it again. Louder. Bzzzzz. But this time it wasn't under her desk. It was in her bag.
Frowning, she pulled the canvas bag onto her lap and dug inside — past her notebooks, charger, half-eaten gala, her power bank. Her hand brushed something cold and heavy. Blessing froze.
She didn't own any other phone — her cheap Tecno was lying beside her textbook, cracked but alive. So whose phone was this?
She drew it out slowly. An old, battered Samsung with a splintered screen. The back was scuffed, faded stickers peeling off. She didn't remember picking it up. She didn't remember owning it.
The buzzing stopped the moment her fingers touched it. For a heartbeat, the library was silent — so silent she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears.
Maybe someone dropped it in my bag by mistake.
Her thumb hovered over the power button. She should hand it to lost and found. Maybe it belonged to one of the library staff. Maybe—
The screen flared to life, its glow cold and harsh in the darkness. The wallpaper was nothing — just static, black and white grains crawling endlessly like a broken TV. No apps. No lock screen. Just static.
And then it buzzed again — once, twice — and a new message popped up.
"HELLO BLESSING."
Blessing's stomach lurched. How did it know her name? Her first thought was that it was a prank — some sick joke from her classmates. She turned it over in her palm, looking for a sticker, a hidden recorder. Nothing.
Another buzz.
"ANSWER IT."
Her fingers trembled. A soft tone filled the library — an old ringtone, cheerful yet distant, like an old Nokia in a coffin.
The call ID read: UNKNOWN NUMBER.
She hesitated. Something deep inside her chest said: Don't touch it. Leave it here. Run.
But her thumb moved on its own. She pressed accept.
Static exploded in her ear, so loud she nearly dropped the phone. Through the hiss, a voice crackled, low and broken.
"Hello…? Can you hear me…?"
Blessing's mouth went dry. "Who is this?"
A wet chuckle. Something that should never laugh that close to her ear.
"Where's Chris…? Where's… Chris…?"
Who's Chris?" she whispered.
The static deepened, swallowing the words. Then another voice bled through — clearer, sharper, yet somehow hollow.
"Blessing. Help me."
She froze. This voice was young, scared — a boy's voice. It sounded so close she could almost feel his breath.
"Who are you?" she managed.
The voice cracked — pleading, broken. "It's Chris… I'm in the wall… the phone… let me out…"
A sudden gust rattled the old windows. The books behind her shifted, a few dusty volumes toppling from the shelf with a dull thud that made her jump.
"Where are you?" she hissed. She looked around wildly, half-expecting to see someone crawl out from behind the shelves.
The voice wailed. "The phone — don't hang up. Don't let me go back!"
Blessing's pulse raced. Her fingers tightened around the phone as it buzzed again — this time, her eyes widened in horror as the static wallpaper shifted, flickering into something else.
A blurry, shaking image — an eye. Just one, wide and frantic, pressed close to the inside of the cracked screen. Behind it: darkness, wet stone, something like mold creeping over concrete.
The eye blinked — once, twice — and then a cold, scraping whisper filled her ear.
"Let. Me. Out."
Her mouth went dry. The window slammed open behind her with a bang. The wind howled through the shelves, sending loose paper fluttering like dead moths.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "This isn't real. This isn't—"
A hand grabbed her ankle.
Blessing screamed, jerking her leg back so hard she slammed her knee on the underside of the desk. Pain shot up her thigh but she didn't stop — she stumbled out of the chair, the phone still clutched tight in her palm.
The library seemed smaller now. The shelves loomed over her, shadows twisting in the flickering corridor light. The buzzing from the phone turned to a deep, hungry hum. The screen flashed.
"OPEN IT."
She wanted to throw it — to smash it against the wall, crush it under her heel. But her fingers wouldn't obey. The phone felt welded to her skin, its hum crawling up her arm like cold worms burrowing under her flesh.
She backed away from the desk — and her eyes widened.
A crack had formed in the plaster wall behind the last shelf. Thin at first, like a hairline fracture in a bone — but even as she watched, it widened with a soft, wet pop. Something dark dripped from the crack. A sound rose from behind it — not scratching now, but breathing. Slow, labored, echoing in the hollow silence of the empty library.
Blessing stumbled backward, her heel catching on the rough carpet. She fell against the shelf — books rained down around her, pages fluttering like dying birds. The phone landed on her chest, the screen inches from her face.
Chris's voice whispered through the static. "Blessing… help me… break it… please…"
She sucked in a ragged breath. Her eyes darted to the crack. It was bigger now — wide enough to see something pale moving behind it. Fingernails — filthy, broken, clawing at the wall. A wet face pressed to the plaster, mouthing her name through the concrete.
"God… no… no—"
Her free hand fumbled for her bag. She yanked out her torchlight, switched it on, and shone it at the crack. The light hit the wet, pulpy shape — a face half-sunk in darkness, eyes rolling wildly, teeth scraping against the wall like a rat chewing through wood.
"LET. ME. OUT."
The phone buzzed. Another message flashed.
"ONE OUT. ONE IN."
Blessing stared at the phone, then at the thing in the wall. Her whole body shook as the cold wind whipped papers across the floor.
She heard a voice — her own — whisper, Do it. Smash it. End it. Don't let it out.
She raised her arm. The phone hummed harder, vibrating up her bones. The face behind the crack hissed, breath steaming against the cold plaster.
"BLESSING…" the voice rasped. "IF YOU DON'T… YOU'LL TAKE MY PLACE…"
Her knees went weak. Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles white. The hum turned into a shrill, hungry whine. She felt it in her teeth, her skull.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She slammed the phone on the floor — once. Twice. The plastic cracked. A sickening hiss rose from the screen.
The crack in the wall split wider, coughing up a gust of icy wind that made her hair whip around her face.
Blessing raised the phone a final time. "GO BACK TO HELL!" she screamed, and brought it down on the hard concrete.
The screen shattered. The hum died. The crack in the wall sealed shut with a shuddering sigh, leaving only a smear of damp mold where the face had been.
The library fell silent. No wind. No breathing. No ghostly hum.
Blessing sat on the floor, gasping for breath. The broken phone lay in shards beside her, the last static flicker dying in its dead glass.
But somewhere deep in the cracked plastic, if you pressed your ear close enough, you might still hear it:
A tiny voice. Chris's voice. "One out… one in…"
And the ghost phone waited. For the next hand to pick it up.