The phone was ringing again.
Nora sat up in bed, her breath shallow in the cold dark of her room. The cracked screen glowed on her pillow like an eye staring back at her. It was exactly 3:03 AM. It always called her at 3.
She didn't want to answer. Not tonight. Not after what happened the last time — the whispers, the static, the sound of Ben's voice begging for help, fading into something else. Something worse.
But her hand moved on its own, fingers curling around the warm, humming glass.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
She forced herself to swipe and lifted it to her ear. "Hello?"
Static. Then a voice — not Ben's soft pleading. Not the voice that had been haunting her every night. This one was deeper, older, more mocking.
"Nora."
She flinched. "Who is this? Where's my brother?"
The chuckle that answered made her skin crawl. "You thought you were talking to your brother? Sweet little Ben? You were never talking to Ben."
"Stop it!" she snapped. "Who are you? What do you want?"
A soft click on the line. The voice lowered to a whisper. "You already know me. He knows me, too."
"Who—?"
Another voice cut in, distant but clear enough to freeze the blood in her veins: "Nora? Don't hang up!"
Her heart stuttered. "Chris?"
She pressed the phone closer to her ear, like she could pull him through the wire. She hadn't heard his voice in days — not since he'd vanished after telling her he was close to breaking the curse.
"Chris, where are you?" she breathed.
Static roared so loud it made her flinch, but Chris's voice cut through it like a blade. "Listen to me — don't trust the Second Voice! It's not Ben! It's never been Ben!"
The first voice — the cold one — laughed on the line, a sick, scraping sound. "He's still trying to save you, Nora. He thinks he can protect you. Cute."
Nora pressed her palm to her forehead. Her vision blurred with tears. "Chris, where are you?"
A scuffle of noise, like Chris was fighting to stay on the call. A metallic bang. Footsteps. Heavy breathing.
"Nora—listen—" Chris gasped. "Meet me at the bridge. Dawn. Come alone. Don't answer if it calls again. Nora—"
A hiss, then the cold voice drowned him out, rising like poison smoke. "Come alone, little ghost-girl. Or we'll drag him into the dark with your brother."
The line went dead.
Nora sat frozen, the phone heavy and silent in her lap. Her heart felt like a drum in a locked coffin. Chris was alive. He had to be. He sounded so close — and so desperate.
She pushed herself off the bed, legs trembling. She crept to her window and peeked through the curtain. The street outside was empty, streetlamps flickering like dying stars.
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass. The bridge. Where Ben vanished. Where she'd sworn she'd never go back. But now Chris was there — or whoever was using him to pull her in deeper.
She didn't sleep. At dawn, she pulled on jeans, a hoodie, and shoved the phone into her pocket like she was handcuffing herself to it. She slipped out of the house before her aunt could wake up.
She took the bus downtown, her fingers clamped around the phone the whole ride. She half-expected it to ring again. It didn't. That silence was worse than any whisper.
The river was a wide black snake under the morning sky, mist curling off the water. The old footbridge stretched across it like brittle bones.
Nora stepped onto the bridge. The planks creaked under her sneakers. She glanced over her shoulder — empty streets, distant hum of traffic. No sign of the man from before. No sign of anyone.
"Chris?" she called softly. The fog swallowed her voice.
"Nora!"
Her heart lurched. She turned — and there he was. Chris. Leaning against the rusted railing, hair damp with mist, eyes wide and dark and so alive.
She ran to him before her mind could scream trap. She threw her arms around him, felt his heartbeat slamming against hers like a caged bird.
He pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders. His fingers were cold, nails dirty. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"You shouldn't have come," he rasped. "But thank you for coming."
Nora's breath puffed in the cold air. "Chris, where have you been? I thought you were—"
"Dead?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Might as well be. They almost got me. The Second Voice — it's not just using the phone. It's inside it. Feeding off every call you answer."
Nora shuddered. "Where's Ben?"
Chris's jaw clenched. "Ben's trapped, Nora. It's keeping him close — bait for you. But this thing wants more than just your brother."
She felt her throat close. "What does it want?"
Chris's eyes flicked over her shoulder. "It wants you."
Nora turned. On the far side of the bridge, through the mist, a figure was watching them. The same man in the black coat. The hat pulled low, face a blur in the fog.
The phone in her pocket buzzed. She snatched it out. UNKNOWN CALLER.
"Don't answer it!" Chris grabbed her wrist. "That's how it pulls you in. Every time you answer, it gets stronger. Closer."
But the screen flashed — a text this time. TURN AROUND.
Nora whispered, "It's already here, Chris."
The figure stepped onto the bridge, footsteps echoing across the river like a death march.
Chris pulled her behind him, shielding her with his body. "Run," he hissed.
The phone vibrated again. Another message. YOU CAN'T RUN FROM THE DEAD.
Nora's vision blurred. The air seemed to ripple around the approaching figure, shadows bending like oil on water.
Chris turned his head, eyes fierce. "If I tell you to run — you run. Don't look back. Don't stop for me."
Nora's chest ached. "No. I'm not leaving you again."
Chris's hand tightened around hers — an anchor against the tide of static buzzing in her skull.
"Then stay behind me. No matter what happens."
The figure in black stopped ten paces away. The fog parted just enough for Nora to see its face — not a face at all, but a shifting mask of static. A human shape glitching in and out of focus.
The phone rang in her hand — louder than before. The same cold voice, hissing through the speaker without her even answering.
"Come closer, Nora. Bring him to me."
Chris shouted back, voice shaking the bridge. "You want her? You'll have to kill me first!"
The thing tilted its head — curious, mocking. The static on its face shifted, and for a heartbeat, Nora saw her brother's eyes staring back at her. Wide. Empty. Lost.
"Nora…" The voice crackled. Ben's voice.
She stepped forward, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Ben?"
Chris yanked her back so hard she almost fell. "It's not him!"
The thing moved closer. The bridge groaned under its weight. The cold river hissed below. The phone slipped from Nora's fingers and clattered to the planks — but it kept ringing, louder now, echoing Ben's voice through the dawn.
Author's Note:
Chris is back — alive, but not safe. The Second Voice has made its move, and Nora must choose between her brother's ghost and the boy risking everything to protect her