The phone kept ringing, louder and louder, even though it lay face down on the rotting wooden planks. The hollow buzz-buzz echoed across the bridge like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Nora's tears blurred her vision. She could still see him — or what looked like Ben's eyes, wide and glassy inside that shifting mask of static.
"Ben?" Her voice cracked, torn between hope and terror. "Is that you? Please—"
Chris didn't let her take another step. He grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him so hard her feet scraped splinters off the bridge. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. He was trembling — but not from fear. From rage.
The figure in black flickered again, like a broken TV signal — one second human-shaped, the next a smudge of shadow with a mouth that wasn't really a mouth at all. It tilted its head at Chris, mocking.
"You can't save her, boy." The voice that crawled through the air was half Ben's, half something ancient and metallic.
Chris squared his shoulders, eyes locked on the thing that wore Ben's face. "You don't get to use him like that." His voice cracked. "Not anymore."
Nora tugged at his sleeve, voice shaking. "Chris, what is it? What does it want?"
Chris didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on the Second Voice. "It's old. Older than the phone. The phone's just… a gate. A door you opened when you answered it the first time."
She shook her head. "I just wanted to talk to Ben. To know he was okay—"
Chris barked a bitter laugh, the sound of someone who'd cried so much there were no tears left. "It knows. It listens. It feeds on that need. Every call makes it stronger — more real."
Nora's knees buckled. She grabbed the railing to steady herself. "Then how do we stop it?"
The Second Voice laughed through the static mask. It stepped forward, boots scraping the bridge, water dripping off the hem of its black coat like riverweed.
"You don't." The voice shivered with delight. "You let me in. You open the door wider every time you beg for your brother. So beg, Nora. Beg me to give him back."
Nora's shoulders shook. "Ben! Please — if you can hear me, fight it! Come back to me—"
Chris turned, grabbing her face between his cold hands. "Nora. Look at me. Stop talking to it. It's not Ben!"
His touch jolted her back. Her tears fell onto his knuckles. She saw the desperation in his eyes — not fear of the thing in front of him, but fear of her giving in.
"Chris—"
He pressed his forehead to hers, voice rough. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I couldn't stop this sooner. But you have to trust me now."
Behind them, the Second Voice moved closer. Every step made the planks creak like bones breaking underfoot.
Chris shoved Nora aside. "When I say run — run."
He turned back to the figure, fists clenched at his sides. "You want me? Come on then!"
The Second Voice laughed, a jagged glitching sound. "Brave boy. He begged too, you know. Your precious Ben. He begged me to let him go. But he was so useful. So loud."
Chris didn't flinch. He stepped forward — one step, then another. He was just feet away now, the mist curling around his ankles like ghostly chains.
"Then let him speak for himself," Chris growled. "If he's still in there — let him go."
The static mask flickered. For a heartbeat, Nora swore she saw Ben's real face — pale, eyes wide, lips moving soundlessly behind the glitching fog.
"Chris…" The word slipped out like a sigh.
Chris's eyes filled with tears. "Ben? Buddy — I'm here. We're gonna get you out."
The Second Voice screamed. A high, ear-splitting screech that rattled every plank under their feet. The air seemed to warp — a wave of cold so sharp Nora's breath turned to frost.
Chris stumbled back, clutching his ears. The figure surged forward, impossibly fast — a smear of black static and flickering shadow.
Nora screamed his name.
Chris hit the deck hard, palms scraping splinters. The figure lunged, a blur of glitch and darkness. Its hands — or what passed for hands — slammed into Chris's chest, pinning him to the bridge.
Nora scrambled forward. She grabbed the fallen phone, its cracked screen flickering like a heartbeat. Without thinking, she smashed it against the figure's shoulder.
A burst of static exploded around them. The Second Voice shrieked, flickering like a candle in the wind.
Chris's voice roared under the distortion. "NOW, NORA — RUN!"
But she didn't run. She dropped to her knees beside him, pushing at the figure's shoulder. Her palm sank through it, like plunging her hand into icy water.
"Get off him!" she screamed.
Chris twisted under the figure's grip. His eyes locked on hers — raw and terrified. "The phone! Use it! Call him back!"
Nora's mind spun. "Call who?"
"BEN!"
The Second Voice hissed, pressing down harder, static sparking where its shape blurred against Chris's chest.
Nora snatched the phone from the planks. The screen was cracked so badly it looked like a spiderweb. She opened the dial pad, thumbs fumbling.
Ben Kingston — Contact. The last time she'd dialed that number, Ben had already been missing. She pressed Call.
The line connected.
The figure froze. The static around it pulsed — angry, confused. The glitching mask flickered, and for a split second Ben's voice came through the phone, weak but real.
"Nora… help…"
Chris gasped under the figure's crushing grip. "Pull him through! Talk to him!"
Nora clutched the phone to her chest. "Ben! It's me! I'm here! Follow my voice — please — come back!"
The figure screamed again, a jagged screech that made her ears ring. But the static flickered harder — sparks dancing through its shifting shape.
Chris pushed against the thing's chest, shouting through gritted teeth. "Nora — now! Break it!"
She hesitated. "Break what—?"
Chris's eyes locked on the phone. "The gate! Smash the phone!"
She looked at the phone in her palm — the cursed thing that had stolen her sleep, her peace, her brother. The line was still open. She heard Ben's faint voice, like a child trapped in a storm drain.
"Nora… please…"
Tears streaming down her face, she raised the phone above her head — and slammed it down on the planks.
The screen shattered with a sickening crack. Sparks burst from the battery. The line cut off with a final shriek that rose into the wind and died.
The figure on Chris's chest convulsed, glitching like a dying signal. It let out one last echo of Ben's voice — warped, pleading — then it broke apart like smoke in the wind.
The bridge went silent. The river below swallowed the last hiss of static.
Chris rolled to his side, coughing, clutching the splintered boards. Nora fell beside him, sobbing into his shoulder.
"Ben…" she whispered. "Is he—?"
Chris didn't answer right away. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, shielding her from the cold wind sweeping off the river.
"Somewhere better now," he rasped. "I promise. He's free."
Nora clutched the broken phone to her chest, feeling its sharp edges bite into her palm. It was dead. Quiet.
For the first time in months, the silence felt like mercy.