I once tried to call my grandparents, but I couldn’t remember if the last digit of their number was a 7 or an 8. It seemed like a harmless mistake, so I just guessed and dialed. Almost immediately, I realized I had chosen the wrong number when a man I didn’t recognize answered the phone. I quickly apologized and told him I must have dialed incorrectly.

I was about to hang up when he stopped me and said my name—clearly, confidently, like he knew exactly who I was. That’s when a strange feeling crept in, the kind that makes your stomach tighten without warning. Confused and uneasy, I asked who was speaking. Instead of answering, he let out a quiet laugh and asked if I didn’t recognize his voice. His tone wasn’t friendly or familiar—it felt off, almost unsettling, like there was something he knew that I didn’t.

I froze, unsure of what to say or do next. After a few long seconds, I muttered a quick goodbye and hung up. But later that night, I got a notification on my phone: a text from an unknown number. It simply said, “I’m closer than you think.”
Shaken, I tried to trace the number, only to find it led back to a line that had been disconnected years ago. Panic set in, and I told my grandparents about the call. Their faces went pale.

“That voice…” my grandfather whispered. “It sounds like someone we’ve been trying to avoid for decades. He was… your great-uncle. Disappeared when your parents were kids, obsessed with knowing everything about the family. Some say he never truly left.”
I stared at my phone, heart hammering. Whoever had answered, knew exactly who I was—and had been watching my family from the shadows all these years.