The voicemail I can’t delete… PT2

If you haven’t read the first part, go read it before continuing with this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories/s/Ns9shPhRUk

I didn’t answer the call. I let it ring until it stopped, and I sat there in the dark trying not to breathe. The moment it went to voicemail, I turned my phone face-down and tried to pretend none of this was real. But when the notification buzzed, I nearly screamed.

I waited hours before I finally checked it. The new voicemail was only five seconds long. The first four seconds were silent. Then:

“Too late.”

Nothing else happened that night, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept staring at the door, waiting for those knocks again. At some point, I passed out from sheer exhaustion. When I woke up, my phone had three new messages. All received at 3:17 a.m.

The first one was just breathing. Harsh, panicked—like someone running. The second was my own voice again, shaking:

“You should have answered.”

The third one… I wish I’d never listened. The recording sounded like someone walking through my house. My floorboards creak in a very specific way—long and drawn-out, like a groan. This was exactly that sound. Then a whisper:

“I’m inside.”

I dropped the phone and tore through the entire house, checking closets, the basement, under the bed—nothing. Everything was locked. Everything was normal. But I know what I heard.

Tonight, I’m staying at my friend’s place. I turned my phone off before bed. I didn’t care if I missed calls, alarms—anything. I couldn’t let it call me again. I just wanted one night of normal sleep.

But around 3:17 a.m., my phone lit up on the nightstand. It had turned itself on. A new voicemail notification. No missed call, just the message.

The transcription preview said:

“Why did you leave? I’m in your room.”

I sat frozen, staring at the closed bedroom door. I didn’t want to listen. I really didn’t. But I did. The message wasn’t just someone in my room—it was someone walking toward the bed I was currently lying in. And before the recording cut out, a voice whispered:

“Found you.”

I woke my friend and we checked the entire room—nothing. She thinks I’m losing it now. Maybe I am. But before she left for work this morning, she said something I can’t get out of my head:

“You sleepwalk sometimes, right? Maybe those recordings are just you?”

But here’s the thing—my voice doesn’t sound like that. And I never breathe like that.

I smashed my phone today. Hammer to the screen, battery ripped out—completely destroyed. I threw it in a dumpster three blocks away. No way it could still call me. No way it could still leave messages.

It’s 3:17 a.m.

There’s knocking at my front door. Three slow taps. Just like the recording.

I don’t want to check, but something is sliding under the crack of the door—

…It’s my phone.

The screen is shattered, the battery hanging loose, but it’s glowing. One new voicemail. Transcription already loaded:

“Let me in.”

⸻

If you’d like, I can continue into Part 3 — deeper mystery, bigger stakes… and maybe we finally learn what is calling.