The Line That Shouldn't Exist
(Mara)
Mara's thumb hovers over the redial button.
Her entire body is shaking — not a tremor, but a deep vibration under her skin, like her nerves are humming too fast.
The call ended only seconds ago, but it feels like the air in the room has changed shape since then.
"Elena…" she whispers into the dark.
Her voice sounds too small. Too fragile. Not enough to bridge the distance between them.
She hits CALL BACK.
The phone doesn't even ring.
The screen flashes once, then the call drops.
She tries again.
Same thing.
A mechanical click — then silence.
Her chest tightens.
Her room feels smaller with each failed attempt, as if the walls are leaning in just a little.
A sound makes her freeze — a soft tap against her window.
Tap.
Tap.
She turns her head slowly.
The curtains are drawn, but a faint outline appears behind them.
Something tall.
Too tall.
Just standing there.
Mara holds her breath.
The silhouette shifts — or maybe the curtain just moves.
She can't tell.
Her heart bangs against her ribs.
She snatches her phone and opens her messages.
One unsent text sits at the bottom of her screen.
It fills her with dread because she didn't write it:
"On your side?"
She drops the phone onto her bed.
"No," she whispers. "No, no, no—"
She grabs her sweater and pulls it over her head, hands trembling.
She needs to go.
She needs to get to Elena's house now.
Even if Elena told her not to.
Even if that voice wasn't hers.
Her keys jingle softly as she fumbles to pick them up.
Her muscles feel tight, ready to sprint.
She reaches for the doorknob—
Her phone buzzes.
Mara freezes mid-motion.
The sound is wrong.
Not the usual buzz.
Longer… slower… dragging itself out like a low groan.
She turns.
The phone screen lights up the entire room.
Unknown Number
calling.
Her throat goes dry.
She steps backward without meaning to.
The phone keeps vibrating, inching slowly toward the edge of her bed like it's trying to crawl toward her.
"Answer it," she whispers to herself.
"Don't answer it."
"Answer it."
She doesn't know which voice in her head is hers.
The call ends on its own.
A text immediately follows.
From the same Unknown Number.
Mara's stomach twists so hard she feels sick as she reads it:
"Elena didn't call you."
Her breath stops.
Yes she did. She heard her. She heard her scream. She—
The phone buzzes again.
A second message appears beneath the first.
Shorter. Worse.
"Check your window."
Mara's blood runs cold.
Slowly, barely breathing, she turns her head toward the curtains.
The silhouette is closer now.
Much closer.
Too close.
Her body moves on instinct — she grabs her bag, her keys, her phone, and she bolts out of her room, slamming the door behind her and sprinting down the hall.
She doesn't look back.
She can't.
All she can think is:
Elena is in danger.
Something is here.
Something knows us.
Something remembers.
And as she stumbles into the cold night air, gasping, a final thought claws its way up her spine—
This feels like six years ago.