Wrong Number

Please note: this story was provided by the author and published as is.

The text woke me in the middle of the night. I remembered hearing the rattle as it vibrated against the end table’s surface, and reaching for it out of habit. I rubbed my eyes in annoyance, the who and why stumbling in my brain as I fought to sit up in the dark.

I unlocked my phone. The light was blinding, and through squinting eyes I narrowed them on the most important detail of the screen: the time.

It was just after two in the morning. Before I could even groan at how early it was, I was transfixed on the name at the top of the bubble.

Jen. We had broken up two years ago, at the University. I hadn’t heard from her since. Had she been drinking? Was she thinking of getting back together?

It was a pleasant surprise, sure, but as soon as I started reading the message, all of my drowsy excitement died like a kite with no wind. Her message was short—only a few words—but they seemed… off.

It read plainly:

-Do you ever wonder what’s under your skin?-

I read the message again, then a third time. Not only did it seem out of pocket, it was out of character. It didn’t seem like something Jen would say. With a sigh, I tapped at the keys with my thumb, and responded in the only way I knew how.

-what?-

I stared into the screen, scratching my head, annoyingly looking at the time once more. After two years of not talking, it was a little late for a prank.

It took a moment, but she started texting back. The little dot-dot-dots buffering as she responded on her end. The next message made even less sense, and this time they gave me the chills.

-My bones want to escape. Do you think they can make it on their own? Do you think they would know where to go?-

What? I thought to myself. Maybe she was at a party, and had drank too much. Probably texted me on accident. Maybe it was a bad trip? I texted back again, this time swinging my feet over the bed, using both thumbs.

-Jen? Is everything alright? Have you been drinking or something?-

Sitting in the glow of my dark bedroom, I awaited a reply that would hopefully clear things up. I got it quickly. Two texts, one right after the other.

-This is Jen.-

-Haha. Just kidding. See you around!-

And a thumbs up emoji to top it off. 

How strange. I responded with an ‘ok’ and returned my phone to the nightstand, crawling back under the covers. Just kidding? It didn’t make any sense. I tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn’t shake the weirdness of the short interaction. The two of us had only dated briefly, and she was quirky, sure, but the thing as a whole felt off. I double checked the number, to make sure I wasn’t confused. It was Jen’s number, just as I had last saved it.

Maybe she was at a party and her friends dared her to text me or something. Maybe she had gotten a new number and this was just a stranger having a good laugh? Either way, it was bizarre. 

I didn’t receive another text that night and, as I drifted off to sleep, I pushed away the thought of my bones wanting to escape.

The next day, “Jen” texted me again. 

I was at the store, doing my grocery shopping for the week when I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket. Hunching over my cart in the aisle of chips and soda, I was surprised to see she had texted me again. I had chalked it up to either a dare or drunken mistake, but this text seemed relatively normal. More like the Jen I used to know, anyway. It read simply:

-Hey.-

I mulled it over for a while, idly chewing my lip as other shoppers passed by. Was she interested in hanging out? Or was this the start of an apology? I didn’t even have to scroll to see her messages from the night before, and just seeing them hanging above just served as a reminder of how odd they had been. I played it cool.

-What’s up? Do you remember texting me last night? Is everything OK?-

I hit ‘send’ and waited. There was nothing for a moment, and I considered putting my phone away and going about my day. But just before I could hit the lock button again I saw her begin to type, so I lingered. Her responses came one after another, but not at all like I expected.

-I see I texted you.-

-Everything is fine.-

-I’m working on something.-

Seeing the plain responses made me pause. Back when we dated, Jen would usually send a paragraph with no detail spared. And it would usually take her a while. If she was just trying to break the ice again, it was an interesting way of doing it.

I responded quickly.

-What are you working on?-

The second my message went through, she sent another.

-Art.-

Jen went to college for software engineering. She always had a ‘cold and calculated’ way about her, but she was never one to spare words. I tried to rationalize the way she was responding—the simple but concise messages felt automated and vague. It was like someone else had her phone. It felt weird texting back, like I was talking with a stranger.

I texted her back, and asked if I could see what she was working on. When she didn’t respond, I started to feel embarrassed. Too soon, I guess?

I pocketed the phone and returned to my shopping. I wanted to shrug it off, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. Could it be stress? Life did have a way of pulling you into its tide. Maybe she had changed since uni.

I finished my shopping and retreated to the self checkout. Scanned, bagged, and paid. Enjoyed the warm sun on my skin as I crossed the parking lot. 

Just as I was putting the bags in the trunk, I felt the vibration again. I packed everything up, closed the trunk, and put my cart away. After climbing into the driver’s seat, I decided to check the message before driving home.

Jen had sent an attachment this time.

I waited for the image to load, and when it did, I found myself getting the chills again.

Created by: Danny Ingrassia

On the second ring, Jen sent the call to voicemail. It didn’t timeout and get redirected, she had deliberately swiped away my call.

Sweating now, I sent her a:

-Is everything ok Jen? Just wanted to see what’s up.-

I probably could’ve done better. Jen was already typing.

-Haha. Can’t talk right now. Just kidding!-

I felt queasy. Something wasn’t right. I rubbed my eyes before sending the next one, one specifically to try and get her undivided attention. I wanted her to know I was serious.

-Hey, I know this is kinda sudden and all but… I miss you. Would it be cool if I stopped by? I’d like to see you.-

I swallowed hard, and felt stupid. But if I could just get some kind of human interaction, I’d know whether something was up or not. We hadn’t dated in a while, but I thought maybe a welfare check couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I was a total stranger. I chewed my nails as she typed, and when the next message popped, it sent shivers down my spine.

-I am so sorry you are experiencing this. I gotta go. I’ll see you around!-

Followed by the same thumbs up from the previous day.

I tried calling again, but it went straight to voicemail. She must have shut off her phone.

The series of texts stuck with me into the night, and I couldn’t resist the urge to check my phone occasionally to see if she had messaged me again. 

Jen was an introvert, much like myself. I remembered her being awkward and shy, but she had never acted like this. The more I thought about it, the less these interactions made sense. She had seemed so put together back then, always focused on her work. She was an ace in every class. Had a close family member passed? Was she going through a bad breakup?

Either something was really wrong, or this was some kind of fucked up, elaborate ruse.

It was getting late, so I decided first thing in the morning, I’d try to connect with some old friends and see if they knew if she was going through anything, or if they had received any strange messages themselves. Whether it was a prank or not.

However, before I would even make it to the next day, I heard from Jen again. Another text in the middle of the night, more disturbing than the last.

The vibration on the end table’s surface pulled me from sleep, and as I felt for my phone, I had a feeling I knew who it was. It was just after 1am, and it was Jen.

-Just because you don’t breathe, doesn’t mean you’re not alive. If you’re not breathing, they can’t feel how close you are.-

What the hell?

I called her immediately. Either she needed help, or someone was fucking with me. It barely rang before it was sent to voicemail. It was creeping me out.

-Jen, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.- I texted.

She started typing immediately, like she had just been staring at the screen, waiting for a reply.

-Oh. I’m just cooking.-

I stared at the words, dumbfounded. My thumbs typed back slowly.

-It’s late. What are you cooking?-

I waited for a response. In the darkness of my bedroom, the air felt cold, and the shadows around me felt unsettling. It was windy outside, and the sound of the gust against the window made me shiver.

Jen sent another attachment without a word. The sight of the picture alone both confused and terrified me.

The picture was of a stove top, with a skillet sitting on a burner. There was nothing in it, and smoke seemed to be billowing out of it. Below, the electric burner was red hot. 

No food, only scorched Teflon.

The sight alone was alarming to say the least.

I called again. Again, it was manually sent to voicemail. Frustrated, I texted:

-Pick up your phone Jen. Are you trying to burn the house down?-

She typed back immediately. The responses made me sick to my stomach.

-Can’t talk right now.-

-Doesn’t feel hot.-

What you mean it doesn’t feel—I started texting back, but she hit me with her signature sign off.

-I gotta go. See you around.-

Thumbs up.

I sighed and laid back down. Tomorrow, I would get to the bottom of this.

***

I spent the next day desperately trying to reconnect with people I knew at the time Jen and I were dating. Old friends, her girlfriends. Mild acquaintances. Those whose numbers I didn’t have I found on social media. I reached out to them all, each provoking the same, awkward trip down memory lane.

“We dated two years ago, remember? No, she broke up with me.”

“No, we’re not back together. I’m just worried about her. No, I’m not trying to hook up with her. Sure you haven’t seen her?”

“Haven’t seen her since uni? Me neither.”

“Two years ago. Yeah. Look, I’m just trying to get a hold of her. No, she’s been sending these weird messages…”

“You haven’t gotten any texts at all? No…no I’m not trying to get back together. Have you seen her or not?”

I felt like a maniac. Nobody from around that time had heard from her recently, and those that did—not sure whether they really had or not—didn’t want to tell me anything. Whenever I mentioned the things she texted me, people accused me of messing around. Those who I met in person and physically showed the chat logs said the messages were off-putting. Like I was talking to a bot. 

The thought made me deeply uncomfortable, not knowing who was behind the wheel at the other end. I thought back to when our relationship ended, when she had broken up with me. She was irritable, distant. She had been wrapped up in a project at the time, one that seemed to consume her. 

I remembered being upset and confused she was breaking it off, but she just pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head like I was giving her a headache. She just kept saying something like:

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re always unplugged.”

I was hurt in the moment, but over time I just accepted it, thinking she was just too smart and I was holding her back from something.

I didn’t know her current living situation, or if she had a roommate. I reached out to her parents on social media. Her father didn’t respond, but her mother did. She first asked me if we were back together, before saying they hadn’t heard from Jen in a while. Something about being busy with work.

Exhausted and out of leads, I slumped into the couch and wondered if there was anything else I could do. I couldn’t report her missing, cause I hadn’t actually found her. And the nagging feeling of it being a prank remained.

Until my phone buzzed. The text was only five words, but it put my stomach in knots. It came from Jen.

-I want to see you.-

I stared at it for a time. This is what I wanted, right? If I saw her face to face, I’d be able to know everything was alright. Had I been misinterpreting? Overreacting? I wished she would just answer her phone, so I could hear her voice. I texted back.

-Want me to drop by?-

The answer was immediate.

-No.-

I started typing out a reply, but she beat me to it, again. When I read it, I felt an anxious pit in my stomach. 

-I’ll come to you. What’s your address again?-

Smiley face.

Something about that last touch made me sick to my stomach. I live alone. I’ve been renting out a small house outside of town since I graduated college. It’s nice and quiet and there isn’t a neighbor for at least a mile. If she was in some sort of fragile state, she would be less embarrassed coming around, with no prying eyes and all. But the more I thought about it, the less it seemed like a bad idea. I texted her.

-Wanna meet somewhere in town? I can get you something to eat. Not like a date or anything. We can catch up.-

I didn’t want her to worry about making some kind of scene, but the idea of having other people close by made me a little less anxious about meeting up. If she was just having a meltdown of some kind, I might be able to get her help quicker. And not be alone while doing so.

She didn’t type anything back immediately. I stared at the screen and waited, hoping for a cheery response, something close to how things used to be. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was talking to a complete stranger. If I had gotten any kind of lead in my calls earlier, I would’ve sent the police to conduct a welfare check. But I still had no idea where she even was.

Suddenly, Jen started typing. Then stopped. Then started again. After what felt like an eternity, her response made me feel bad. It was the realest text I had received since she had started texting me altogether.

-I don’t really feel like being around other people right now. Can I just come over to your place?-

It felt like older Jen. It still made me feel uncomfortable, but I imagined her as she was when we were together. If she was hurting, really hurting, I’d want to be there for her. Maybe she just needed a friend. Worse case scenario, I could call the police. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach

With a heavy sigh, I typed in my address: 1400 West, 600 North

Her reply was instantaneous.

-Great! I’ll see you soon!-

Thumbs up.

I stared at my phone for a while before locking it, wishing I would’ve gotten her to meet me in town. Everything will be fine, I told myself. But as I turned on the porch light and sat in the living room, I couldn’t help but feel the slow creep of dread, like I had made a mistake. I watched outside and waited, growing increasingly nervous. It was dark out, and it had started to rain. Trees swaying the front yard casted eerie shadows in the porch light, and I couldn’t see the road. I stared outside as I waited, keeping my phone in my pocket. I didn’t want to get lost in scrolling—I wanted to stay on the lookout for her headlights. I couldn’t shake the thought of her arriving without me noticing. I wanted to be ready for whatever was to come.

For 20 minutes, there was nothing. No passing cars, no headlights turning into the drive. Only sheets of rain and the slow sway of trees. I lived outside of town, but I didn’t think we had lived that far apart. At the 45 minute mark, I decided I’d try to call her.

Just as I pulled it from my pocket, it lit up in my hand. A text from Jen.

-You’re not home.-

Startled, I sprang off the couch and looked through the windows. I had been watching the entire time, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Nobody as much as used my driveway to turn around. I called, straight to voicemail. I was annoyed, nervous. I texted with sweaty palms.

-I don’t see you. Did you go to the wrong house?-

Maybe she misread the directions. She texted again.

-I looked everywhere. Where are you?-

I texted back.

-Where are you? I don’t see anyone here. I’ve been watching for you.-

An immediate reply.

-There was nobody watching here.-

The knot in my stomach worsened. I went to text some kind of frantic reply, but I had an idea. She wouldn’t take my calls, but maybe she’d do something else? I took a deep breath and texted again.

-Video chat me. You don’t have to say anything, just show me where you’re at so we can figure this out.-

For an agonizing moment, there was nothing. I was sweating now, occasionally glancing outside to make sure there wasn’t anyone standing outside. I was alone.

Finally, my phone vibrated. A video call request from Jen, the smiling face of her old contact photo filling my screen.

Reluctantly, I answered.

When the screen changed, I noticed two things immediately: One, the camera was flipped to face away from her, and two, she had muted herself. In stunned silence, I watched as she angled the camera to show what was in front of her.

She was standing in front of a house, but it wasn’t mine.

It was the same kind of country home I had, with a similar background of darkened trees. She was standing outside in the pouring rain, and little droplets speckled the camera’s lens.

“Jen, where are you? Is that where your GPS took you?” I asked aloud, startled by my own voice.

The phone angled down, and I assumed she was texting a reply. But as she lowered the camera I felt sick to my stomach. 

Her feet were bare and muddy. Like she had walked through a field.

The text popped up at the top of my screen.

-You’re not here. I’ll show you.-

“Jen, how did you get there? That’s not my house!” I said, but she was already on the move.

The camera showed her steadily walking under a trellis and up the porch, taking each step slow. She trained the camera perfectly still, taking me along with her. The window of the front door was broken, like someone had forced their way in. The camera showed a small, feminine hand reach and turn the knob.

A hand that was covered in blood.

“Jen…” I started, but the words caught in my throat.

The camera pushed past the door, and showed a living room in complete disarray. The couch was pushed out of place. The coffee table turned over. The television had been knocked on its side, painting the room in a strange blend of multicolored hues. She moved quick, but something caught my eye. I could only see it briefly, but there was no mistaking the shape.

It looked like a pair of legs, stained sweatpants poking out from beneath the toppled entertainment center. Like they had been crushed. 

Jen didn’t linger on any place for long, but she slowly panned the interior of the house. But everywhere the camera pointed, there was nothing but destruction. The dining room was destroyed, pictures knocked from the walls, the dining table flipped. The kitchen was worse, the counters looked to be swept over entirely. Dishes broken, a knife block laying on its side. Knives everywhere. I caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen floor. It looked like a trash bag, but whatever was tied up in it looked almost too big. The bottom leaked a sickly red.

“Jen, what have you done?” I croaked. 

If she could hear me, she made no inclination of it, only focusing on panning the camera to show the vague, unexplained carnage in the picture.

Focusing on the lack of me.

Finally, the camera stopped, showing a view down a dark hallway of the house. The hall light had been busted, but at the very end, a door was slightly ajar, the light left on.

The camera focused long enough to show the stained trail leading into the room, then the call ended.

The texts followed immediately after.

-See?-

-Where are you?-

-I didn’t see you.-

-They. Weren’t. You.-

The phone shook in my hand. I read them over and over, like I could hear the malicious confusion behind them. I paced my living room, my heart racing. What was happening? What did she do? Was that even Jen?

A detail in our chat log stopped me in my tracks. I looked at one of the messages, suddenly unable to breathe. It was one of mine, one I had sent almost an hour previous.

1400 West, 600 North.

I didn’t live at 600 North. I lived at 500 North. I must have hit the five on accident, and didn’t notice the mistake. The whole time I sat and waited for her to show up, she was heading somewhere else. Even though it was a typo, it was still someone else’s address, a parallel country road, not even a mile away.

And I had sent her there.

I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door. My phone continued to vibrate but I ignored it, instead dialing the police as I got into my car, and peeled out of my driveway. I reported the incident in a ramble of panicked sobs, the scene of Jen’s video fresh in my mind as I white knuckled the wheel. My mind was reeling so much I hardly processed my drive to the station, or the squad cars flying in the direction I had come from, heading to whatever misery awaited them at the address I had sent. 

I hoped it was a prank. Some kind of sick joke. I wish it was a nightmare, I had made it all up. I prayed that maybe I was the one who had lost their mind, and had imagined the whole thing like some sort of lucid dream.

But there was no denying the sternness in the officers that greeted me. The sickly shade that washed over the precinct as the details of the scene made their way back through the chatter. The side eyes cast my way as they collected my phone for evidence, and when I sat for questioning. 

Even with the professionals, you can tell when something inexplicably horrible has taken place. They try to act like it’s just another day at the office, but you can see it in their eyes. You can see the gears turn, processing, just like everyone else.

I don’t know exactly what happened in the house, or what had happened to the Jen I used to know. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if I would’ve sent the correct address. 

But it’s not the muddy feet or the stillness of blood that haunts me now. It’s the texts I received while driving to the police station, that I was too busy to check. I only got a glance at them on the screen before they bagged my phone, but it was all I needed for it to sear into my memory. It haunts me more than our video call, and I find myself looking around the precinct. Looking out onto the street. Each passing car, each person traveling the sidewalk.

-I’m sorry! It appears there’s been a miscalculation somewhere.-

–I’ve addressed the issue, it appears the error was on your part.–

-The error has been corrected. See you soon!-

Thumbs up.