It starts out innocently enough – a text from an unknown number.
2569440285: Hello. [sent 10:22am]
You stare at the bubble of text and wonder who it's from. The area code is unknown, but maybe it's somebody important? You plug the number into Google, half expecting it to be listed as a sales caller or maybe a distant relative or friend. Google informs you that the number belongs to Jenna Green (58) who lives in Athens, Montana. Odd. You don't know who that is. You decide to ignore it for now – maybe they'll figure out they've got the wrong number themselves.
You go about your day, then week. The text has been deleted and forgotten – a small blip of unremarkable oddity in your life. You're busy. Not just physically, but mentally as well. So busy that when another unknown text comes in, you don't recognize it as the number that contacted you a week before.
2569440285: Hello again. [sent 9:51am]
You stare at your phone. Again? You wonder. You recall putting a number a week prior into Google. You do so again and lo and behold, Jenna Green pops up.
I think you have the wrong number [sent 10:18am]
You respond. Full words and all. But you leave out the period at the end because you're obviously not thatangry. You continue on with your day. You forget about the conversation.
The number texts you at 1:07 am that night.
2569440285: I am sorry. I just want to talk. [sent 1:07am]
It's too late (early?) for this. you don't want to talk to Jenna Green (58) from Athens, Montana at 1:07 in the morning. You have stuff to do tomorrow. You roll over and concentrate on drifting off. Your mind, however, is still worked up from the conversation. You end up dreaming about your phone, and your subconscious provides a face to the person on the other end. It looks like one of your teachers from high school. When you awake, you vaguely wonder why your sleep-addled mind chose that teacher in particular.
You end up thinking about the text for the rest of the day as well. It could be from anyone. A creepy guy? A lonely lady? It was ominous for some reason. No good conversation starts off with 'I just want to talk.' You're tempted to reply with a 'what', but you don't. You curb your curiosity. It's just too weird. The whole thing. You delete the conversation, and you go about your day.
But still it stays in the back of your mind. Every new text makes your subconscious perk up and wonder if its Jenna each time you check your phone. You're on alert for that number for three days. You forget on the fourth. Remember again on the fifth. Then you forget again on the sixth and seventh days. And a week goes by and your brain stops wondering if every new text is from Jenna Green. Another week passes. And another. And then you get a text.
6174750385: Hello! [sent 12:00am]
Jenna Green, you grumble in the back of your mind. But the numbers all wrong. This one starts with 617, not 256.
Who is this? [sent 12:02am]
You demand. It's getting annoying at this point.
6174750385: My name is Michael! [sent 12:02am]
The reply is quick, mere seconds after you send yours.
6174750385: I am so happy to speak with you! [sent 12:02am]
You roll your eyes. Here comes the sales pitch.
6174750385: So happy![sent 12:02am]
You wait. But nothing else comes through. Apparently, this is Michael, and he is happy to speak with you.
And you are thoroughly freaked out.
Your first instinct is to change your number – which you do two days later.
At first, it helps. There are no new numbers for a month. And then, as if by some cruel joke, they once again slowly start to trickle through; one or two a day, sometimes three all at once.
2839454448: Hello! [sent 1:37pm]
3748325509: Greetings! [sent 2:18pm]
1026742902: Hello! [sent 5:05pm]
3775924993: Hello! My name's Cindy! [sent 8:12pm]
8362042738: Hi! [sent 10:10pm]
0294759227: Hello! [sent 11:59pm]
5382042038: My name's Gina! Hello! [sent 12:00am]
0284727829: Hi! Hello! [sent 12:00am]
8291023893: Hello! I'm Donny! [sent 12:00am]
0100347758: Hello! [sent 12:01am]
6174750385: It's me again! Hello! [sent 12:01am]
8881052983: Hi! [sent 1:14am]
1428583487: So happy to say hello! [sent 1:23am]
5751260486: Hi! My name is Francine! [sent 2:01am]
7381878024: Hello! [sent 3:11am]
0372875082: Please help me. [sent 4:43pm]
The last one makes you pause. You've stopped opening the messages. You block them as they come through. Thankfully they're typically just one line of 'hello' or some other greeting, so they're quick and easy to spot and block. But the last one comes in as you're scrolling through your photo gallery. It scares you. It's different. Anxiety grips you – gnaws at gut. You turn off your phone, and stare at the wall opposite you. You don't want to look.
You take your phone in to be looked at the next day. The phone carrier checks it out – sees the 6 new messages you got between the time you turned your phone off, and now. Sees your blocked numbers list. He believes you. But he doesn't have an explanation. He says it might just be someone playing a prank. 'Just' a prank - but you're thoroughly freaked out. He offers another change in numbers. You agree and decide to wait 24 hours before you tell your family and friends your new number. Maybe one of them decided you were in need of a thorough spooking. You'll know soon enough.
You get 12 new texts in 24 hours from random numbers.
You call your service provider. They see your history. They promise to get back to you once the issue is resolved. You wait a week. You ignore the texts. Finally, you get a call back. They followed up on the numbers that called you. None of those numbers have ever called you.
You close your account. You change providers. A bad move, considering you had a decent plan back with your old provider – but now you're armed with a new phone, a new number, and a new service provider. You start up your new phone. You settle it in with your desired settings. You change the background. You limit giving out your number only to the most important people in your life.
Finally. After a stressful two months, you feel yourself give a sigh of relief. You go to bed that night feeling better than you have in a while. The sheets are warm, your pillow cool, and you feel soft and comfortable. You feel your bed give a faint hum as your phone vibrates. A knee-jerk reaction of fear courses through you. You turn on your phone.
Work: See you tomorrow ;)[sent 12:01am]
A coworker. You feel your shoulders sag in relief.
1928379939: Hello![sent 12:02am]
A deep part of you heaves a sob. You don't understand. Neither does your carrier apparently (nor do they seem to care about your plight). You feel like you're under attack. Your mind is going into fight or flight mode. You're angry at the unknown. You hate whoever is on the other side.
What do you want? LEAVE ME ALONE [sent 12:02am]
You sent the text out of frustration. Immediately after sending your mind catches up with what you've done and provides hundreds of unhelpful scenarios about what will happen next – almost all end with death. Because obviously, you will be killed. The numbers now have your location somehow and are coming to kill you. A stalker is trying to kill you. Someone hired a hitman. Some random website on the deep web that you once watched a documentary on is going to kill you. Your family is going to die. The coworker who sent the first text wants to kill you. These are all very plausible scenarios. You feel the urge to cry in frustration and fear.
1928379939: I'm sorry.I won't contact you again. [sent 12:03am]
1928379939: Just... one question? Please? [sent 12:03am]
You haven't even finished typing out the 'no' when the question comes through regardless.
1928379939: Did I do something wrong? [sent 12:03am]
You're honestly dumbfounded. What a stupid question, OF COURSE they've done something wrong. You go with the obvious one.
U KEEP TEXTING ME. STOP. [sent 12:04am]
You stare at the screen, daring something else to come through.
It doesn't.
You turn off your phone and barely keep yourself from hurling it across the room.
You have 4 new messages come morning.
You stop blocking them in the end. You acclimate. You ignore them. This is the new normal. You stop caring about how annoying it is. It's the best, and only thing, that you can do (aside from not having a phone at all).
But like most situations where you have no control at all, things only got worse.
A few weeks pass. One of the numbers sends a food selfie. It's literally just a picture of what they made for dinner, and a set table – nothing that impressive. Looked like some kind of pasta... ball? It was very cheesy. Literally and figuratively. The picture had been taken from what looked like eye level (was the phone right up in their face?) and the lighting was not the best, so if they were going for artistic, they missed the mark.
At this point in time, the numbers had become background noise. You tap on the screen.
Looks nice. [sent 6:37pm]
You respond sarcastically. You don't mean to egg them on, and you hope your snide remark doesn't make them respond. But really. You feel entitled to the snark.
Thankfully, they never do respond. Your phone, however, informs you that they have seen your text.
A different number sends you a picture of their dog. This photo is also taken from what looks like eye level and is trained on a Labrador attached to a leash. The dog has a stick in its mouth and appears to be giving a lopsided grin as it looks up to the person holding the camera.
You feel the corner of your mouth twitch up into a smile. You don't respond.
It goes on like this for months. You soon realize that it's the same fifty or so numbers that keep texting you. Occasionally a new one will pop up, and sometimes the old ones stop texting all together. They send pictures, one sentence messages, and an insane number of greetings. Whoever they (singular or plural?) are, they're almost always happy to be having a one-sided conversation with you. One even thanked you – profusely – for leaving him on read; though you think they were being sarcastic. They were just too pleased that you acknowledged them.
A small part of you wonders if maybe some kind of... hotline mistyped their number on a brochure or website, and have your number listed instead. Maybe this is someone's kink? Nothing makes sense, so any story at this point is halfway plausible. But... if that was the reason, then how did they know when you changed numbers? You sigh internally. There goes another explanation shot down.
A friend gently waves their hand in front of your face. "Hello? Are you there?" Your friend asks jokingly as you mentally shake yourself out of the dazed expression on your face.
Briefly, your stomach clenches with anxiety – you've seen that phrase in text far too many times. But the feeling passes. You remember where you are. You smile shakily. "Hello."
8881052983: Hello? Are you there? [sent 11:30pm]
You are. You don't respond, but you do open the text. You wonder if some of these people have suicidal ideations. Some of them sound lost or confused. You remember the one that asked for help, months ago. They had never texted you again.
8881052983: Hi.[sent 11:30pm]
You figure they're responding to the read receipt.
8881052983: Thank you. For being there. [sent 11:31pm]
Again. You're freaked out. A part of your mind reminds you that you have no duty whatsoever to whoever these weirdos are. You flip your phone over but leave it on until it naturally turns off. Everyone wins. Weirdo thinks he has a friend, and you don't have to emotionally invest yourself into whoever it is.
In the morning, you delete the 5 new texts from that number without reading them. Sometimes it's better not to know.
You've got an album filled with saved pictures from the weird numbers. They're an odd collection. Vegetable gardens and big machines, birds, random furniture and rooms, the sun, the stars, hands, food, old houses, new houses, construction sites and various tools. Some objects look weirdly futuristic; others very familiar. No faces, though. Which makes sense – obviously they don't want to identify themselves and risk getting caught. You don't recognize the locations either, which doesn't help at all.
So you collect them. Tiny pieces of evidence – just in case one of them eventually slips.
And they do, eventually. But not in the way you expected.
You stare blankly at the screen as you move Connor around the apartment.
You pull out your phone, and turn the camera towards the dining room table. You look between the image on your phone and on the screen.
Anxiety bubbles up again. You search for the number that sent the photo.