The night was eerily silent when Daniel’s phone buzzed on his nightstand. The digital clock beside it read 3:15 AM—an ungodly hour for anyone to be calling. With a sigh, he reached for the phone, his vision still blurry with sleep. The screen showed a familiar name.
Ethan Carter.
Daniel sat up so fast he nearly dropped the device. His breath caught in his throat. Ethan had been dead for a week.
His shaking fingers hovered over the screen before he finally pressed play.
A static hiss filled the room. Then, a voice—low, hoarse, and unmistakably Ethan’s.
“Daniel… help me… I’m not supposed to be here…”
A sharp crackle ended the message.
Daniel’s blood ran cold.
A Desperate Search for Answers
By morning, Daniel was pacing his living room, replaying the message over and over. The audio was warped, as if recorded from a place where sound shouldn’t exist. He refused to believe this was a sick prank—no one else had access to Ethan’s phone.
Driven by desperation, he grabbed his keys and headed to the cemetery.
Whispers from Below
The graveyard was desolate, shrouded in mist. Ethan’s tombstone stood among the others, ordinary yet ominous.
Daniel knelt, pressing his hand against the cold earth. “Ethan, if you’re there… if this is real… give me a sign.”
The wind howled through the trees. Silence followed.
Then—
His phone buzzed.
Another voicemail. His breath hitched as he pressed play.
“Daniel, please… you have to dig. It wasn’t my time. The coffin is wrong… so wrong…”
Daniel stumbled back, his heart pounding. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t—but he had to know the truth.
Uncovering the Unthinkable
Armed with a shovel, he waited until midnight before returning. The ground was damp, the soil heavy, but he dug with frantic energy. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop.
Then, the shovel hit something solid.
Daniel hesitated, then pried the coffin lid open.
What he saw sent his world crashing down.
Ethan’s body was there—but his eyes were open. His face contorted in a silent scream, his fingers bloody from clawing the inside of the coffin lid.
He had been buried alive.
The Final Revelation
Daniel staggered back, bile rising in his throat. His phone buzzed once more.
Shaking, he answered. “Ethan?”
“You found me… but it’s too late.” The voice was a whisper now, fading. “Thank you for listening… but I have to go…”
The call ended.
The night was silent again.
Conclusion:
Some messages defy death. Some voices refuse to be silenced. And sometimes, the greatest horrors are not in ghosts, but in the terrible truths buried beneath our feet.
