Late at night, the old apartment was deathly quiet. Jack had just come home from working overtime and flopped exhausted onto his bed. A light drizzle fell outside the window, making the room feel even more desolate.
Just as he was about to turn off the light, a faint whisper suddenly drifted from the old, closed wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom: “Jack…”
Jack’s eyes snapped open, and his heart skipped a beat. It was his wife Martha’s voice—gentle, familiar, and tinged with a hint of hurt.
But Martha had died in a car accident three months ago.
Jack froze in bed, cold sweat instantly soaking through his pajamas. He stared intently at the carved wooden door; his rational mind told him this was definitely an auditory hallucination, an illusion born of overwhelming grief. But immediately afterward, a grating sound of fingernails scraping against wood came from inside the wardrobe, accompanied by Martha’s tearful whisper: “Jack, it’s so dark in here… I’m so cold. Open the door and let me out…”
The voice sounded so real—even the habitual drawl at the end of her sentences was exactly the same. Jack’s eyes instantly welled up with tears as overwhelming grief and fear intertwined. Trembling, he threw back the covers, stepped barefoot onto the cold floor, and walked step by step toward the closet.
“Martha?” His voice trembled as he placed his hand on the cold brass doorknob.
“It’s me, Jack. Hurry up and open the door—I’m scared…” The voice from inside grew more urgent, even taking on the nasal tone she used to use when she was being playful.
Tears streamed down Jack’s face. He was desperate to pull the door open—even if it really was a ghost inside, he wanted to see her one last time. Just as his hand pressed down with all his strength, his phone suddenly began to vibrate on the nightstand.
In the deathly silent room, the vibration sounded like a clap of thunder.
Jack startled, his hand frozen mid-air. He turned to look at the bedside table, where the phone’s screen glowed with a faint blue light in the darkness. He hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked over to pick it up.
It was his mother-in-law calling.
Jack took a deep breath and pressed the answer button. Just as he was about to speak, he heard his mother-in-law’s voice on the other end, a scream of extreme terror held back: “Jack! Don’t make a sound! I was just going through Martha’s belongings and found a recording on her old phone… She recorded it in the garage right before her car accident! She’d run into a stalker who’d been following her—that man… that man’s voice sounded exactly like Martha’s!”
Jack’s mind went completely blank; it felt as if his blood had frozen.
Just then, from the closet behind him, came that exact same, unnervingly gentle call once more: “Jack… who are you talking to? Open the door—I’ve been waiting for you for so long…”
This time, Jack heard it clearly: beneath that familiar voice was a faint, sickening chuckle.
