the last message

The first message reached us at 2:13 a.m. I was in bed, looking up at the ceiling, when my phone gave a buzz next to me. I almost ignored it. Almost. I reached for it because of the sound. The screen lit up. Unknown Number: Is it still night? I frowned. Who's going to be texting me at two in the morning? I typed back. Me: Who is this? The reply came immediately. The number is unknown: a person who requires your assistance. I sat up. The room was dark apart from the blue light coming from my phone; the rain was tapping on the window and the old fan in the corner made a clicking noise at intervals. I checked the time. 2:14 a.m. What do you want? Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then the message came. Unknown Number: Make sure they don't forget me. I looked at the screen. I didn't understand. Me: Who are you? At that moment, no response was given. I stayed for a minute. Then five.

I finally stopped holding my phone and attempted to go to sleep. The words remained in my head. Don't let them forget about me. The following morning I told my best friend Mia. I was on the bus at the time and showed her the messages. She read them twice. “That's creepy,” she said. “Right?” Did you give your number to someone strange? “No.” “Could be a prank.” “Probably.” She returned my phone. “Just block them.” I nodded. I never blocked the number. I don't know why. Perhaps I just wanted to find out who it was. Perhaps it was due to my curiosity. Or it could be that I already knew the answer beforehand. That afternoon I looked up the number on line. Nothing came up. No name. No account. No information. I tried calling it. The phone rang once. Then the call ended. I tried again. At that moment, a voice responded. A girl's voice. Quiet. Almost whispering. “Hello?” I froze. “Who is this?” The girl didn't answer. There was a sound in the background. A faint buzzing. Similar to an old fluorescent light. Then she said: Remember the last day?

The call ended. I looked at my phone. My hands felt cold. I didn't know what she was referring to. That night I kept on thinking about the voice. I attempted to do my homework. I tried watching videos. I gave my attention to some music. Nothing worked. Each time I closed my eyes, I heard her asking that very question. Is you recalling the final day? My phone buzzed once more at 2:13 a.m. Unknown Number: You promised. I sat up. I hadn't promised anything. I have no idea who you are. The reply came quickly. Yes, you do. I looked at my bedroom door. It was closed. My parents were downstairs and they were watching television. Everything was normal. So why did I feel like something was wrong? Another message appeared. The unknown number says to check your desk. I looked at the words. I then turned slowly towards my desk. By my homework there was a small envelope. I never put it there. I was sure. I left the bed and went over.

The envelope was white. The name was on the front. EMILY I picked it up. Inside was a photograph. The scene depicted children standing in front of an old school building. I knew exactly what building it was. This was the elementary school of mine. I looked at the photograph. The number of children in it was around twenty. One girl was circled in red. She was standing by the back. Dark hair. A yellow sweater. A small smile. I flipped the photograph over. On the back there were five words. You said you would remember. I didn't sleep that night. The following morning I brought the photograph to school. Mia looked at it. “Who's that?” “I don't know.” Isn't this the school you used to have? “Yeah.” She studied the picture. “Wait.” “What?” She indicated the girl. “Doesn't she look familiar?” I stared. I was put off by the way she looked. I couldn't explain why. Mia flipped the photograph over. What is all this supposed to mean? “I don't know.” Did your parents give it to you? “No.” “Then who did?” I shook my head. For the rest of the day I was unable to concentrate. I kept looking at the photograph. The girl seemed familiar. Not like anyone I saw recently. As with someone I used to know. I was unable to recall her. As soon as I had got home I asked my mother about the picture.

She was folding the laundry in the living room. Mom, do you remember my elementary school? She smiled. “Of course.” I showed her the photo. Her expression changed. Only for a second. But I noticed. “ heating source?” It was located on my desk. She stared at it. Who is the person that gave Emily this? “I don't know.” My mom sat down. “That's strange.” Know the girl? She looked at the photograph once more. At that moment she shook her head. “No.” I didn't believe her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stood up.

“It's probably nothing.”

I watched her leave. Something was wrong. I knew it. That night I looked through some of the old family photographs. I have some pictures of birthdays. Christmas. School plays. Trips. I checked out every album that I could locate. Then I found one. It showed me when I was seven years old. I stood in front of my elementary school. Next to me was a different girl. The girl who is in the photograph. I looked at the picture. I began to feel my heart beating more quickly.

I turned it over. There was a date. October 18, 2020. And underneath it, my mom had written: Emily and Emma are best friends for life.

I dropped the picture. Emma. The name felt familiar. I stared at the floor from where I was sitting. Why can I not remember her? I went on to look through the rest of the album. There were more pictures. Emma and I were at the playground. Emma and I were at a birthday party. I was sitting with Emma in class. She was everywhere. I never managed to recall any moment spent with her. Not one. My phone buzzed at 2:13 a.m. I was already awake. You've found the pictures. I looked at the screen. Me: Who are you? The reply came. Unknown Number: Emma. My stomach dropped.

I typed: Me: Emma who? A lengthy pause followed. Then: Your best friend: Unknown Number. I dropped my phone on the bed. No.

That couldn't be true. The name Emma appeared in a photograph. A girl whom I did not remember. A girl that my mother said that she did not know. I picked up my phone again. Me: Where are you? The answer came immediately. Unknown Number: At school. I stared. Me: What? The number is unknown: the old school. Then another message appeared. The unknown number says come and find me. I checked the time. 2:14 a.m. I set my phone down. I wouldn't go to school in the middle of the night. Absolutely not. I pulled the blanket over my head. Then I heard something. A faint tapping. From my bedroom window. Tap. Tap. Tap. I froze. The tapping stopped. Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: I'm outside. I didn't look out the window. I couldn’t sleep. I stayed in bed until morning. When the sun finally came up, I ran downstairs. My mom was making breakfast.

“Mom,” I said.

She looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I have a friend named Emma?”

The spatula in her hand stopped moving. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then she said, “Why?”

“Just tell me.”

She put the spatula down. “Emily, where did you hear that name?”

“I found pictures.”

Her face went pale. “What pictures?”

I showed her the photograph. She stared at it. Then she sat down.

“Emma was your friend,” she said quietly.

I felt like the floor had moved beneath me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My mom looked away. “Because you were little.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

She sighed. “Something happened.”

“What?”

My mom folded her hands. “Emma disappeared.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“She disappeared when you were seven.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Emily—”

“No. That’s not possible.”

My mom’s eyes filled with tears. “You were there.”

I couldn’t speak.

My mother looked at me. “You were the last person who saw her.”

I felt cold. “What happened?”

She hesitated. “You two were playing at school.”

“Okay.”

“Then you came home.”

“Where was Emma?”

My mom swallowed. “She never came home.”

I stared at her. “Why don’t I remember?”

My mother looked down. “Because you were so young.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

She didn’t answer.

I grabbed my phone. There was a new message.

Unknown Number: She knows.

I showed my mom. She read it. Then she whispered, “Emily, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Answering.”

I stared at her. “Why?”

My mom looked toward the stairs. “Because she isn’t supposed to be here.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat at my desk with the photograph in front of me. I stared at Emma’s face and tried to remember her. Anything. Her voice. Her laugh. The way she walked.

Nothing.

At 2:13 a.m., my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You promised me.

I typed:

Me: What did I promise?

The reply came.

Unknown Number: You promised you wouldn’t forget.

I stared at the screen. Then another message appeared.

Unknown Number: You promised you would come back.

I felt a strange ache in my chest. A memory. Something small. A playground. A swing. A girl laughing.

I closed my eyes. The memory disappeared.

Another message came.

Unknown Number: You left me alone.

I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Then come back.

The next day, I asked Mia to come with me to the old school. She looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“Why?”

“I need to find something.”

“Emily, this is getting weird.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t go.”

I hesitated, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Emma. I needed answers. So after school, we walked to the old building.

It had been closed for years. The windows were dusty, the doors were locked, and a fence surrounded the property.

We stood outside.

Mia crossed her arms. “Okay. What are we looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great.”

I pulled out the photograph. “This girl.”

Mia stared at it. “Emma?”

I nodded. “Do you remember her?”

Mia frowned. “No.”

I looked toward the building. Something about it made me uneasy. Then I noticed a window on the second floor. The glass was cracked. Behind it was a classroom, and standing inside was a girl in a yellow sweater.

I stopped breathing.

Mia followed my gaze. “Emily?”

I pointed. “Do you see her?”

Mia looked. Her face changed. “There’s nobody there.”

I looked again. The girl was gone.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Room 12.

We found a side door that was slightly open.

Mia grabbed my arm. “Emily, this is a terrible idea.”

“I know.”

We stepped inside. The hallway smelled like dust. Our footsteps echoed. The walls were covered with old artwork. Some of it was torn, and some of it was faded.

We walked past the classrooms.

Room 8.

Room 9.

Room 10.

Then Room 11.

At the end of the hallway was Room 12. The door was closed.

I reached for the handle.

Mia whispered, “Who’s there?”

I froze.

She looked at me. “What?”

I hadn’t said anything.

We stood silently. Then a voice came from inside the room.

My voice.

“Who’s there?”

Mia grabbed my hand. “Emily, let’s go.”

The door opened.

Inside was a classroom. Desks. Chairs. A chalkboard. And on the wall, a photograph—the same photograph I had found at home.

Except this one had something different.

There were only nineteen children in the picture. One girl was missing.

Emma.

I stepped closer. Underneath the photograph was a message.

SHE WAS HERE.

Then the door slammed shut behind us.

Mia screamed.

I grabbed the handle. It wouldn’t move.

“Open!” I shouted.

The lights flickered. The chalkboard creaked.

Then a voice whispered, “Why did you leave me?”

I turned around.

Emma was standing at the back of the classroom. She was wearing the yellow sweater. Her hair covered part of her face. She looked exactly like the girl in the photograph.

But she wasn’t smiling.

“Emma?” I whispered.

She nodded.

Mia was crying. “Emily, who is that?”

I couldn’t answer.

Emma took a step forward. “You promised.”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember.”

She looked hurt. “You said you’d come back.”

“I was seven.”

“You promised.”

I felt tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Emma looked at me. Then she pointed toward the chalkboard.

Written in white chalk were three words.

REMEMBER THE PLAYGROUND.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I remembered.

It was October 18, 2020. I was seven years old. Emma and I had stayed after school to play on the playground. We were sitting on the swings. She was wearing a yellow sweater, and I was wearing a blue hoodie.

We had been talking about our favorite things. She liked stars. I liked the moon. We decided to make a promise. We would always be friends. We would never forget each other.

Then I remembered something else.

A storm had started. The teachers called everyone inside. Emma wanted to get her backpack. I told her I would wait. She ran toward the building, and I stayed on the swings.

Then I heard a loud crash.

A tree branch had fallen near the entrance. Everyone started shouting. I remembered running. I remembered my mother arriving. I remembered getting into the car.

But I didn’t remember Emma.

I didn’t remember asking about her. I didn’t remember anything after that.

Then the memory changed.

I saw Emma standing in the hallway. She was crying. She was calling my name.

And I was walking away.

I had left her.

I had forgotten her.

I opened my eyes. Emma was standing in front of me.

“You remembered,” she whispered.

I nodded. “I didn’t mean to leave you.”

She looked down. “I waited.”

My chest hurt. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “You promised.”

“I know.”

I looked toward the door. “Can we leave?”

Emma didn’t answer. Then she said, “Not yet.”

The lights flickered again. The chalkboard changed.

New words appeared.

SHE FORGOT THE LAST THING.

I stared. “What?”

Emma pointed at me. “Tell her.”

I looked at Mia. She was standing beside the door.

“What is she talking about?” Mia asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Emma stepped closer. “Tell her.”

I felt a strange pressure in my chest. Then another memory came.

The playground. The storm. The fallen branch.

And something else.

A promise.

A promise I had made after Emma disappeared.

I had promised to come back. I had promised to find her. I had promised to remember.

But I hadn’t.

I had forgotten.

Emma looked at me. “You left me alone.”

I cried. “I know.”

“You never came back.”

“I know.”

“You forgot.”

I nodded. “I know.”

The classroom went silent.

Then Emma smiled.

Not the creepy smile from the window. A real smile. The kind I remembered from the playground.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photograph. It was a picture of the two of us on the swings. She handed it to me.

“Now you won’t forget.”

I took it. The moment my fingers touched the photograph, the lights turned off.

Mia screamed.

I grabbed her hand. Then the door opened.

We ran.

We didn’t stop until we were outside. The sky was dark, and the streetlights flickered. Mia was crying. I was crying too. Neither of us spoke for a long time.

Finally, Mia looked at me. “Emily.”

I nodded.

“What happened in there?”

I stared at the photograph. It showed me and Emma sitting on the swings. Both of us were smiling. Both of us were happy.

I looked toward the school. The second-floor window was dark.

“She was my friend,” I whispered.

Mia swallowed. “What happened to her?”

I looked down. “I forgot.”

When I got home, my mother was waiting. She looked at my face. Then she saw the photograph.

She started crying.

“You remembered.”

I nodded.

She hugged me. For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Then I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My mother wiped her eyes. “Because I thought forgetting would make it easier.”

I shook my head. “It didn’t.”

She nodded. “I know.”

I looked at the photograph. “Is she gone?”

My mother didn’t answer immediately. Then she said, “I don’t know.”

That night, I went to bed. For the first time in weeks, I felt tired. Not scared. Just tired.

I placed the photograph beside my bed. Then I turned off the light.

At 2:13 a.m., my phone buzzed.

I sat up. The screen lit up.

Unknown Number: Thank you.

I stared at the message. Then another appeared.

Unknown Number: Don’t forget me again.