When she woke up, there were 17 voicemails from a stranger. Her phone screen glowed in the early morning gloom of her bedroom, a relentless string of notifications that swallowed the mundane reminders for Thursday. Seventeen missed calls. Seventeen voicemails. All from the same unknown number. All left between 1am and 4am.

 

A prank, or maybe a drunk caller dialling the wrong number. It couldn’t be for her. Sarah’s thumb moved to swipe away the notifications, dismiss it all as a mistake. But she paused just for a moment, her curiosity getting the better of her. Seventeen times was a lot.

 

She hit play on the first voicemail. It was just breathing. Heavy, deep, but even. The faint sound of traffic in the background. No words were said, just 20 seconds of breaths. She quickly deleted it, a small shiver running down her spine. Sarah looked at the next voicemail, waiting to be played, questioning if she should bother. Her thumb tapped the screen again. More breathing, over and over. The third was the same. Sarah swiped them away, presuming they were accidental. She played the fourth, and it started with the same breathing. But halfway through, a low distorted whisper cut the air. “Sarah.”

 

She jerked upright, her blankets tangling around her legs. This was no accident. A cold sense of dread ran through her body; she tapped on the fifth message. The breathing started again, before another cold whisper. “Sarah. Are you listening?”. The next five messages were all similarly themed. “Your street is so quiet at night.” “You forgot to close the kitchen window.” “I bet you look so peaceful when you sleep.”

 

By the seventeenth message, Sarah could barely stop herself from shaking. The voicemails were synthesized, like the caller was using something to alter their voice. It sounded like a man, but she couldn’t be sure. It was calm, chilling, and measured. “I saw you reading before you went to bed. I hope you slept well, Sarah. I’ll be seeing you.”

 

The phone dropped from her hand and thumped onto the carpet. Terror and panic began to rise in her chest, and her breathing became faster and ragged. She began to spiral, fingers tingling and hands clenched into fists. Outside, the birds began to chirp, and the sun started to rise. The world was waking up to a normal Thursday. But Sarah woke up to the realisation of how fragile normal really was.