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The Phantom Operator Shaina Tranquilino October 10, 2024

Macy sat alone in her dimly lit apartment, the glow from her TV flickering across the walls as an autumn storm rattled the windows. The wind howled through the trees outside, and rain pattered against the glass like skeletal fingers tapping to get in. She had always loved October’s eeriness, but tonight, an unfamiliar dread settled over her. It started with a ring—sharp and shrill, cutting through the white noise of the storm. Macy glanced at her phone, confused. The screen displayed “Unknown Caller,” a designation she hadn't seen in years. She hesitated but eventually swiped to answer.

“Hello?” she said, her voice tentative.

There was silence on the other end, only the faint hiss of static. Macy was about to hang up when she heard it: a whisper, faint and distant, but unmistakable.

"Macy…"

She froze. The voice was achingly familiar, one she had buried in the deepest recesses of her memory. Her throat tightened as chills crept up her spine.

"Maverick?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

The static crackled again, louder this time. The whisper came through once more, clearer now, unmistakably his voice. "Macy... I miss you."

Her heart pounded in her chest. It had been five years since Maverick died in a car accident. The grief had been suffocating, but she had moved on—or so she thought. The sudden resurgence of his voice felt like a knife turning in a half-healed wound.

“This isn’t funny,” she said, her voice rising. “Who is this?”

But the voice on the other end didn’t respond. The static grew louder, filling her ears, drowning out the storm outside.

“I miss you,” the voice repeated, echoing like it was coming from far away, from somewhere it shouldn’t be able to reach.

With a gasp, Macy dropped the phone onto the couch, staring at it in horror. Her hands were shaking. This had to be a prank—some cruel, heartless prank. But how? Maverick was dead. She had attended his funeral, seen his body lowered into the ground.

The phone went silent. For a long minute, she just stared at it, hoping the nightmare was over. But then, it rang again.

Macy nearly jumped out of her skin. “Unknown Caller” flashed on the screen once more. She didn’t want to answer, but her hand moved involuntarily, as though compelled by some unseen force.

She pressed the green icon and brought the phone to her ear, her pulse hammering in her throat.

This time, the voice came through immediately, but it was different. It wasn’t just a whisper. It was distorted, warped, as though Maverick’s voice had been dragged through layers of static and something darker—something inhuman.

"Why did you leave me?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "You... you died, Maverick. You’re gone. This isn’t real."

"I’m still here," the voice rasped. The words were drenched in agony, in longing. "I’ve been waiting for you."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She tried to reason with herself—this was impossible, a trick of the mind. Maybe it was the storm, maybe it was grief resurfacing after all these years. But the voice… it was too real. Too familiar.

The call cut out, plunging the room into silence once more. Macy stared at the phone in her hand, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her fingers hovered over the call log. She needed to know where the calls were coming from.

With trembling hands, she tapped the number.

Nothing.

No record. The call didn’t exist.

A chill swept over her as the storm outside raged on, the wind howling like a mourning soul. She stood, pacing the living room, her mind racing. It couldn’t have been Maverick. He was gone. He had to be.

Suddenly, the phone rang again.

This time, Macy didn’t answer immediately. She let it ring, her stomach twisting into knots as the shrill sound echoed in her small apartment. Finally, with a deep breath, she answered.

“Maverick, please stop this,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “Please… just let me go.”

There was a long pause, the kind of silence that felt like the dead themselves were listening.

"Come back to me," the voice said. It was louder now, more insistent. "You promised."

Her mind raced back to the night of his accident. They had fought—bitterly. She had told him she was leaving him, that she couldn’t take the jealousy, the paranoia anymore. He had driven off in a storm not unlike tonight, his last words to her echoing in her mind: “If you leave, I’ll never let you go.”

The static rose again, and beneath it, Macy could hear something else—a distant noise, growing louder. It was the unmistakable screech of tires on wet pavement, the crunch of metal twisting and shattering.

Then, the voice. His voice. Crying out her name in terror.

The memory slammed into her like a freight train, and she dropped the phone, stumbling backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She covered her ears, but she couldn’t block it out—the sound of his death was all around her, suffocating her.

The lights flickered and then went out, plunging the room into darkness. Only the faint glow from her phone illuminated the room. The call was still active, the static crackling like fire.

And then she heard it. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, moving toward her.

Macy backed into a corner, her heart pounding, tears streaming down her face. “Maverick... I’m sorry…”

The footsteps stopped just behind her. She could feel the air grow cold, could sense something—someone—standing there, unseen but present.

A whisper brushed her ear, so close it felt like icy breath on her skin.

“You can’t leave me. Not again.”

And then, the lights flickered back on. The room was empty, but Macy knew—she wasn’t alone.

The phone went dead in her hand, the call finally over. But the fear remained, gnawing at her, whispering in the back of her mind.

She knew it wasn’t the last time he would call.

Maverick was waiting.

And he always would be.