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Chapter Nine

I had barely gotten through the door of my room when my phone buzzed. The sound, usually so harmless, sent a jolt through my body like a static shock.

At first, I thought it was Jasmine or Mia texting to check on me. Or maybe even Uncle David, telling me when he planned to start my "training." I glanced at the screen, my heart already settling—until I saw the message.

The second my eyes landed on it, my stomach dropped like a stone in deep water.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Did you think I forgot about you?**

I froze, my grip on my phone tightening until my fingers ached.

My mouth went dry. My pulse spiked in my ears, a deafening drumbeat drowning out everything else.

I forced myself to swallow, my fingers hovering over the screen as I read the message again. Once. Twice. Three times. As if the words might change, as if I'd misread them.

This couldn't be real.

This couldn't be happening already.

The room around me suddenly felt too big and too small all at once, walls pressing in while the shadows stretched too far. My breath hitched, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck.

I hesitated for only a second before doing the one thing that made sense.

I blocked the number.

The screen went blank, the silence almost mocking. My reflection in the darkened screen looked as shaken as I felt. I squeezed my phone in both hands, willing myself to calm down, to remind myself that it could be a prank—

**BZZT.**

I jumped, my breath catching in my throat.

Another message.

Another unknown number.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Blocking me won't make me go away.**

My breath hitched again, this time sharp and ragged.

I blocked the number again, my fingers shaking so hard I almost hit the wrong button.

Five seconds later—

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: I see you, Emily.**

A cold wave of terror crashed over me, knocking the air from my lungs.

This wasn't a prank.

This wasn't random.

This was Tasha.

Or—someone working for her.

I dropped my phone on my bed like it had burned me, backing away as if putting distance between us would make the messages stop. My legs hit the edge of the mattress, but I barely registered the impact.

It didn't stop.

**BZZT.**

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I didn't want to read it. I really didn't.

But I knew I had to.

My hands felt detached, like they weren't even mine, as I reached for the phone and turned it over.

My breath hitched, my hands shaking as I stared at the screen.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Are you scared yet?**

I was.

I hated that I was.

My stomach churned, my heartbeat pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Every part of me was screaming to block the number again, to shut my phone off, to pretend this wasn't happening.

But I couldn't.

Because blocking it wasn't working.

And if this really was Tasha, or someone working for her, then that meant one thing:

They wanted me afraid.

They wanted me cornered, powerless, panicking.

I refused to give them that.

So before I could second-guess myself, before my brain could catch up to how stupid this was, my fingers moved on their own.

I typed out the message quickly, hit send, and watched the text bubble appear beneath their threats.

**ME: Wrong number. Who this?**

My hands were so cold I barely felt the phone in my grip. My entire body was coiled so tightly, every muscle tense, bracing for whatever would come next.

**BZZT.**

The response was instant.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice try.**

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: You know exactly who I am.**

A chill crawled up my spine.

I tried to swallow, but my throat felt tight, like I'd swallowed glass.

The walls of my room seemed to press in on me, the air thick and suffocating.

My attempt to play it off hadn't worked.

I hadn't tricked them.

If anything, it made them bolder.

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Cute, though. I almost laughed.**

I dropped my phone onto my bed again, taking a step back, like the distance would keep me safe. My hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into my palms, trying to ground myself, trying to fight back the sickening fear curling in my gut.

This wasn't a prank.

This was real.

And they were playing with me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathe, Emily. Just breathe.

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: You're not going to block me this time?**

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Smart. Wouldn't want to miss what's coming.**

A shudder ran down my spine.

No.

No, I was done with this.

I turned and bolted out of my room, my phone still buzzing as I flew down the stairs two at a time, my socked feet barely making a sound against the worn wood.

"Mom!" I gasped, barely able to get the words out. "Mom, I—"

She was already in the living room with Dad and Uncle David, their conversation cutting off the second they saw my face.

Mom's expression darkened immediately. Her hands, which had been clasped together, dropped to her sides in tight fists. "Emily, what's wrong?"

I held up my phone, my hands shaking so badly I thought I might drop it.

Dad stood up straight, his usually relaxed stance shifting to something tense, alert. His jaw tightened as he reached for the phone. "What happened?"

I took a deep, unsteady breath, trying to force the words out. "Someone's... they're texting me. Threatening me. I block the number, but they keep using a new one."

Uncle David snatched the phone from my hand and scrolled through the messages, his face unreadable, but I saw the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the device.

Mom's fists clenched even tighter. "This has to be her."

Dad exhaled through his nose, his whole body stiff with barely contained anger. "Or someone working for her."

Uncle David was still studying the phone, his jaw set in that same sharp line. "You said each number is different?"

I nodded quickly. "Every time I block one, another pops up."

He let out a quiet hum, his brows furrowing. "This isn't just a burner phone. This is an app. Someone's using a fake number generator to keep sending messages without being traced."

Mom's face went pale, her lips parting slightly before she swallowed hard. "So there's no way to stop it?"

"For now?" Uncle David exhaled slowly, like he was thinking two steps ahead. "Not easily."

I felt lightheaded. My stomach churned, my heartbeat too loud in my ears. "So what do I do? Just keep getting threats until they get bored?"

Uncle David's eyes flickered toward me, calculating but calm. "No. We're going to handle this."

"How?" Mom demanded. "The school isn't doing anything. The police won't care until something actually happens. And now, this?" She shook her head, rubbing her forehead as if trying to push away a headache. "What are we supposed to do, David?"

Uncle David didn't answer right away.

Instead, he handed my phone to Dad, then looked me straight in the eye.

"You don't respond. You don't acknowledge the messages at all. You don't let them see you panic."

I blinked at him, my pulse hammering. "I can't just—"

"You can," he cut in, his voice steady, firm. "They want a reaction. They want you scared. You don't give them what they want."

I clenched my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. "I am scared."

His expression softened—just barely, but enough. "I know. But that doesn't mean you let them win."

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the wave of panic rising in my chest.

Dad cleared his throat, his voice a quiet but solid presence in the room. "We'll keep track of the messages. If it escalates, we take this to the police—whether they want to listen or not."

Mom crossed her arms, her face tight with worry. "I don't want to wait for escalation."

"We won't," Uncle David said. "I have a contact who can trace the numbers back to their source. It won't be easy, but we'll find out who's behind this."

Mom nodded sharply, then turned her focus back to me. "And until we do, you don't go anywhere alone."

I exhaled shakily, my heart still pounding.

This was real.

This was happening.

Tasha hadn't made her move yet, but she was letting me know she could.

And that was almost worse.

I took my phone back from Dad, my grip tight, my throat dry.

**BZZT.**

Another buzz.

Another number.

Another message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sweet dreams, Emily.**

A shiver ran down my spine, leaving my skin cold.

Uncle David reached over my shoulder and swiped the phone from my hands before I could react.

"That's enough for tonight," he muttered.

I let out a shaky breath, nodding as I wrapped my arms around myself.

But no matter how hard I tried, I knew I wouldn't be getting any sweet dreams tonight.

As I walk into my room, I shut the door behind me, the weight of the night pressing down on my shoulders.

My legs felt weak as I knelt down by my bedside, my fingers curling into the blanket. My chest was tight, my heart pounding, but I forced my eyes shut and took a slow, shaking breath.

And then, for the first time since my birth father died, since my birth mother turned away from Him...

I prayed.

"Lord... I don't know if You still hear me.

It's been so long since I've done this. Since I've even tried. I used to pray every night when I was little. I used to believe You were always listening.

But then Dad died. And Mom—she changed. She said You weren't real, that You didn't care. And maybe... maybe I started to believe her.

Because if You were real... why did You let that happen?

Why did You take him away? Why did You leave me alone with a mother who didn't want me anymore?

I spent so long thinking You had forgotten about me. That maybe I wasn't worth saving.

But now?

Now I don't know what to believe.

I don't know what to do.

I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare, and no one can wake me up. Every time I think I can breathe, Tasha comes back, her shadow stretching further and further, and I feel like I'm right back where I started. Helpless. Small. Scared.

I don't want to be scared anymore.

I don't want her to have this power over me.

But I don't know how to stop it.

I don't know how to make this fear go away.

So... if You're still there, if You're still listening—please help me.

Please show me I'm not alone in this.

Please protect me.

I don't know if I can do this by myself anymore.

Amen."

I had barely settled under the covers, my body still tense, when my phone buzzed one more time.

I flinched.

I didn't want to look.

I really, really didn't want to look.

But something in me knew—I had to.

With a deep breath, I reached for my phone, my fingers feeling cold against the screen.

One new message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice that you prayed. You're going to need it.**

My breath hitched, my stomach twisting so hard I thought I might be sick.

I stared at the words, my pulse thundering in my ears.

They knew.

How did they know?

My hands were shaking as I slammed my phone face-down on the nightstand, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps.

The walls felt like they were closing in again, the darkness in my room stretching, creeping, swallowing the edges of my vision.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the blankets tighter around me.

I had just asked God for help.

And now, it felt like the devil was listening too.