Mira never liked sleeping with her door fully closed.
She said it felt like the room was watching her breathe.
That night, the power went out at exactly 2:17 a.m.
Her phone screen lit up beside her pillow.
No notifications. No calls.
But the front camera was open.
She frowned. She was sure she didn't open it.
On the screen, she saw herself — messy hair, sleepy eyes, half under the blanket.
And behind her…
something darker than the dark.
She turned around instantly.
Nothing.
Her room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears.
She laughed nervously. "Bro, I need sleep."
She placed the phone face down.
A second later, it vibrated.
She froze.
Slowly, she turned it over.
A message.
Unknown Number:
"You didn't check properly."
Her throat went dry.
She told herself it was a prank. Maybe her friends. Maybe a glitch.
She switched to the front camera again.
This time… the dark shape was closer.
Right behind her shoulder.
But she couldn't feel anything.
She didn't want to turn around.
She didn't want to confirm it.
The message came again.
"Don't turn around."
Her breathing got heavier.
The screen suddenly glitched — static lines flashing across her face.
For a split second, the screen showed her room…
but she wasn't on the bed.
The bed was empty.
The phone slipped from her hand.
And then she felt it.
A cold breath against her ear.
Soft. Slow.
Like someone was learning how she breathes.
The next morning, Mira's parents found her phone on the bed.
Screen cracked. Camera still open.
Her chat showed one final message sent from her number at 2:19 a.m.
"She saw me."
But Mira was never seen again.
Her status still shows online.
Last active: 2:17 a.m.
And sometimes…
if you call her number,
you don't hear ringing.
You hear breathing.