The Chilling Call

The clock on the wall ticked aggressively against the thick silence of the Pineview Inn lobby. Jack Turner, head bobbing in time with the clock, was trying to stay awake. Night shifts always had their challenges—something about the dark hours made time drag slower than syrup in winter. Just then, the old rotary phone screeched, shattering the silence. Jack blinked hard and picked up the receiver. “Pineview Inn, this is Jack. How can I help you?” “Jake?” A raspy, almost whispering voice replied. It sounded like nails crawling across a rusted roof in the wind. “No, Jack,” he replied. “Who’s this?” “They’re coming... watch out,” the voice crackled through the line before the call abruptly ended. Jack shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Probably a prank. Night shift regular, he thought. Early the next evening, Jack told his colleague about the call. Larry, an easygoing but sharp older man, chuckled. “Probably someone from room 13 again. Always causing trouble.” Room 13 had a reputation: sketchy patrons, unexplained noises, and more midnight pizza orders than humanly possible. The week dragged, as did the calls. Each one eerily similar—starting with that hoarse “Jake?” before going straight into warnings and nonsense about watchfulness. By Friday, curiosity twisted with dread as Jack found himself pacing between his desk and the hallway to room 13. That night, it was all Jack could think about. Around 2 a.m., in the oppressive silence shattered only by his thoughts, the phone rang with its now-familiar chill. “Jake?” The voice slithered through again. “I’m Jack,” he tried again. “Who is this and what do you want?” But this time there was silence, then the faintest echo of a giggle. The phone disconnected, leaving an absent hum, like TV static. His heart hammered loud enough that it felt it might drown the ear-piercing void. He couldn’t shrug it off anymore. Jack grabbed a flashlight and made his way down the narrow hallway to room 13. He gently rapped on the door, already convinced of ghost stories and his own madness more than finding anyone inside. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” Jack asked. Inexplicable panic bubbled. He gasped as the door creaked open by itself, as though welcoming him to step over the threshold of logic and into chaos. He hesitated but ultimately nudged inside. The room was empty, but the air rippled with presence, heavy like an uninvited guest. Jack heard nothing. His pulse drowned even his thoughts until the rotary dial of the room phone caught his eye. Its receiver dangled off the side, the coil of the cord tight like a coiling snake. He approached, compelled by an invisible force, and picked it up. “Jake?” the voice exploded into his ear. “Who is this?” His voice wavered, questioning reality—but the words crumbling as it left his mouth. “It doesn’t end... until you remember it starts,” was all the voice said before the line went dead. What could it mean? Jack’s mind spun, absorbing clues like a jigsaw meant for a different puzzle. Returning home after his shift, with just enough time to crash in time for another shift, Jack squeezed in earnest research on anything related to phone calls or incidents at Pineview Inn. The truth unnerved him. Two decades ago, a young man named Jake Turner had disappeared while working the same night shift at the Pineview Inn. Allegedly, he’d gotten involved in a feud with someone dangerous. Time felt like it folded over, seasons stitched by supernatural thread as Jack realized he wasn’t just another name in the ledger. He was Jake. A curse, an echo of self left behind in desperation. If Jake could hear them—it only meant one thing. The next call came, this time not until morning light trickled through the dusty blinds. “Is it Jack or Jake?” the voice asked. The familiarity was a blanket of ice over a frantic mind. “Jake. I... I’m Jake.” “Finally,” the voice croaked back, almost relieved. “You need to remember to save him.” But salvation barely whispered itself before Jack felt a sudden rush of vertigo, a bind squeezing between awake and asleep, belief and illusion. Everything swirled towards newfound clarity. At that moment, Jack knew. Redemption existed in acceptance, escape lay through forgiveness. Jake, now complete, finally recognized himself fully.