“Mom died three years ago.”

That’s what I kept repeating to myself as I stared at my phone screen, as if persistence could change what I had just read.

“Don’t come home tonight.”

The message came from his number.

The same number that had been turned off since the day we buried her in the small cemetery south of Guadalajara.

I sat motionless in the café, my coffee growing cold in my hands. Outside, evening was falling over the city, painting the ancient walls and crowded streets orange. Everything seemed normal.

But my world had just shattered.

“Everything alright, Mateo?” asked Sofia, my girlfriend, sitting down across from me.

I showed him the phone without saying a word.

She read the message. Her expression slowly changed.

“This… this isn’t funny,” he said quietly.

“It’s not a joke,” I replied. “Nobody has that number.”

I tried calling. Answering machine.

I tried to send a message.

“Who are you?”

The answer came in less than ten seconds.

“I told you not to come back.”

I felt a chill run down my spine.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sofia murmured. “Could someone have reactivated the number?”

—And to know that it’s me? And to write like this?

The style… was my mother’s.

Dry. Direct. No explanations.

As usual.

I put my phone away and got up.

—I have to go home.

“No!” Sofia grabbed my arm. “That’s exactly what the message says.”

—That’s precisely why.

She hesitated.

—Then I’ll go with you.

I shook my head.

—No. If this is a joke, I want to know who made it. And if it isn’t…

I didn’t finish the sentence.

Because neither of them knew what that would mean.

My house was on the outskirts of Guadalajara, in an old neighborhood where everyone knew each other. I had grown up there. Every corner held a memory.

And many of those memories included my mother.

A tough, reserved woman who never spoke about her past.

He died “suddenly,” they said.

A heart attack.

That’s what they told us.

And I believed it.

Until now.

When I arrived, everything seemed normal. The lights were on.

My aunt Clara had been living with me since my mother died. She said she didn’t want to leave me alone.

Sometimes I felt it was the other way around.

Between.

“Auntie?” I called.

“In the kitchen,” his voice replied.

I took a deep breath and moved forward.

I found her preparing dinner, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“You arrived early,” he said without looking at me.

—I received something strange.

-Queer?

I showed him the phone.

I observed his reaction.

For a second… just a second… his hand stopped.

Then he continued cutting vegetables.

“Someone is bothering you,” he said.

—It’s Mom’s number.

—So someone got that number.

—It’s been turned off for three years.

—Well, not anymore.

His tone was too calm.

Too much.

“Auntie…” I took a step forward. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She looked up.

And she smiled.

But it wasn’t a warm smile.

It was… empty.

—There are always things you don’t know, Mateo.

I felt a knot in my stomach.

—What does that mean?

—It means you should stop obsessing over the past.

—This isn’t the past. This just happened.

Silence.

The phone vibrated.

Another message.

I opened it immediately.

“If you’re at home… it’s already late.”

The air became heavy.

“Who’s in the house, aunt?” I asked, my voice trembling.

She did not answer.

He just looked at me.

And in her eyes… there was fear.

A real fear.

Suddenly, I heard a noise.

Above.

A sharp blow.

Then… drag.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.

My aunt dropped the knife.

“Don’t go up,” he said.

But it was too late.

My body moved on its own.

I went up the stairs slowly.

Each step creaked like a gunshot.

The hallway was dark.

My mother’s bedroom door… was ajar.

That wasn’t normal.

It was always closed.

Since the day of his death.

I swallowed.

-Hello?

Nothing.

I pushed the door.

The room was dimly lit.

The air smelled of confinement.

And something more.

Something metallic.

Blood.

My heart began to beat strongly.

I took a step inside.

And then I saw it.

A telephone.

On.

On the bed.

The screen glowed in the dark.

It showed a conversation.

My conversation.

With my mother.

I approached slowly.

The phone vibrated.

A new message appeared.

But this time… it wasn’t directed at me.

“He’s back.”

My blood ran cold.

“Who… who’s here?” I asked aloud.

A whisper answered.

Not from the phone.

From the closet.

—Help me…

I stepped back.

The closet… was closed.

But something… or someone… was inside.

“Matthew…” the voice whispered. “Don’t trust her…”

The closet door began to move.

Slowly.

From the inside.

And at that moment… the lights went out.

A scream echoed below.

My aunt.

And something more.

A sound… that was not human.

I froze.

Between the wardrobe that opened…

And the darkness that seemed to breathe all around me.

The phone vibrated for the last time.

“Runs.”

And then… the closet door opened completely.

And what I saw inside…

It made me understand that my mother…

He had never stopped being close.

—

 

The closet door opened completely.

And what I saw… was not a ghost.

She was a woman.

Real.

Too real.

She was hunched over, her body covered in old and new bruises, her skin clinging to her bones. Her eyes, sunken but alive, fixed on mine with a mixture of terror and pleading.

“Matthew…” she whispered. “Finally…”

My mind refused to accept what I saw.

“You…” my voice broke. “You’re dead…”

She shook her head slowly.

—No… I never left…

A noise downstairs.

A sharp blow.

My aunt’s scream was abruptly cut short.

Silence.

The kind of silence that doesn’t mean calm… but danger.

The woman inside the closet tried to get out, but fell to the floor.

I ran towards her.

—What’s going on? Who are you?

His trembling fingers gripped my shirt with unexpected force.

“Listen to me… we don’t have time…” Her breathing was ragged. “Clara… she…”

A creaking sound in the hallway.

Steps.

Slow.

Going up the stairs.

My blood ran cold.

“She never wanted you to know the truth,” the woman continued. “That night… it wasn’t a heart attack…”

My heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear it.

—What night?

Her eyes filled with tears.

—The night I tried to leave with you.

The world stopped.

-That…?

“I found out what Clara was doing…” she whispered. “Money… people… things I can’t talk about… I wanted to get you out of here… to run away… but she heard us…”

One step closer.

The shadow appeared at the end of the corridor.

My aunt.

“He hit you,” the woman continued. “I thought you were dead… and then he came for me…”

The bedroom door opened slowly.

Clara was there.

Her face… no longer feigned anything.

“You were always too curious,” he said calmly.

I felt the air disappear.

—Auntie… —my voice barely came out—. What did you do?

She sighed, as if all this was a nuisance.

—What is necessary.

“Did you bury her alive?” I asked, unable to believe it.

“No,” he replied. “That would have been a waste.”

I looked at the woman on the ground.

My “mother”.

—I needed her alive —Clara continued—. For certain things.

The horror turned into rage.

—You’re a monster.

She smiled.

—No. I am someone who survived.

Suddenly, he pulled something out from behind his back.

A knife.

—And you… you’re starting to know too much.

My body reacted before my mind.

I got up and helped the woman.

“Run,” I whispered to him.

-Can’t…

Clara’s footsteps drew closer.

One.

Two.

Three.

The knife gleamed in the dim light.

“I always wanted you to be strong, Mateo,” she said. “But I suppose you inherited more from her…”

He lunged towards me.

It all happened in seconds.

I pushed her.

The knife grazed my arm.

Pain.

But I didn’t stop.

I picked up the phone from the floor.

The same phone.

The one who had sent the messages.

And I threw it forcefully against the lamp.

Total darkness.

A scream.

Confusion.

I took advantage.

—Now! —I shouted.

I grabbed the woman and we stumbled out of the room.

We went down the stairs almost falling.

Behind us… uncontrolled footsteps.

Clara.

But something changed.

Another noise was heard.

A door.

Voices.

Lights.

-Police!

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Red and blue lights flooded the house.

Clara appeared on the stairs, disoriented, with the knife still in her hand.

“Drop the weapon!” they shouted.

She looked around.

For the first time… she seemed lost.

“This… shouldn’t have happened like this…” he murmured.

Then, slowly, he dropped the knife.

They handcuffed her.

I… couldn’t move.

“Who called?” I asked, confused.

The woman next to me raised her hand slightly.

In it… another phone.

Old.

Broken.

“I always had one hidden away…” he whispered. “Waiting for the right moment…”

I looked at her.

I really looked at her.

And this time… there was no doubt.

It was her.

My mother.

Tears began to fall uncontrollably.

—I thought I had lost you…

She smiled weakly.

—I never stopped looking for a way to get back to you…

I hugged her carefully, as if she might break.

But she clung to me with a strength that only someone who has survived hell can possess.

Outside, the night in Guadalajara continued its course.

But for us… everything had changed.

Weeks later, the house was empty.

The truth came to light.

Clara had not only destroyed our family… she had done much worse things.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because we survived.

My mother survived.

And for the first time in years… the house no longer held any secrets.

That night, before going to sleep, my phone vibrated.

My heart stopped for a second.

I looked at him.

A message.

From an unknown number.

I smiled slightly… with a small shiver.

And I opened it.

“This time you are safe.”

I looked at my mother, asleep in the room.

And for the first time…

I wasn’t afraid.

—

END.