New Home, New Life

Mykal's breath hitched.

The phone.

The same damn phone he had thrown away.

Now sitting right next to him on the nightstand.

No. No, no, no.

He shot up from his bed, heart hammering, and grabbed the phone with trembling hands.

This was a joke. It had to be.

Without thinking, he rushed to the kitchen, flipped open the trash can, and stuffed the phone deep inside.

Then he slammed the lid shut and took a step back, staring at it.

It's gone.

He exhaled sharply.

But the unease in his chest didn't fade.

After a few minutes of standing there like an idiot, he sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm losing it," he muttered.

He forced himself to go back to bed.

The next morning, the phone was back.

Right on his desk.

Mykal's stomach dropped.

No.

He remembered throwing it away. He had seen it sink deep into the trash.

His breathing picked up.

This wasn't normal.

Furious, he grabbed it again and stormed out of his apartment.

This time, he'd make sure it was gone.

He hurled it into a river.

Watched it sink.

Walked home.

But when he entered his apartment…

It was right there.

Sitting neatly on his desk.

Mocking him.

He tried giving it away.

Handed it to a garbage collector.

Even offered it to a stranger, lying that it was a gift.

But each time, it returned.

Back on his desk.

His frustration turned to panic.

So he went for the extreme.

Took the phone to an empty lot.

Doused it in lighter fluid.

And set it on fire.

The flames roared, the plastic casing melting, the screen cracking and blackening.

It was destroyed.

Gone.

For good.

Or so he thought.

Because when he got back to his apartment…

It was there.

Perfectly intact.

Sitting on his nightstand.

Waiting for him.

There was no escaping it.

No matter how much he fought, no matter what he tried—

The phone would always return.

And at some point, Mykal realized…

He had lost.

With an exhausted sigh, he sat on his bed, staring at the cursed object resting on his nightstand.

It was eerie. Unsettling.

But what else could he do?

Maybe if he understood what it actually was, he'd find a way to deal with it.

So if he was stuck with it…

He might as well see what it really was.

His eyes landed on one of the unpacked boxes sitting in the corner of his room.

A thought crossed his mind.

If the phone followed him to this new apartment…

Did the booklet come with it too?

He rummaged through the box, pushing aside books, old notes, and random junk until—

There.

A small, black booklet.

It had no title. No branding.

Just a rough texture and a strange weight to it, as if the pages inside held something more than just ink.

With a slow breath, he opened it.

The first few pages were filled with rules.

Weird, cryptic phrases written in precise, formal text.

He skimmed them but didn't bother reading them all. Probably just some generic nonsense.

Then he reached a section titled "Basics."

It instructed him to press the power button.

That was it.

No context. No explanation.

Just those four words.

A weird chill ran down his spine.

He hesitated.

Then, clenching his jaw, he reached for the phone.

And pressed the button.

The screen flashed white.

A familiar message appeared.

Thank you for signing with us.

Mykal's hands tightened around the device, frustration bubbling up inside him again.

But he forced himself to stay calm.

As the words faded, the phone's screen flickered and then—

It looked normal.

A blank home screen.

A simple wallpaper—pure black.

No apps. No widgets.

But something was… off.

His eyes darted to the status bar.

No Wi-Fi icon.

No signal icon.

Just an empty space where they should be.

And the battery—

7%.

That number stood out to him for some reason.

The phone had no charger. No charging port.

Nothing.

"What the hell…" he muttered.

He grabbed his own phone charger, hoping maybe—just maybe—he had overlooked something.

But as he turned the strange phone over in his hands…

There was nowhere to plug it in.

No port. No slot.

It was like a sealed block of glass and metal.

The hell was this?

A one-time-use phone?

Was it supposed to die out after it drained?

He had a million questions.

But as he stared at the screen, he felt something deeper.

Something more unsettling.

Like this thing wasn't a phone at all.

Mykal exhaled sharply, shaking his head. This was ridiculous.

A phone with no charger, no ports, and no way to get rid of it?

At this point, he wasn't sure if he should be scared or just annoyed.

He looked back at the booklet in his hands.

Something told him to keep reading.

Turning the next page, more text appeared.

Or rather—it hadn't been there before.

His breath hitched. He was sure of it.

The booklet changed.

And as he read, the unsettling feeling in his chest grew stronger.

"The battery percentage reflects the remaining years of the user's life."

He froze.

What?

His eyes flicked back to the phone.

7%.

No.

That was just—That had to be bullsh*t.

It had to mean something else.

A weird prank. A glitch. A coincidence.

He flipped another page.

"This device is indestructible. It will withstand all attempts to dispose of it. The user will never be able to rid themselves of the phone, as it will always return to its owner."

A shiver ran down his spine.

He had tried to get rid of it.

And it always came back.

Was it just a trick of his mind?

A weird prank? A dream?

No.

The evidence was right in front of him.

But still—

Mykal laughed.

It wasn't out of amusement.

It was that kind of hollow, dry laugh people had when they didn't know what else to do.

"The hell is this bullsh*t?" he muttered, tossing the booklet onto the table.

A phone that tracks your lifespan?

That can't be destroyed?

He refused to believe it.

It was a joke. Some messed-up marketing scheme.

He grabbed the phone and squeezed it tightly in his hand.

It was cold.

Colder than any normal device should be.

And for some reason, holding it sent a strange, faint pulse through his fingers—like it was… breathing.

His stomach churned.

He suddenly didn't want to hold it anymore.

A sharp knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts.

He flinched.

His apartment was silent. He wasn't expecting anyone.

The knock came again. Louder.

He swallowed.

Something didn't feel right.