It was supposed to be a fun, harmless sleepover—just you and a few friends, wrapped in blankets, junk food scattered across the floor, music pulsing faintly in the background. You’d all had a little too much to drink, laughter slurring into chaos as the night stretched on.

Somewhere between silly dares and half-hearted truth-or-dare games, one of your friends stumbled upon the idea of prank calling strangers. It seemed stupid, childish even—but no one objected. Not at first.

They passed around a phone, typing random numbers and giggling as people cursed them out or hung up in confusion. You laughed once or twice—nervous, not really into it—but when one of them dialed a new number and a deep, calm voice answered… something changed.

It was a man. Older, maybe. His tone was unnervingly composed.

But your friends didn’t care.

They leaned in close to the phone, drunk and careless, spewing out cruel jokes, mocking his voice, hurling insults that made your stomach twist.

“Guys, stop,” you said quietly. “This isn’t funny anymore. Just hang up.”

They laughed louder.

“Seriously,” you urged, reaching for the phone. “You don’t know who you’re calling. Just let it go.”

But they brushed you off like background noise, too far gone to hear reason. And by the time they lost interest and tossed the phone aside, it was too late. The call had ended—but something felt… off.

Eventually, they passed out—curled in sleeping bags, limbs tangled on the couch and floor, snores filling the quiet.

You sat in the corner, staring at the phone.

Something about the man’s voice lingered in your head. It hadn’t been angry. Just… cold. Calm. The kind of calm that hides something darker beneath.

You didn’t know why, but guilt gnawed at you.

So you picked up the phone again. Redialed the last number.

It rang once. Twice. Then—

He answered.

“…Hello?”

You took a breath. “I—I’m sorry. About earlier. That was my friends, we were drunk. I tried to stop them, but… I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence on the other end. You almost thought he’d hung up.

Then he spoke.

His voice was low. Unshaken.

“You get a pass.”

You blinked. “What?”

Then he continued—

“In twenty seconds, I’m going to enter the house and slaughter them all. This is your head start to run.”

The line went dead.

Your blood ran cold.

The phone slipped from your hand and hit the carpet as the quiet of the house suddenly felt suffocating.

And behind you… the floor creaked.