Sunday Short: Second Hand

Ashley never thought she’d be this happy over a phone.

It wasn’t the latest model, two generations behind, in fact, but for her, it was a dream come true. She’d worked late nights and saved every spare ringgit to afford it from an online marketplace. For once, she felt like she had what everyone else seemed to have.

At first, it was perfect. Sleek, responsive, and hers. She snapped selfies, posted to socials,and scrolled until her thumbs ached.

Then the phone began to act… different.

Calls came in from numbers that vanished when she tried to return them. Strings of text messages filled with random symbols appeared at odd hours. Sometimes, a song would start playing from the phone’s speaker, an eerie tune she didn’t recognize.

Ashley thought it was a glitch. She updated the system, reset the phone, and even switched SIM cards. Nothing worked. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. The disturbances never stopped.

Frustrated and exhausted, Ashley tried contacting the seller. But the profile on the marketplace was gone. Deleted. Like it had never existed.

She thought about selling the phone herself, but guilt stopped her. Why pass this curse to someone else?

So she endured.

---

One silent night, long after midnight, the phone rang. The screen glowed on her bedside table, the caller ID showing only: PRIVATE NUMBER.

Her hand trembled as she reached out.

That’s when she saw it.

A hand, not hers, was already holding the phone. Pale. Thin. Fingers curling around the edges.

Ashley gasped, flicked on the lamp. The room was empty. The phone sat untouched where it always was.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. She switched off the light, telling herself it was her imagination.

The phone rang again.

This time, it answered itself.

A distorted voice whispered through the speaker:

“Be careful. Throw the phone away.”

Ashley leaned forward, her fingers inches from the screen...

BANG!

The bedroom door burst open. Figures stormed in. She screamed, but it was already too late.

---

Ashley’s phone clattered to the floor, screen cracked but still glowing.

The intruders glanced at each other. One muttered under his breath:

“She shouldn’t have had it.”

---

The truth was buried in the phone’s memory. It once belonged to a girl killed in a gang fight, evidence of their crimes hidden in its photos and messages. The gang had been tracking it ever since.

Ashley had bought the wrong phone. At the wrong time.

And tomorrow, someone else might buy it too.

Be careful what you buy second-hand. Some things carry more than memories.