I Found An iPhone On The Ground And What I Found In Its Photo Gallery Terrified Me

It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S
in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a
closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the
horrendously glittering purple case. I admired the phone anyway – tacky
though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. The phone
had not only survived what I assumed was a fall from a careless girl’s
book bag, but it was in pristine condition. No hairline cracks, no
dings, no dents… nothing.

As I marched into my apartment,
throwing my bag on the floor and shedding my coat and shoes, I continued
inspecting the phone. Whoever lost it must surely be missing it. I
pressed the home button and the screen lit up. A swipe right and I
discovered that the phone was not, in fact, locked. Thank goodness for
stupid teenage girls (ignoring, for the moment, that I used to be
exactly one of those). I searched the contacts, found one labeled “Mom”
and pressed the call button.


It was as though the touch screen hadn’t registered my fingertips. Puzzled, I pressed “call” again. And again. Nothing.

It was at that moment that I got a call on my own cell phone, a black
iPhone 6. I swiped to answer and the voice of my best friend reached my

“Hey, Amanda! How was your test today?”

The phone momentarily forgotten, I fell into a deep conversation with
Anna about the absolute chaos that is university life. We chatted for a
bit about whatever things 20-something year-old girls talk about before
she got to the point.

“You busy tonight? There’s a cool club that opened up not too long
ago downtown and a few of my friends wanna go. You should come with!”

I glanced around at the comfort of my apartment. I was a pretty quiet
person who preferred to sit inside and read a good book, as opposed to
my outgoing Anna who was always getting into heaps of trouble. It’s
always the story, isn’t it? Opposites attract. As much as I wanted to
stay in tonight, I smiled and agreed, much to Anna’s squealing delight. How can I deny a request from my best friend?

We set up plans and I hung up the phone. Then I remembered the other
phone sitting on my couch, dejected. I picked it up and opened it to the
owner’s mother’s contact information. That’s right! I punched the
number into my own phone and hit “call.” I could at least call this way.

The phone rang for a few moments. I was about to leave a message when an exhausted voice came over the speakers.


I tried not to be put off by this rude response.

“Hi, um, my name is Amanda and I found
this phone outside my apartment… I think it belongs to your daughter. Is
there any way I could get it to her?”

The line was quiet for a moment, aside
from some labored breathing. Then: “Do you think this shit is funny?
Quit it with these stupid fucking pranks.”

I remained speechless for a few moments after she’d hung up on me.
What the hell was her problem? Thoroughly confused, I rechecked the
number. No, I had dialed the right number… well, whatever, I shrugged. I
couldn’t make sense of it, but it wasn’t really my problem, either.
Sooner or later someone was bound to call her and then I’d pick up and
explain the situation to them. It would get resolved somehow.

I still had a few hours until I had to be at the club to meet Anna, so I settled down with The Good Earth and a bag of chips.

Just as I was getting deeply embedded into the story, a loud beeping startled me.


I looked around wildly, my eyes colliding with the lit screen of the
white iPhone. Oh, that must be her ringtone. I looked at the Caller ID.

I picked it up.




The static was intense and only getting louder. I tried calling out a
few more times, but no response. I was just starting to move the phone
away from my ears due to the loudness of the static when – click.

Call Ended.

Huh. Must have been a mistake. Stupid phone, I was getting nowhere with this.

I went back to my book and spent a few peaceful hours reading. An
hour before our meeting time, I grudgingly pulled a glitzy shirt on over
my head – one that I had borrowed from Anna, of course – and paired it
with some black booty shorts. I put on flats (no way was I wasting a
night in high heels) and applied cherry red lipstick. I figured I had
prepared as much as I wanted and was just about to head out the door
when the phone rang again.


I grabbed the phone off the couch and stared at it. Restricted. What
the fuck? I rolled my eyes and answered it one more time, just on the
off-chance that someone was there.


Nothing this time, absolutely no sound. It sounded like the line was
dead. Seriously, what was the problem with this damn thing? Maybe I
should just take it to the police station in the morning, let the cops
deal with it…

“Can you hear me?”

I let out a little yelp. The woman’s voice had come in, loud and
clear, patient and toneless. But it sounded… off. There was no other
noise on the phone. I put the receiver next to my ear again, cautiously
this time.

“Hello? Hey, do you know whose phone this is? I found it sitting outside and – “


Call ended.

By this point I was getting pissed. Was someone playing a fucking
game with me? I tossed the phone back on the couch. Enough of this, I
would deal with it when I got home. Or maybe I’d let Anna deal with it.
She was better at this kind of stuff than I was.

With that thought in my head, I headed out the door and into the night.


The club was pretty fun. It turned out that Anna’s friends all happened to be guys, with one in the mix who was exactly
my type: tall, with dark hair, forceful and confident, and a little
controlling. I know, I know, I’m asking for trouble. But a little
trouble is good once in a while. Plus, he and I hit it off right away.
He sealed the deal when he took my phone, found my number and plugged it
into his phone.

“I’m taking you out on Saturday. You better be ready at 8!”

I felt a thrill up my spine. Oh, hell yes, I would be.

I crashed at Anna’s place. We spent the rest of the night watching shitty horror movies that we’d already seen a million times
and making brownies. Well, actually, just the brownie batter, which we
then ate raw. We passed out around 4AM and I went home around noon the
next day – thank goodness I didn’t have any Friday classes.

It wasn’t until after I’d already showered and made myself some
breakfast that I caught sight of the phone once again. I don’t know why,
but just looking at it made me uncomfortable. I decided I’d bring it to
the cops that day.

I was about to throw it in my purse when the screen lit up.

New message: one attachment.

I slid the phone open. The text was from a restricted number again. I shivered.

I opened the attachment.

It was a picture. A picture of…me. Taken from inside the
club when I was talking to Mr. Bad Boy. It was a close picture, too,
taken no more than a few feet away from me.

I dropped the phone to the floor. I could practically feel my face draining, a white pallor settling into my cheeks.

My heart was racing like mad, but my brain went into practical mode.

Now I knew I didn’t have the phone by accident. It was left outside
of my apartment in hopes that I would find it. It made sense, didn’t it?
That silly little flimsy case would never have protected the phone from
the hard concrete.

So why did they want me to have it? Clearly they wanted to harass me.
Ok, but for what reason? I thought back to my dad. He was a cop, maybe
it was someone he’d pissed off? Although it seemed unlikely, as I was
pretty far from my hometown. Had I pissed anyone off lately? I wracked my brain but came up empty. I didn’t have enough daily social interactions to piss anyone off, if I’m being honest.

But they had to know who I was. They’d followed me to the club,
they’d taken my picture…and they’d sent the picture right when I picked
up the phone.

Just as this thought registered, the phone went off again.



This time, there was no hesitation. I picked up the phone and said in
a strong, angry voice, “Who the fuck is this? I don’t have time to play
your fucking games. Do you think I’m scared of a shitstain like you?”
The expletives continued to pour out of my mouth.


“Are you there?”

That same, toneless, emotionless voice. Click. Call ended.

I’ll admit, I was pretty freaked out by this. I made the decision in a
split second. I grabbed my backpack and filled it with a few
necessities, grabbed both the phones, and ran out to my car. I jumped
in, locking the door behind me, and sped off down the street, my eyes
trained on the rearview mirror to ensure no one was following me.

I drove through town for a few hours, taking every turn that I could.
In the meantime, I formulated a plan. Whoever this was, and whatever
reason they had for doing this, I wasn’t going to be victim of this
stupid prank anymore.

Once I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I pulled over and called
Anna. I explained the situation to her over the phone and she agreed to
let me stay at her place.

“I’ll help you catch this fucker,” she said.

About 20 minutes later, I arrived at her house. “Ok, let’s catch him.”

We sat in her living room and I took out my phone. If we were going
to find out who this guy – or girl – was, we were going to need all the
help we could get. And all that help consisted of this weird phone.

I slid the phone to unlock it and we stared down at it. Where do we start?

“Pictures,” tried Anna.


I clicked on the photo icon and started from the beginning.


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