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Calls From Your Own Number: What Waits on the Other Side: Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies
Calls From Your Own Number: What Waits on the Other Side: Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies
Calls From Your Own Number: What Waits on the Other Side: Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies
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Calls From Your Own Number: What Waits on the Other Side: Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies

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It isn't just a wrong number. It's her own. And it's calling at exactly 3:28 AM. Every night.

When Terri Reeves moves to the picturesque town of Pinecrest, she expects quaint shops and quiet streets—not her dead ex-boyfriend knocking on her door or calls from her own phone number in the dead of night.

Unbeknownst to Terri, Pinecrest's charming facade hides an ancient occultic pattern—one traced directly to Terri's apartment and the middle of the night calls.

"Don't answer," warns the local parapsychologist. "Don't engage."

But the calls keep coming… and the texts… Someone or something is trying to connect. Warning or threat? And then there are the disappearances. Clocks stop at 3:28, electronics malfunction, and residents speak of strange figures watching from windows that shouldn't exist.

Who's trying to reach Terri? Friend or foe? Who's waiting on the other side of the line?

Some calls weren't meant to be answered. But some warnings must be heard—before it's too late.

A skin-crawling tale of supernatural horror where modern technology meets centuries-old dark magic. After reading this, you'll think twice before answering a call from an unknown number—especially if it's your own.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRachelle Ayala
Release dateFeb 28, 2025
ISBN9798227982353
Calls From Your Own Number: What Waits on the Other Side: Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies
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    Book preview

    Calls From Your Own Number - Bella Vex

    Calls From Your Own Number

    Calls From Your Own Number

    What Waits on the Other Side

    Bitter Comforts: Terrifying Cozies

    Bella Vex

    https://rachelleayala.net/bella-vex

    Copyright © 2025 by Bella Vex, Rachelle Ayala Publishing

    All rights reserved.

    No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

    The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

    All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

    For Rachelle’s free books:

    http://rachelleayala.net/free-books

    Bella Vex:

    https://rachelleayala.net/bella-vex

    Contents

    Description

    1. The Three A.M. Caller

    2. A Crank Call from the Dead

    3. Ringtones in the Dark

    4. A Bad Connection

    5. Call Forwarded

    6. Party Line Cross-Connected

    7. How May I Direct Your Call?

    8. The Final Toll Call

    Epilogue

    Excerpt - Time-Travel Therapy: The Ultimate Do-Over

    Excerpt - A Ghostly Match

    About Bella Vex

    Description

    It isn’t just a wrong number. It’s her own. And it’s calling at exactly 3:28 AM. Every night.

    When Terri Reeves moves to the picturesque town of Pinecrest, she expects quaint shops and quiet streets—not her dead ex-boyfriend knocking on her door or calls from her own phone number in the dead of night.

    Unbeknownst to Terri, Pinecrest’s charming facade hides an ancient occultic pattern—one traced directly to Terri’s apartment and the middle of the night calls.

    Don’t answer, warns the local parapsychologist. Don’t engage.

    But the calls keep coming… and the texts… Someone or something is trying to connect. Warning or threat? And then there are the disappearances. Clocks stop at 3:28, electronics malfunction, and residents speak of strange figures watching from windows that shouldn’t exist.

    Who’s trying to reach Terri? Friend or foe? Who’s waiting on the other side of the line?

    Some calls weren’t meant to be answered. But some warnings must be heard—before it’s too late.

    A skin-crawling tale of supernatural horror where modern technology meets centuries-old dark magic. After reading this, you’ll think twice before answering a call from an unknown number—especially if it’s your own.

    Chapter 1

    The Three A.M. Caller

    The first call came at 3:28 AM.

    Terri Reeves jolted awake, her phone’s harsh blue glow cutting through the darkness of her bedroom. She fumbled for it, a string of curses forming on her lips for whatever client thought a middle-of-the-night emergency was acceptable. The screen blurred into focus.

    Incoming Call: Terri Reeves

    Her own name. Her own number.

    What the hell? she muttered, thumb hovering over the screen. A prank, obviously. Someone had spoofed her caller ID. Technology made anything possible these days, especially for someone determined to be annoying.

    She declined the call and dropped the phone onto her nightstand with a clatter that seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of her apartment. Outside, rain tapped gently against her window—the first real storm since she’d moved to Pinecrest three weeks ago. The sound should have been soothing, but now it felt like something trying to get in.

    Her phone lit up again.

    Incoming Call: Terri Reeves

    Geez Louise, she hissed, snatching it up and declining again. She powered the phone off entirely, something she never did—not when she was sleeping, not even during her mother’s funeral last year.

    Terri lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. The rain intensified, no longer a gentle tapping but an insistent drumming. Her new apartment felt vast and empty, full of unfamiliar corners and shadows.

    She’d moved to Pinecrest for the job—social media director for a mid-sized tech company that made productivity apps. It paid well, looked great on her resume, and most importantly, it had gotten her away from Boston and all the memories that city held.

    Her thoughts drifted to Eric. Would he have answered the call? Probably. He always said her paranoia was charming but unnecessary. Six years together, and he never understood why she checked the locks twice, kept a baseball bat under her bed, and had fifteen different passwords instead of using the same one for everything like he did.

    Not that any of that mattered now. Not after what happened in Boston.

    The drumming of the rain filled her ears until she somehow drifted back to sleep.

    Terri’s alarm blared at 6:30 AM, launching her into consciousness like a swimmer breaking the surface. For a blissful moment, she remembered nothing of the night before. Then it came back—the calls, her name lighting up the screen. She reluctantly powered her phone back on, half-expecting a flood of missed calls. There were none. Just a text from her colleague, Dani, asking if she wanted to grab coffee before work.

    Terri texted back a quick yes, then scrolled through her call history. Two late-night calls, both from her own number, were there, both at 3:28 AM.

    She took a screenshot, then hesitated. Who would she even show it to? The police would laugh her out of the station. Her new friends in Pinecrest barely knew her—she wasn’t about to lead with someone’s spoofing my phone and calling me in the middle of the night.

    While she showered, Terri composed reasonable explanations in her head. A glitch with her carrier. A random tech error. Some kids who’d found an app that let them spoof caller IDs and were working their way through the phone book. All perfectly logical possibilities that did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach.

    You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Dani said when Terri walked into Crossroads, the coffee shop halfway between their apartments.

    Just tired, Terri replied, sliding into the booth across from her. Didn’t sleep well.

    Dani pushed a mug across the table. Already ordered your usual. You’re the most predictable person I’ve ever met, you know that? Every day, same order: large Americano, room for cream.

    I’ll take predictable over dramatic any day, Terri said, warming her hands around the mug. Outside, the rain continued to fall, transforming Pinecrest into a watercolor painting—the edges of everything bleeding together, the lights from storefronts and streetlamps creating blurry halos in the mist.

    Dani was the opposite of predictable. Today, her hair was purple; last week, it was green. She worked in graphic design at Nexas Technologies and was the first to befriend Terri when she started three weeks ago. Terri suspected it was because Dani collected strays—people as well as the three cats she was constantly posting about online.

    So what’s really going on? Dani asked, stirring an ungodly amount of sugar into her latte. You’ve got that look.

    What look?

    That ‘I’m going to pretend everything’s fine while I quietly freak out’ look. I have three older sisters. I know the look.

    Terri hesitated. She’d learned the hard way to keep her walls up, to hold people at arm’s length. But something about the rain, about the strange calls, about Dani’s direct gaze made her want to confide in someone.

    She pulled out her phone and showed Dani the screenshot.

    Weird spam calls, she explained. My own number, middle of the night.

    Dani peered at the screen. Creepy. Did you answer?

    No. Would you?

    Hell yeah, I would. I’d want to know what kind of psycho is on the other end.

    That’s exactly why I didn’t answer, Terri said, taking a sip of her coffee. In horror movies, the girl who answers the creepy phone call is always the first to die.

    Probably just a glitch or some new scam. Yesterday I got a text supposedly from myself saying I’d won a cruise.

    Yeah, probably, Terri agreed, trying to sound convinced. Technology, right?

    But as they walked to work through the rain, Terri couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Not just with the calls, but with Pinecrest itself. The town had seemed charming when she’d interviewed—quaint storefronts, friendly locals, a literal white picket fence around the town square. Now, in the rain, there was something almost ominous about how perfect it all looked, like a movie set designed to hide something ugly just out of frame.

    Nexas Technologies occupied the top three floors of what had once been a textile mill. The building had been renovated into that generic tech aesthetic—exposed brick, open floor plan, too many plants. Terri settled at her desk, logged into her computer, and tried to focus on the day’s tasks: scheduling social posts, responding to comments, analyzing engagement metrics.

    Her phone sat face-down beside her keyboard. She flipped it over every few minutes, checking for calls or texts, even though she knew she’d hear it if anything came through. Each time, she felt a tiny flood of relief to see the screen dark and silent.

    At lunch, she went back to her apartment instead of eating in the break room. She needed to be alone, to reset. The rain had paused, leaving the world outside dripping and glistening. Her apartment was on the second floor of a converted Victorian house—the kind of place that had character, her real estate agent had said. Character, Terri was learning, was realtor-speak for weird noises and uneven floors.

    She made a sandwich and ate it standing at the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone. Nothing about caller ID spoofing from her own number. Just the usual advice: block the call, report it to your carrier, don’t give out personal information.

    As she rinsed her plate in the sink, her gaze drifted to the window. Across the narrow side street was another Victorian, nearly identical to hers except for the color—hers was blue, that one a faded yellow. On the second floor, directly across from her kitchen, was another window. And in that window, someone was watching her.

    Terri froze, water still running over her hands. The figure was just a silhouette—she couldn’t make out any features. But they were definitely looking in her direction. As she stared, they raised a hand, pressing it flat against the glass.

    The gesture wasn’t threatening, exactly. It could have been a wave. A greeting from a neighbor. But something about it sent a chill crawling up Terri’s spine. She stepped back from her window, out of sight, heart hammering.

    When she peered out again, the figure was gone.

    Terri returned to work with the image of that hand pressed against the glass burned into her mind. She’d never noticed anyone in that window before, but then again, she’d rarely been home during daylight hours. Just another neighbor. Nothing to be concerned about.

    Still, she found herself checking her phone more frequently throughout the afternoon, jumping at small noises, unable to focus on her work. By the time 5:00 PM rolled around, her head was pounding and her shoulders ached with

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