My Girlfriend Texted Me About a Killer Outside Her Apartment—But What Happened Next Was Unbelievable

In the middle of the night, my girlfriend sent me a chilling message:

"I just looked out the peephole, and there's a maniac with a knife in the hallway! He's going crazy and killing people! He noticed me! He's trying to get in!"

I panicked and immediately texted her back:

"No matter what, don't open the door. I'm coming over right now."

I rushed to get back to her place as quickly as I could.

But as I was on my way, she sent me three more messages:

"Wait, are you actually coming? I was just kidding! You didn't take it seriously, did you? Haha."

"There's no killer, I was just messing with you."

"Go back home!"

For a moment, I felt my heart drop.

By then, I was already in a cab, my nerves on edge. I saw her messages and texted back, trying to calm myself down:

"You almost gave me a heart attack! You should've told me right away that you were joking."

Her response was casual, almost dismissive:

"How was I supposed to know you'd actually come over? I was just playing around. What's the big deal? You're not mad, are you? Haha."

I sighed. "No, it's fine. I'm just glad you're okay. But seriously, don't joke about stuff like this again—it's scary, especially at night."

She replied: "Okay, I won't. Haha."

Even though she said it was fine, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. Just to be sure, I decided to video call her.

To my surprise, the call only rang once before she declined it.

I texted her immediately: "Why didn't you answer?"

Her reply came quickly: "I'm going to bed—I'm so tired. Haha."

I stared at the screen, unsettled. That "haha" felt off.

"What are you laughing about?" I asked.

She replied: "Nothing, I'm just in a good mood tonight."

That's when I started to feel like something was seriously wrong.

Normally, my girlfriend was pretty serious—she wasn't the type to use "haha" or act playful in her texts.

A terrifying thought crossed my mind: What if someone else was using her phone?

The moment that thought hit me, a chill ran down my spine. I immediately tried calling her again—this time, she didn't decline the video call, but it rang for a long time without anyone picking up.

I switched to a regular phone call.

To my surprise, she answered.

Her voice sounded tired. "What do you want? I told you, I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted."

I pressed her: "Why didn't you pick up the video call?"

She repeated, almost mechanically: "I'm going to bed. I'm so tired."

Before I could say anything else, she hung up.

The cab driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Hey man, are you okay? You don't look so good."

I caught my reflection in the mirror—my face was pale, my hands trembling. The sense of dread was overwhelming.

I told the driver, "Please, drive faster. I think my girlfriend's in trouble."

Sensing my urgency, the driver didn't hesitate. He stepped on the gas and sped toward her apartment.

As we drove, I sent her another text: "Say something—anything."

This time, she sent back a voice message.

Her voice was flat, almost robotic: "Say what? I t...