Dead Man's Phone Game Novels & Stories

The cold white walls offered no comfort. Then his phone rang. Unknown number: He answered, heart pounding. “Damon Thorne” A voice answered. Calm. Measured. Familiar. “Hello, Damon. It’s been a long time”. His breath caught. “No. That’s not possible”. You buried me. Or tried to. But you never buried the truth. Damon gripped the phone tighter. “You’re dead” The voice chuckled. “That’s what I needed you to believe. But now, you’re going to need to remember”.

The posture looked natural—like I was just sleeping in, as usual. On the nightstand, the phone vibrated again, its glow lighting a small patch of the room. Buzz—buzz— A message from Jamie popped up: [Bro, I listed your game account. Someone's offering fifty dollars. Should I sell it?]

He is a man standing on a cracking frozen lake, asking to see the depth of the water below. I reach into the waistband of my jeans. My fingers brush the cold plastic of the burner phone. I pull it out. It is a cheap, disposable thing. A drug dealer’s phone. It looks ridiculous in this sterile, white room, held by a girl covered in dried blood. But it holds the end of his world. I unlock the screen. The light flares, harsh and blue. I navigate to the gallery. I step forward. I hold the phone up to his face.

Even so, her hands began to undress, though painfully slowly. “Doing it on purpose?” Damien raised an eyebrow and continued, “If you don’t want to, you can always choose again.” There was no choice at all, but he spoke as if giving her many. Just as Emma thought there was no way she would escape tonight, suddenly the phone rang, shattering the strange tension. Damien ignored the phone, his eyes still fixed on Emma. “Keep going.” But the ringing wouldn’t stop. The long tone made Damien impatient. He frowned, picked up the phone, his voice cold and dangerous, every word carrying a chill that could freeze the blood.

"Help! Where am I? I want to go home!" I heard a woman screaming. As I crawled up from the ground, the system announcement sounded from the speakers. "Welcome, honored players. Congratulations on being selected to join the Death Game. This instance, named 'Deserted Island Amusement Park,' is rated nine stars in difficulty. Players, do your best to stay alive." As the sound of the announcement faded, the phones of the more than 20 people present lit up simultaneously, mine included.

Dea, who was lying on the bed, suddenly felt the urge to turn on her phone, which was previously turned off. For some reason, something was bothering her. The flat device, once lifeless, was now brought back to life by the woman. She gazed at the screen with an expressionless face, assuming there was nothing there. However, her assumption was wrong. There were several messages and calls from an unfamiliar number. Yet, Dea knew it was Mr. Bad. She immediately started reading the messages.

“Farò esplodere questo posto. Ucciderò voi tutti. Vi seppellirò con le mani nude.” (I’m watching my woman cry and I swear—I’ll blow this place apart. I’ll kill you all. I’ll bury you with my bare hands.) One of the guards behind him shifted, then let out a small, cruel laugh. “Watch.” Dominic’s head turned slowly. The man stepped forward, pulling a sleek black phone from his pocket with a smug little smile like he was about to show him a magic trick. He tapped the screen once, twice, then lifted it to his ear.

And it might be that girl who was running away. They stroked the nozzle of their riffles to his face but the man didn't wake up. "He is dead," one said. "Yes he is," the other replied. The illetirates didn't even know that he won't wake up just by stroking their riffles to his face. Suddenly, she heard a phone ringing and one of them picked it up. "Hello," Someone replied from the other side of phone to which he looked at his partner and soon he hung up the call.

"What a coincidence. We meet again." I stared at her, and something clicked. The car crash. Their car. My "death." It was all too perfect. "Hey, newbies. Need a rundown?" A guy with a seasoned look walked over. "Name's Marcus. A-class player." "Wait." I held up a hand. "Let me get this straight. Are we dead?" Marcus nodded. "Technically, you're in a near-death state. You only get your life back if you clear the game."

When our whole family saw the death timer for my sister will end on her sixteenth birthday, she became the most important person in the family. She suddenly took priority in everything, from food to dresses, and even bedtime stories. I felt for her, but I was also jealous that she was given everything. However, a day before her sixteenth birthday, my parents locked me up in the storeroom in fear that I would make a mess of things. I kept hammering the door, crying, "Mom, let me out! I'm having a fever, and my head hurts!" Mom didn't believe me. "Just stop! Your sister will die in just a day, and you're playing sick to gain our sympathy?! Don't you understand anything?!" "No…" I tried m