🩸 THE LAST COMMENT 🩸
The time on the screen read 2:17 A.M. when Zoya posted her horror story.
The caption was playful. Casual.
Almost careless.
“Whoever leaves the last comment on this story… will see me.”
She wrote it as a joke.
She wanted engagement—views, reactions, comments.
The story itself was short.
Only three paragraphs.
A corpse rotting inside a locked room.
Blood seeping from beneath a sealed door.
A face smiling from a mirror—its lips stretched wider than humanly possible.
Within minutes, the comments flooded in.
“Good attempt.”
“Not scary.”
“Post another one.”
Zoya scoffed.
“People don’t get scared anymore,” she muttered.
Then a new comment appeared.
Username: last_seen_02:17
Comment: I’m here.
She rolled her eyes.
“Trying too hard,” she thought, tossing the phone onto her bed.
The light flickered—once.
Her phone vibrated.
New comment: Don’t turn around.
Her throat tightened.
She picked up the phone again.
Another comment:
You said the last comment belongs to me.
Her heartbeat slowed—then slammed hard against her chest.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
Only the wall clock ticked.
Tick… tick… tick…
Trying to stay calm, Zoya forced a laugh—
but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking..
“Enough,” she whispered.
She disabled the comments.
Then she heard it.
From under the bed—
Scrrrrch… scrrrrch…
Fingernails dragging across the floor.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Her body froze.
Hands trembling, she switched on the flashlight and bent down.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
She exhaled shakily.
Her phone lit up.
Notification: Comments are still enabled.
A new comment had already appeared.
Breaking the rules has consequences.
The mirror across the room began to fog—
from the inside.
As if someone were breathing against it.
A shape formed.
A face.
Skin hanging in loose strips.
Eye sockets black and leaking dark fluid.
Lips torn open, stretched unnaturally—
—and the face smiled.
Zoya tried to scream.
No sound came out.
The mirror cracked.
A hand pushed through the glass.
Bones bent the wrong way.
Jagged fingernails dripping fresh blood onto the floor.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
Now it’s your turn to write.
The room smelled like rust
The lights went out.
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NEXT MORNING
The police found Zoya’s phone lying neatly on her bed.
The room was spotless.
No blood.
No signs of struggle.
No body.
The phone screen was still on.
A new horror story had been posted.
The caption read:
“Whoever leaves the last comment on this story… will see me.”
Below it, a single line:
Call me in the comments…
I’m still here.
Username: Zoya_last_02:17
The post already had thousands of views.
The comment section was open.
Waiting.
Now the question is yours.
Will you comment?
And if you do—
are you sure
yours won’t be the last? 🩸
