Don’t Look Up

The text message arrived on Amara’s phone just as she was about to slide into bed, the screen casting a faint glow in the darkened room. Her hand paused, hovering over the screen as she read the message.

“Whatever you do, DON’T look at the moon tonight.”

The sender was unknown. She frowned, swiping to dismiss it. A spam message, probably. But something about it unsettled her. Just as she was setting her phone down, another notification popped up.

This time, it was from a group chat with her friends.

“OMG, guys, the moon is SO beautiful tonight!” one message read, decorated with heart emojis.

Another one chimed in. “You have to go look at it! It’s huge and glowing like crazy. Never seen anything like it!!”

A chill ran down her spine. She had no idea why the first message got to her, but now she felt a strange tightening in her chest. Her thumb hovered over the chat before she switched over to her social media feed. Post after post from friends, family, and random people she barely remembered following—all raving about the moon.

“The moon tonight... Just, wow.”

“Everyone, go outside and look at the moon! You won’t regret it!”

As Amara scrolled, a few words from the original text echoed in her mind. Don’t look. The more she tried to dismiss it, the more her eyes were drawn to her window, where moonlight was spilling in, casting an eerie silver glow across her floor. It felt alive somehow, too bright, as if it had substance and weight.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time it was another message from the unknown sender.

“I mean it. Don’t look up. Whatever you do, stay inside. Don’t even think about it.”

With a nervous laugh, Amara tossed her phone aside. This was ridiculous. But her hand reached for the blinds on instinct, tugging them down, blocking out the sliver of moonlight that seemed to pulse against the fabric as if it were trying to get in.

A moment later, she heard a notification chime, then another. Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Slowly, she picked it up, and her stomach dropped.

Her friend Maya had texted her. “Amara, why haven’t you gone outside yet? The moon is beautiful. It’s calling you! It’s like... it’s talking to me!”

Her heart skipped a beat. Talking to her? She tried to brush it off, but when she opened her chat with Maya, her messages were filled with strange symbols. Text after text was a garbled mess of symbols, all repeating the same characters that her eyes couldn’t quite process, like her brain didn’t want to understand them.

Then, another text came through from Maya.

“Amara... I saw it. And now it’s all I can see. You should look too.”

Panic clawed at her chest. She wanted to respond, ask her friend what she meant, but her hands were trembling too much. She watched, wide-eyed, as another message came in from someone else entirely.

“It’s beautiful, Amara. Don’t be afraid. Just look up.”

Her thumb hovered over the call button, but before she could press it, she heard her phone chime again with another notification. This time, it wasn’t from Maya or any of her friends—it was a voicemail. Her heart pounding, she pressed play, holding the phone to her ear.

A long, low hiss filled her ear, like static. Then, as if from a great distance, she heard Maya’s voice, but it was garbled, almost like she was underwater. The words were distorted, but one thing was clear: “Look... at... the... moon...”

Amara’s hands were shaking so hard she dropped the phone. It clattered against the floor, and in the silence that followed, she heard something that nearly stopped her heart—a faint, rhythmic tapping on her window. It was slow and deliberate, like someone was tapping their fingernails against the glass, trying to get her attention.

Don’t look up, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound. But the tapping grew louder, more insistent, like fingers scraping against the glass, hungry and desperate.

She backed away from the window, her breathing ragged. The darkness in her room seemed to press in around her, and the silver light from outside was seeping under the blinds, stretching across the floor in tendrils that twisted and pulsed like something alive.

Then her phone buzzed again, and she nearly screamed.

The notification read, “It’s too late, Amara. It sees you.”

She clutched her phone, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. She wanted to scream, but fear had closed her throat. Slowly, she forced herself to look around the room. Shadows seemed to stretch and shift along the walls, crawling and twisting like they were made of the same strange silver light.

The tapping grew louder, becoming a furious pounding, shaking the glass in its frame. It was as if whatever was out there couldn’t stand to be ignored any longer. It wanted her to look.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut it out, but the pounding only grew louder, a deafening rhythm that matched her racing heart. And then, with a terrible certainty, she realized something that made her blood run cold.

The tapping wasn’t just coming from her window.

It was coming from all around her.

Her phone buzzed one last time, and she forced herself to look at the screen, her vision swimming with terror.

“We all looked, Amara. Now we see. And soon... you will too.”

Something was whispering in her ear now, a voice soft and cold, echoing the words on the screen. She could feel breath against her skin, something pressing close to her, wrapping around her like a shroud.

In a sudden burst of desperation, she ran to her bedroom door, fumbling with the handle. She had to get out, get away from the silver light and the whispering voices that filled her room. But as she threw open the door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her apartment was bathed in that same terrible, pulsing glow. The moonlight was everywhere, filling every inch of space, casting strange, twisting shadows that seemed to watch her with hungry eyes.

She backed away, feeling a scream rise in her throat. She knew, somehow, that if she looked up, if she let herself even catch a glimpse of the moon, it would be the end of everything. She would be lost, just like everyone else.

Her phone buzzed one last time, and this time it was a video call. Trembling, she accepted it, her vision blurring as she looked at the screen.

The face on the other side was her own.

Pale, wide-eyed, her reflection stared back at her, a twisted grin spreading across its lips. And then it whispered, in a voice that wasn’t hers, “Look at me, Amara. Look at what you’ve become.”

The screen went dark, and in the silence that followed, she felt something cold wrap around her, pulling her toward the window, her feet moving against her will. She stumbled forward, her hands reaching for the blinds, trembling fingers gripping the fabric.

As she pulled them back, the silver light flooded in, bathing her in its glow. Her mind screamed at her to close her eyes, to look away, but something far stronger had taken hold.

She found herself looking up, staring into the face of the moon. And as she did, she saw it—truly saw it. A vast, hollow eye staring back at her, endless and empty, filled with countless reflections of herself, each one twisted and distorted, lost and screaming.

The moon swallowed her gaze, pulling her in deeper, until there was nothing left of her but the echoes of her own terrified screams.

The next morning, her friends received a text from her number.

“The moon is beautiful. You should look.”