Texting Abby

The contact name simply read Abby. Every night at exactly 20:42, the green dot beside her profile picture would light up. At first, it didn’t seem strange. People came online all the time. But Abby never sent messages. Never posted updates. Never changed her profile picture. Just that green dot. Online. Watching. You are asleep, phone charging. One rainy evening, curiosity finally won. A message was sent. The typing bubble appeared instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Finally, a reply arrived. A chill ran down the sender’s spine. Abby had been gone for almost a year. Hands shaking, another message was typed. The profile picture suddenly changed. Abby’s face looked different now—not smiling, not angry, just staring directly into the camera. Another message appeared before anyone could respond. The next morning, against all common sense, the cabin was searched. Beneath a loose floorboard was a rusted metal box. Inside were photographs, letters, and a journal Abby had hidden years before—proof that someone had been trying to frame her for a crime she never committed.