Chapter 2: Message From the Fridge

Until that night.

I got that Facebook message:

"Eli, can you please check if my head is in the fridge?"

My hands started shaking, chopsticks frozen mid-air as I stared at the screen. The message glowed in the dark, like some kind of curse. I could barely breathe.

At the time, I was eating takeout.

Pad Thai, still steaming in its carton, forgotten on the coffee table. The TV was on mute, flickering blue light across the room. My appetite vanished in an instant.

Staring at that creepy message in the chat window, I felt a chill run down my spine.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the timing. Jesse never joked about stuff like this. I glanced around the room, half-expecting him to pop out and yell, “Gotcha!” But the apartment was silent.

Above that were several missed video call attempts I’d made to Jesse:

"Canceled"

"Canceled"

I’d tried calling him a dozen times over the past week, desperate for any sign he was okay. Each time, the call rang and rang, then cut off. Now, seeing those canceled calls above the new message made the whole thing feel even more surreal.

Every time, no one picked up.

I’d left voicemails, sent texts, even tried tagging him in old photos to get his attention. Nothing. It was like shouting into a void.

But now, suddenly, he’d messaged me.

My heart started pounding, equal parts hope and dread. Was this really Jesse? Or was someone messing with me?

I was about to reply when another message popped up:

"Hurry… my head’s in the freezer, it’s so cold!"

The words popped up one after another, like he was typing in a panic. I felt my blood run cold. This wasn’t funny—this was twisted, even for Jesse.

I freaked out. Jesse was never the type to joke like this.

He hated pranks, especially the dark kind. I could feel my hands sweating, the phone slippery in my grip.

I started typing back:

"Jesse, is that you? Where are you? Your dad’s worried sick—please come back!"

I hit send, my thumb hovering over the screen, waiting for those three little dots to appear. My heart hammered in my chest, every second stretching out like an hour.

After I sent it, there was no response for a long time.

The chat window stayed empty. I kept checking my Wi-Fi, convinced there had to be some glitch. The silence felt heavy, pressing in on me.

Suddenly, the chat showed "Jesse is typing..."

My breath caught. I stared, frozen, as the little dots blinked on and off. I’d never been so anxious waiting for a reply.

I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. My mind raced—was it Jesse? Or someone else with his phone?

"In… in the fridge."

The message was short, almost hesitant. I stared at it, my heart pounding so loud I could barely think. My mind flashed back to every horror movie I’d ever seen.

Another message like that popped up.

I gritted my teeth, anger starting to bubble up. If this was some sick joke, it wasn’t funny.

My fear turned to anger.

I clenched my fists, my pulse thumping in my ears. I wasn’t going to let someone mess with me like this.

I started a video call.

The ringtone echoed through the apartment, bouncing off the walls. I glanced around, half-expecting to see a shadow move, but nothing happened.

A muffled song drifted through the walls.

Somewhere, a neighbor’s radio was playing an old love song. It made the silence feel even deeper, like the world was holding its breath.

But after a while, no one answered.

The call rang until it timed out. I stared at the blank screen, frustration mounting.

I hung up and sent a voice message:

"Jesse, if it’s really you, pick up the phone! Your dad’s worried sick, and this isn’t funny!"

My voice shook, halfway between anger and desperation. I listened to the message before sending it, cringing at how raw I sounded.

My voice shook with anger.

I couldn’t help it. This whole situation was tearing me apart. I just wanted Jesse to be okay.

If it was really Jesse, he needed to stop.

He knew how much his dad was suffering. I couldn’t believe he’d do something like this.

The phone screen glowed quietly on my face.

I watched the reflection of my own worried eyes, the blue light making me look like a ghost. The silence was deafening.

But there were no new messages.

I refreshed the chat again and again, hoping for something, anything. Nothing.

Suddenly, a buzzing noise broke the silence, making me jump.

It was loud and sudden, snapping me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat.

It was just the fridge in the living room kicking on.

The familiar hum filled the apartment. I let out a shaky laugh, feeling ridiculous for being so jumpy.

Wait, the fridge!

A sudden realization hit me. Jesse was the only one who ever used the fridge, since I mostly lived on takeout. It felt like a clue, something I should pay attention to.

He was always stocking it with leftovers, strange Korean snacks, and the occasional bottle of sake. I barely touched it unless I needed ice for a drink.

But I clearly remembered Jesse complaining that the fridge had broken down and saying he’d call someone to fix it.

He’d grumbled about it for days, threatening to write a scathing Yelp review. We’d ended up using a cooler for a week, which was a huge pain.

When the police came, they’d checked the fridge too, and it really was broken at the time.

I remembered the officer opening the door and wrinkling his nose at the smell. They’d made a note of it, but nothing seemed out of place.

So why was it working now? Did Jesse’s dad fix it?

The hum was steady, almost comforting, but it made no sense. I wondered if Jesse’s dad had some hidden handyman skills.

My bedroom door was open, and the buzzing kept coming, almost like it was calling me to check it out.

It sounded louder than usual, a low, insistent drone that made my skin crawl. I glanced at the clock—it was nearly 2 a.m. The whole apartment felt off.

I tried not to think about that creepy message, got up, and walked into the living room.

The floor was cold beneath my feet. Shadows stretched across the walls, and every creak sounded like a footstep behind me. I tried to steady my breathing.

In the darkness, I saw that Jesse’s dad’s bedroom light was still on, which made me feel a little better. At least there was hope.

The thin strip of light under his door felt like a lifeline. I almost called out to him, but something held me back.

I went over and knocked on his door.

I knocked softly at first, then harder. The sound echoed down the hallway. I waited, listening for footsteps, but there was only silence.

No matter how much I knocked, there was no answer.

I pressed my ear to the door, straining for any sound. Nothing. It was as if the room had swallowed him whole.

Maybe he was asleep?

I tried to convince myself it was nothing, that he’d just taken a sleeping pill and conked out. But my nerves were shot.

Just then, the fridge’s buzzing suddenly turned shrill, stabbing into my ears like a knife.

It was like the sound had teeth—sharp, high-pitched, relentless. I clapped my hands over my ears, stumbling toward the kitchen.

I rushed to the fridge. At that moment, the freezer door popped open on its own—

The door swung wide, cold air pouring out. My breath fogged in front of me. Inside, something glistened in the frost.

A swollen, bluish human head was curled up in the frost, its eyelids propped open with fishing line, staring straight at me.

I froze. The head looked impossibly real, the eyes glassy and unblinking. I felt my stomach lurch, bile rising in my throat. My mind screamed at me to run, but my feet wouldn’t move.

The face—it was unmistakably Jesse!

His features were distorted by the cold, but there was no doubt. My best friend—staring at me from the freezer, his lips tinged purple, his hair matted with ice. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

"What are you looking at?"

A voice rasped right in my ear. I jerked back, heart pounding, as Jesse’s dad’s face loomed out of the darkness, his features twisted by the blue glow of the fridge.

An old, wrinkled face suddenly appeared right in front of me.

He was so close I could smell the faint scent of aftershave and something else—something metallic. His eyes were wide, wild, and for a second I didn’t recognize him at all.

The living room lights were off, and the glow from the fridge made Jesse’s dad’s face look almost blue-black.

He looked like a ghost, or something worse. The shadows carved deep lines into his cheeks, making him seem older, more fragile—and more dangerous.

I gasped and fell right onto the floor in shock.

My legs gave out, and I hit the hardwood with a thud. My teeth rattled, and I scrambled backward, desperate to put distance between us.

Normally, Jesse’s dad was pretty friendly, but seeing him suddenly appear like this in the middle of the night scared the hell out of me.

He stood there, unmoving, his expression unreadable. For a second, I wondered if he’d even heard me fall.

I forced myself to look back at the fridge, but when I looked again, Jesse’s head was gone.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, but the freezer was empty except for a lump wrapped in butcher paper. My mind spun, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen.

Instead, there was a frozen pig’s head in the freezer.

Its snout was pressed against the frost, eyes wide open, mouth twisted in a grotesque grin. I recoiled, bile burning in my throat. The sight was almost worse than what I’d imagined.

It must have been terrified when it was slaughtered—its eyes were wide open, and its mouth was frozen in a scream, showing off rows of yellow teeth.

The image burned itself into my mind. I’d seen pig’s heads before, at butcher shops or in old horror movies, but never like this—never in my own kitchen.

Where did the human head go? When did the pig’s head get put in there?

My thoughts raced. Had I imagined the whole thing? Was it some kind of sick hallucination brought on by stress and lack of sleep?

My fear eased a bit. I took a breath and tried to convince myself I’d imagined it.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to calm down. Maybe it was just the power of suggestion—the messages, the late hour, my overactive imagination.

Trying to stay calm, I quickly told Jesse’s dad about the messages, though I didn’t mention the human head.

I didn’t want him to think I was losing my mind. I showed him my phone, pointing to the chat window, my voice still trembling.

"Really? That’s good—let me see," Jesse’s dad said, smiling, but something about his smile felt fake to me.

His lips curled up, but his eyes stayed cold. I shivered, suddenly wishing I’d never brought it up.

I pulled out my phone and opened Messenger, but something weird happened—the messages I’d just seen were gone. I kept closing and reopening Jesse’s chat window, but those messages never showed up again. The latest record was still my previous video call.

I scrolled up and down, desperate to prove I wasn’t crazy. But the messages had vanished, leaving only the echo of my own fear behind.

But I hadn’t deleted those messages. Was I hallucinating?

I shook my head, trying to remember every detail. Maybe the stress was finally getting to me. Or maybe something else was going on—something I couldn’t explain.

Seeing me fumbling with my phone and coming up empty, Jesse’s dad patted my shoulder.

His hand was warm, almost too warm. I flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.

"Eli, maybe you were dreaming. You’re always up all night—take care of yourself. I can tell you’re just as anxious about Jesse as I am, and I really appreciate it."

His words were gentle, but there was something off in his tone. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it made me uneasy.

"No, Mr. Kim, I really saw the messages just now. I’m wide awake!"

I tried to sound confident, but my voice cracked. I hated how desperate I sounded.

He gave a wry smile.

It didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed my shoulder, then let go, turning back toward the kitchen.

"Alright, if Jesse messages you again, let me know right away."

His words felt like a dismissal, but I nodded anyway. I didn’t know what else to do.

I was totally confused, but I asked,

"Okay, Mr. Kim. Do you know what’s up with the fridge? I remember it was broken before—why is it working now? And there’s a pig’s head inside. Did you buy it?"

I tried to keep my tone light, but the words came out shaky. I glanced at the freezer, half-expecting something else to appear.

His expression shifted before he explained,

His eyes flickered, and for a moment I thought he might snap at me. Instead, he took a deep breath and answered calmly.

"Oh, I fixed it. I used to be a repairman for a while, so I fixed it when I saw it was broken. The pig’s head—I bought it today. I was planning to make some head cheese for you."

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. I forced a smile, nodding along, even though I’d never had head cheese in my life and wasn’t even sure what it was.

He walked over and closed the fridge door. But just before it shut, I thought I saw the pig’s eyes close.

The lid snapped shut with a soft thud. I blinked, convinced I’d imagined it. My mind was playing tricks on me, and I just wanted the night to end.

I shook my head—too many weird things had happened today.

I rubbed my temples, trying to banish the images from my mind. Maybe I just needed sleep. Yeah, that had to be it.

Full of doubts, I hurried back to my room and crawled into bed.

I pulled the covers up to my chin, phone clutched in my hand. I left the light on, just in case. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.