The Night I Made My Kids Put Their Phones Down

A Teen Horror Story

Picture it: A dark and stormy Sunday evening.

The Wi-Fi went out.

Phones were at 8% battery…

And I had finally had enough.

I wanted them to experience something different. Something… old. Something from the before times.

I told them… to give me their smartphones.

They didn’t understand at first.

They looked at me the way horror movie victims look at a creaking attic door.

Then I handed each a book.

Not a Kindle. Not an audiobook.

An actual paper book.

They flipped it over in their hands like it might be cursed.

“This is… supe skibidi,” they whispered.

“Is this a… tree corpse?”

“Yes,” I said. “Read it.”

Their eyes widened.

“All of it?” one asked.

“Why?” stammered the other.

“Knowledge is power,” I replied.

Somewhere in the distance… a dog howled.

But that was just the beginning. Later, that same evening, I led them into the kitchen…

And there… sitting on the counter…was The Landline.

Beige. Heavy. Coiled cord like a snake guarding a tomb.

The smell of dust and history.

They approached slowly.

One poked it.

The other asked, “Where’s the FaceTime button?”

When I told them it didn’t have one… they recoiled.

Then… I told them… to dial Abuela.

Not press. Not tap.

Dial.

The braver of the two picked up the receiver with trembling hands.

“Why does it… hum?” she whispered.

“That’s the dial tone,” I said.

They looked at eachother, confused. Trying to figure out which direction to turn the numbers.

Suddenly, the phone began beeping loudly. They both jumped.

And then came… the final horror.

I told them that for the remainder of the night, they had to speak to me in complete sentences.

No “sus”

No “pk”

No half-swallowed grunts from behind a hoodie.

A complete sentence with a subject and a verb.

They froze.

The Wi-Fi in their eyes went out.

One backed into a corner.

The other muttered, “I bet she's writing about us for her blog again.”

“Yes,” I smirked. “Yes I am.”

So if you ever come to my house and hear them whispering about the night Mom snapped, just know:

I’m not the monster in this story.

I’m the hero.

And the next time the Wi-Fi goes out…

They’re learning cursive.