I’ve always been a creature of habit, thriving on routine and predictability. For years, I’ve worked a standard 9 to 5 job as a graphic designer in a downtown office. My life was like clockwork—wake up, have a cup of coffee, commute, go to work, come home, and have dinner. My girlfriend, Emily, was a nurse and also had her own routines, which meshed well with mine. Our lives were a symphony of ordinary events, each day echoing the last.
Thursday evenings were particularly special for us. It was our unofficial “date night,” where we’d cook dinner together. That specific Thursday was no different. We decided on spaghetti and meatballs, Emily’s favorite. While the pasta boiled and the meatballs simmered in the sauce, we sat at our small dining table, a rerun of a comedy show playing in the background. We talked about future plans—should we adopt a dog, maybe take a road trip next summer, or even visit Emily’s family for the holidays? The mundane had never felt so comforting.
Emily had to rise early for her nursing shift, so around 10 PM, she kissed me goodnight and retreated to our bedroom. I lingered in the living room, convincing myself I’d use the extra time wisely—perhaps work on a personal project or read a book. Instead, I squandered the time scrolling through social media and reading random news articles.
Finally, when the digital clock on my phone displayed midnight, I decided to call it a night. I was reaching for the light switch when my phone burst into a strange, haunting melody that I’d never heard before. My settings had always been set to vibrate, and I certainly hadn’t chosen this eerie ringtone. What made it all even more puzzling was the caller ID, or rather the lack of it: “Unknown Number.”
Irritated and slightly unnerved, I declined the call. But the phone rang again, insistent, reverberating with that same eerie melody.
“Who is this?” I barked as I finally answered.
A voice, softer than a whisper but piercing in its clarity, said, “Stay inside.”
I immediately hung up and blocked the number, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Then the impossible happened—my phone rang again, easily bypassing my blocking efforts. It was a video call this time. I hesitated before answering.
A dimly lit face appeared on screen—my face, but distorted into a grotesque grin that I’d never made.
“Get out of the house,” it rasped.
As my finger lunged for the end-call button, a crash resounded downstairs. Glass shattering, footsteps thudding.
Ignoring another call—this time from my own number—I grabbed my car keys and bolted out the door, jumping into my car and speeding away from the supposed sanctuary of my home. As I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw a figure standing in the doorway, watching me drive away. It looked exactly like me.
Just when I thought I had distanced myself enough, my phone rang one final time, displaying the dashboard of my car on the video call. In the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel, was me—with that same grotesque grin. Then everything went black.