It started with a system error. My phone rang, but the display showed no number, only the word "ME."
Thinking it was a contacts bug or a prank, I answered. On the other end there was no silence, but the sound of someone breathing hard. Then a voice, my own voice, said: "Don't open the door in ten seconds."
I laughed and hung up. But exactly ten seconds later, someone knocked violently. I didn't open. I looked through the peephole: the hallway was empty, but the handle slowly turned down, as if an invisible hand were forcing it.
From that day on, the calls became constant. I received instructions for every little action:
- "Take the 8:02 bus, not the 8:10." (The 8:10 bus was in a terrible accident.)
- "Don't eat that sandwich." (I found a piece of glass inside.)
It felt like a miracle. I had a guardian angel who was, literally, myself from the future. But the voice was changing. Day by day, it grew hoarser, thinner, as if the speaker were losing air or substance.
This morning the last call came.
"I'm in the bathroom," the voice whispered. It was an agonized rattle. "Help me. It's happening."
I ran to the bathroom. No one was there. But the mirror was fogged, even though I hadn't run any hot water. On the glass, written with a finger from the inside, was a phone number. My old number, the one I had disconnected years ago.
The phone rang again. But this time it wasn't my smartphone. The sound came from inside the mirror.
I looked at my reflection and was horrified. It wasn't me. It was a creature made of raw flesh and telephone cables, staring at me with my own eyes. It raised a phone made of bone and dialed a number.
My smartphone vibrated in my pocket. On the screen appeared the word: "ME."
I only understand now. It isn't the future speaking to me. It's my reflection, trying to trade places with me. Every time I answer, I give up a piece of my reality. Every piece of advice I follow is a contract signed in blood.
Now the creature in the mirror is smiling. It has my hair, my skin, my shirt. And me? I'm turning gray. My voice is only a rustle of static.
The phone is ringing again. If I answer, I'll vanish completely. If I don't, it will step out of the mirror to take what's left.
Do you feel your phone vibrating on the table? Are you sure you want to see who's calling?