The Man Who Knew Too Much

Chapter 1: The Notebook That Shouldn't Exist

It started with a $3 purchase at a dusty thrift store in Sedona.

I was there to kill time, not uncover secrets that would unravel my reality. The leather-bound notebook caught my eye because of the strange symbol on its cover—a triangle with an eye inside, drawn in fading silver ink.

When I opened it, my blood turned to ice.

The first page read: "September 11, 2001. Two planes. Twin Towers. America will never be the same."

The entry was dated 1997.

I flipped faster. Page after page of disasters, all predicted years in advance:

*"December 26, 2004 - Tsunami in Asia. Death toll: 250,000+"* (Written in 1999)

*"March 2020 - A coronavirus will shut down the world"* (Dated 2012)

*"January 6, 2021 - The Capitol will be stormed"* (2015)

The last entry simply said: "June 30, 2024. They come for me today."

That was tomorrow's date.

Chapter 2: The Vanishing Author

The thrift store clerk remembered the man who donated the notebook.

"Tall fellow," she said, chewing gum loudly. "Wore sunglasses indoors. Paid cash for everything. Said he was a 'chronologist.' Whatever that means."

I found his name scribbled inside the back cover: Dr. Elias Vangard.

A Google search brought up exactly one result—a deleted Reddit thread titled: "I remember next week" from 2016. The Wayback Machine showed a single comment:

"They're editing the timeline. If you're reading this, you're one of the ones who notices."

Then my phone buzzed. A text from my editor:

"Who's Elias Vangard? Your email about him just disappeared."

I checked my Sent folder. Empty.

Chapter 3: The Memory Glitches

That night, strange things started happening:

My landlord didn't recognize me when I came home

My childhood photos showed me with different haircuts

My best friend insisted we'd never gone to Cancun in 2019—but I had the tan lines to prove it

The notebook's pages began fading. Where *"COVID-19"* once appeared, now it just said "global illness."

I called my sister in panic.

"Remember that time I broke my arm at summer camp?" I asked.

"You've never broken a bone," she said.

But I could still feel the ache in my left wrist.

Chapter 4: The Payphone in the Desert

The final clue was a set of coordinates scrawled under tomorrow's date—a spot in the Mojave Desert.

I drove there at dawn. Nothing but sand and a single, rusted payphone.

It rang the moment I stepped near.

A voice I recognized as my own said: "Put the notebook in the box. Or you'll end up like Vangard."

A metal strongbox sat at the base of the phone. Inside were dozens of identical notebooks.

As I added mine to the pile, my hand passed through the box like a ghost.

Chapter 5: The Last Entry

I'm writing this from a motel outside Flagstaff.

The notebook is gone. My memories keep shifting. I think I was a journalist, but my press pass says "insurance adjuster."

One thing remains clear: They don't want us to know the future is changeable.

Check your bookshelves.

You might own a notebook too.

MORAL:

Knowledge Comes With a Price – The protagonist’s curiosity leads him to a truth that destabilizes his reality. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

A Psychological Thriller Exploring Memory, Truth, and the Fragility of Reality.