The Phone That Called Me Back

It was just past midnight when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Half-asleep, I reached for it, expecting a random notification or maybe a spam call. But when I glanced at the screen, my heart skipped a beat.

The call was coming from my own number.

I froze, staring at it. Maybe it was a glitch. I’d heard of people being “spoofed” before, but I’d never seen it happen to me. Against my better judgment, I swiped to answer.

“Hello?” I whispered.

At first, there was nothing. Then, faintly, I heard breathing. Slow. Uneven. Like someone was just on the other end, waiting.

“Who is this?” I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.

The voice that finally came through nearly made me drop the phone.

“Don’t go tomorrow.”

It was my voice.

A Warning From Myself

I sat upright in bed, my chest tightening. “What do you mean? Who is this?”

The voice on the line was shaky but urgent. “Listen to me. If you go to the meeting tomorrow, something terrible will happen. Just stay home. Please.”

My skin prickled with cold sweat. This had to be a prank. Maybe some recording app? But the tone, the pauses, the exact rhythm of speech—it was me.

And then the line went dead.

The Day After

I barely slept. By morning, I convinced myself it was some elaborate joke. Still, when I sat in traffic on the way to my meeting downtown, the words replayed in my head: Don’t go tomorrow.

Half an hour later, I was standing outside the building. I hesitated, staring at the revolving doors. I told myself I wouldn’t let some phantom phone call control my life. Taking a deep breath, I walked in.

The elevator ride was smooth, the meeting went as planned, and nothing unusual happened. Relief washed over me. Maybe it really was just a glitch or prank.

Then, on the way home, I saw the crash.

A truck had slammed into a small car at the exact intersection I would have crossed—if I had left the meeting on time. The driver didn’t make it. I sat frozen in my car, staring at the scene, realizing that a few minutes of delay had kept me alive.

Another Call

That night, I placed my phone face down on the nightstand, determined to forget. But just past midnight, it buzzed again. My number, calling me.

Hands trembling, I picked up.

This time, the voice on the other end was different—still mine, but weaker, almost broken.

“You didn’t listen,” it whispered. “And now it’s worse.”

Then silence.

Final Thoughts

I haven’t told anyone about the calls. How could I? Who would believe me? But every night since, just past midnight, the phone buzzes. And every night, I hear my own voice warning me of something I can’t escape.

The question that haunts me now isn’t who is calling. It’s which version of me—and how long until I find out what happens if I stop answering.