Voicemail from My Future Self

"Voicemail from My Future Self"

“Whatever you do... don't answer the door on June 30th.” The voice was mine. But I never said those words.

STORY:

It happened at 2:13 a.m. while I was asleep.

A voicemail.

No missed call. No notification. Just the message, sitting quietly in my inbox.

When I hit play, I heard myself speaking.

“If you're hearing this, it means it worked. It means I reached you. Listen—don’t answer the door. Not on June 30th. No matter what you hear. No matter who it is. Promise me.”

I replayed it five times.

It was definitely my voice.

I live alone. No roommates. No pranks.

The timestamp said it was recorded just an hour ago.

But I had been sleeping.

I checked my phone history. No outgoing call. No recording. Nothing. Just that voicemail.

I tried calling the number back.

It didn’t exist.

The next morning, I convinced myself it was some AI-generated scam. Maybe my voice had been cloned somehow. Deepfakes, phishing, whatever.

I deleted it.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Until the next night.

2:13 a.m. — another voicemail.

This time, my voice was panicked.

“You deleted the last message. That was a mistake. They’re coming. It starts tomorrow. You still have time. Block the windows. And whatever happens, don’t trust the man in the yellow jacket.”

I sat up in bed, sweating.

Outside, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

I peeked through the peephole.

Nothing.

But I couldn’t sleep.

The next day was June 29th.

I stayed home.

Just in case.

I even covered the windows with newspapers and duct tape. I didn’t know why — maybe to prove I could take it seriously, maybe because some part of me believed it.

Around noon, I went for a walk to clear my head.

At the corner store, I bumped into someone.

A man. Polite. Tall. Calm.

Wearing a yellow jacket.

He smiled at me like he knew me.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

I rushed back home and played the voicemail again.

“Don’t trust the man in the yellow jacket.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I kept all the lights on. Locked every door twice.

June 30th.

Midnight passed.

12:30… 1:00 a.m…

Then, at 2:13 a.m. sharp, there was a knock on my door.

Slow. Deliberate. Three times.

I froze.

Another knock.

Then a voice.

“It’s me. You. Please open. I need to tell you something.”

It was my voice.

But it wasn’t from a phone.

It was outside the door.

My hands trembled as I picked up the baseball bat I kept by the nightstand.

I didn’t open the door.

Then the voice changed.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Another knock. Harder this time.

“Everything you love will be gone if you don’t open.”

Another knock. Louder.

“Open the door, idiot. I’m trying to help you.”

My own voice, now angry. Desperate.

And then, silence.

I didn’t move for hours.

When the sun came up, I finally looked through the peephole.

No one was there.

But tucked into the frame of the door was a note.

Written in my handwriting:

“You failed. Again.”

The next night, the final voicemail arrived.

2:13 a.m.

“I begged you. I warned you. And now... it resets.”

“You’ll forget everything soon. But I’ll be back.”

“And I’ll keep trying.”

Then static.

Then silence.

That was a month ago.

I don’t remember most of what happened that week.

But sometimes… around 2 a.m., I get this strange feeling.

Like I forgot something important.

Like someone is watching me.

Or warning me.

And just last night, I got a new voicemail.

From an unknown number.

My voice.

Just three words.

“Don't answer it.”