Voicemail From Tomorrow

The voicemail was timestamped tomorrow. I noticed it while brushing my teeth, half awake,

staring at my phone like it might explain itself. The notification said I’d missed

a call at 9:17 a.m. Tomorrow was still fourteen hours away. I played it. Static at first.

Then my voice. “Hey… it’s me. I don’t have long. If you’re hearing this,

you didn’t listen the first time.” My stomach tightened. I don’t leave myself voicemails.

“In about twenty minutes, someone’s going to ask you for help. They’ll seem normal.

Harmless. You cannot help them. No matter what they say.”

The recording crackled, like the phone was being squeezed. “I know how this sounds.