My phone woke me at 3:33 a.m. with a message: Come outside. I assumed it was a glitch and went back to sleep.
The next night, at the exact same time, my phone buzzed again. Same message. A chill crept through me. I checked the locks, the windows, everything — but the feeling wouldn’t leave. It didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a summons.
On the third night, I finally gave in.
I pulled on a jacket and stepped onto the porch. The street was silent, the air unnaturally still. My phone vibrated again.
Turn around.
My heart pounded as I slowly turned — and froze.
Standing at the edge of my yard was someone who looked exactly like me. Not threatening. Just watching. Calm. Knowing.
Another message appeared: You left something behind.
The figure pointed toward the house. In that moment, I understood. For months, I had ignored a dream, a part of myself I’d abandoned in the rush of everyday life.
When I looked up again, the figure was gone. But the message remained.
It wasn’t a warning.
It was a reminder.
