I stumbled out of the woods at dawn and flagged down a delivery truck. By noon, I was safe in a hotel room under a different name. 


The news that night mentioned a break-in at my house. The front door had been ripped from the hinges. Police had found no one inside. But everything—every photo, every piece of clothing—was gone. Erased. 


It’s like I’d never lived there. 


I used a burner phone to call Katie, my other best friend. Didn’t explain much, just said I had to disappear for a while. Katie agreed, reluctantly. 


That night, I sat on the hotel bed, replaying the voice in my head. My own voice, from the future. From somewhere. 


I picked up the new phone. 


No contacts. 


No missed calls. 


No messages. 


Then it rang. 


Incoming Call: Bella (Me) 


My hand trembled as I answered. 


This time, the voice was different. Older. Tired. 


“You made it out,” the voice said. “Good.” 


“What is it?” I asked. “That thing? Tina? What happened to her?” 


“It’s a mimic,” the voice said. “An echo of something that used to be human. It can take shapes, faces, memories. It feeds on familiarity. It picked Tina because you trusted her.” 


“And you’re… really me?” 


“Yes,” the voice said. “But not from your future. From another thread. Another version of this moment. I didn’t make it. But you did. Because I called.” 


I swallowed. “Can I stop it?” 


A pause. 


“No. But you can warn the next one.” 


The call ended. 


I stared at the screen for a long time, my mind racing. 


I now knew three things: 


  1. It wasn’t over. 
  2. I wasn’t crazy. 
  3. And one day, my phone would ring again. 

And when it did, I’d be the voice on the other end.