The Midnight Warning

It started with a note. Folded twice, slid under my door while I was in the shower. No knock. No footsteps. Just there.

"Meet me at the pier. Midnight. Come alone."

Normally, I'd ignore something like that. Toss it, forget it. But the handwriting—it tugged at something in my brain. Familiar in a way that made my skin crawl. So I went.

The pier was empty except for the water slapping against the wood and a single figure standing at the edge, hoodie up, hands in pockets.

"You came," they said without turning.

"Apparently."

A pause. Then they pulled something from their pocket and held it out. A photograph. I took it. And my stomach knotted.

It was me. Yesterday. Sitting at my usual café, headphones in, scribbling in my notebook. But the angle—whoever took this had been close. Watching.

"Who are you?" My voice was even, but my fingers gripped the photo too tight.

They exhaled, then finally turned. The hood fell back.

And I was looking at myself.

Older. Sharper. A scar along the jaw I didn’t have—yet. But the eyes? Same.

"You need to leave town," my double said. "Now."

I took a step back, glancing around like someone might pop out and yell that this was some elaborate joke. No one did.

"Yeah, no. That’s not happening," I said. "Also, what the hell?"

"You don’t have time for questions," they said, low and urgent. "Tomorrow, someone is going to knock on your door. If you answer, you're dead."

My pulse hammered. "This is insane."

"Yeah, well, so is getting killed." My double’s jaw clenched. "Listen. I’ve already been through this. I did everything wrong, and I don’t get a second chance. You do."

I shook my head. "This is a prank. A really weird—"

They grabbed my wrist. Hard. Their grip was ice. "Leave. Town. Tonight."

And then—before I could yank free—they were gone.

Not walked away. Not ran. Just... gone.

I stood there, cold wind biting my face, my pulse erratic. The photo was still in my hand.

And deep in my gut, something told me I should listen.