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She answered a phone call from her own number. Her thumb hesitated above the glowing screen for only a second. Curiosity outweighed caution, as it often did with Lena. She pressed "accept". “Hello?” Her voice was uncertain, tentative. There was a pause. Then a voice came through, barely above a whisper—familiar yet wrong. “Lena… don’t go to the lake house.” Static crackled like distant thunder, and the line went dead. Lena stared at her phone. Her number stared back, still displayed as the most recent incoming call. No voicemail. No explanation. Just that one eerie warning, spoken in a voice that sounded too much like her own. She tried calling back. The line gave three short beeps and then disconnected. Dead end. She sat down slowly on the edge of her couch, her phone still in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the contacts list, then drifted down until it stopped on "Ellie", her younger sister. She tapped "Call". “Hey,” Ellie answered with her usual cheerfulness. “Are you packed? I’m ten minutes away!” Lena swallowed. “Yeah. Almost. Hey… do you think it’s weird if someone gets a phone call from their own number?” There was a pause. “Weird how?” “Like… I just got one. Someone called me—from my number. And they said not to go to the lake house.” Ellie laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s probably just spam. Or maybe some glitch. You know how weird tech can be.” “It wasn’t spam,” Lena said. “It sounded like me. But not me.” There was another pause. “Okay, that’s… creepy. But come on. Maybe you’re just overthinking it. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, right?” Lena looked out the window at the overcast sky. Storm clouds were curling low over the trees. “Maybe.” “Pack warm. It looks like rain,” Ellie said, changing the subject. “See you in a bit.” --- The drive to the lake house was uneventful, aside from the storm clouds chasing them through the hills. The road twisted through pines, wet with the start of an early drizzle, and by the time they reached the house nestled between two forested slopes, it was already dusk. The lake house had belonged to their grandparents, then their parents, and now belonged to them. It was old but sturdy, with a wide porch overlooking the lake, which reflected the roiling clouds like dark glass. The air smelled of pine needles and wet wood. Ellie grabbed her bags and ran to the door, laughing as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Race you!” Lena followed more slowly. She kept glancing over her shoulder. The trees seemed too still, as if holding their breath. Inside, the air was musty but familiar. The floorboards creaked under their feet. They spent the evening unpacking, lighting the fireplace, and playing cards by candlelight when the power blinked out during the storm. By midnight, the wind had died down, and Ellie had gone to bed. Lena stayed up, reading by flashlight. Every so often, she’d glance at her phone, half-expecting it to ring again. It did. At 1:07 a.m. Her number. Again. Heart thudding, she answered. “Who is this?” This time, the voice was clearer. And unmistakable. “It’s you. I’m calling from tomorrow.” Lena froze. “What?” “You don’t believe me. I get it. I didn’t either.” The voice was rushed, scared. “Something’s wrong with the house. With the lake. Don’t stay here another night.” “Why? What’s going to happen?” “I can’t explain it all. I tried. I—I thought I could change it. But I was too late. Just leave in the morning. Please. Take Ellie and leave.” “Wait—what happens? Who are you? How is this—” The line went dead again. Lena sat in silence, the flashlight beam trembling in her hand. Her reflection in the dark window looked pale and afraid. She didn’t sleep. --- By morning, the storm had passed. Mist rose off the lake in ghostly coils. Ellie emerged from her room yawning, stretching, hair tangled. “Morning. You look like hell.” Lena didn’t smile. “We need to leave. Now.” Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You serious?” “I got another call last night.” Ellie dropped into a chair. “Okay. You’re really starting to freak me out.” “It was me again. From… from tomorrow.” Ellie gave her a long look, the kind you give someone you’re not sure is joking or losing their mind. “I don’t know what’s happening,” Lena said. “But I know I’m not imagining it. I’m telling you, we need to leave.” Before Ellie could argue, a loud bang echoed from upstairs. Both women froze. Another bang. Like a door slamming. Lena stood slowly. “Is anyone else here?” “No one’s been up there since last summer.” They crept up the stairs together. At the end of the hall, the door to the attic stood slightly ajar. It hadn’t been opened in years. Lena pushed it open. The air inside was freezing, far colder than the rest of the house. Dust hung in the beams of light from the tiny round window. Boxes sat in stacks, untouched. And in the corner, a figure. Lena’s breath caught. It was her. Or almost. The figure wore the same face, but pale and thin, eyes hollow, like a reflection seen through fog. The figure didn’t move. It just stared. “I told you to leave,” it whispered. Lena backed away, pulling Ellie with her. They didn’t stop to grab their things. They ran. --- An hour later, they were speeding down the winding road, leaving the lake house and its shadows behind. Ellie stared at her silently. Eventually, she said, “What was that?” “I don’t know,” Lena said. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. “But I think it was me. A version of me.” “A ghost?” “No. Not dead. Just… different. Damaged.” They checked into a motel that night, too shaken to go home. Lena kept her phone close, half-expecting another call. It never came. --- The next morning, Lena’s phone buzzed. A new voicemail. No caller ID. She played it. The voice was barely audible, warped by static. Still her own. “I didn’t stop it. But maybe you can. Burn it. Burn the house.” --- A week passed. Then another. Neither of them spoke much about the lake house. But Lena couldn’t shake the feeling that the warning wasn’t over. Late one night, she drove back alone. She stood on the porch, holding a can of gasoline. Her breath fogged in the cold air. Inside, everything was still. Silent. She moved room by room, pouring fuel. She lit the fire in the fireplace last, stepped back, and watched the flames crawl hungrily outward, devouring the past. As the smoke rose into the night sky, her phone buzzed one final time. A message. From her number. “Thank you.” The lake still exists. But the house is gone. And Lena never received another call. --- But sometimes, when she passes a mirror, she sees something in her reflection she didn’t before. A warning. Or a memory. Of the version of herself that didn’t make it out.

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The Lake House

clove506

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Lena's Tale

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