Around 3:33 AM, Arjun's phone rings. The caller ID is blank. Heart pounding, he grabs it: a faint buzzing noise, then silence. No face, only stammering static. He snaps it shut, hands shaking. In the voicemail later, he finds a recording – his own voice, muffled and distant. The message crackles: "I can't reach you down there."
He stares at the message timestamp: it's dated tomorrow. How can that be? The only other time he had a phone was years ago. Goosebumps crawl along his arms. The radio signal, the whispers, the mirrors – none of this made any sense. Yet there it is: evidence of some twisted loop.
He stares at the basement hatch in the floor below his bed. Perhaps that's where "down there" was meant. With iron resolve, Arjun searches online until he finds an old shortwave tuner schematic. Midnight tick-tock and distant thunder drum outside, heightening his dread. Finally, amid all the wiring and noise, he might have something.
The phone rings again. Onscreen a single word flashes: "NOW." Arjun gapes as static echo hisses, filling the room like a ghostly wind.