Or at least… I didn’t think I had.
That same day, I got home from work and noticed something strange.
My apartment door was slightly open.
Not wide—just enough that you could tell it hadn’t been fully closed.
I always double-check my locks.
Always.
I stepped inside slowly, heart pounding.
Nothing looked stolen. Nothing looked out of place.
Until I saw my kitchen table.
There was a notebook sitting there.
Black cover. No label.
I don’t own a notebook like that.
I didn’t touch it right away.
I just stood there, staring at it like it might move.
Finally, I walked over and opened it.
Inside, in handwriting that looked disturbingly similar to mine, were a list of tasks:
- Monday: 8:15 PM – Stand at the corner of Vardar Street for 10 minutes. Do nothing.
- Tuesday: Do not answer unknown calls.
- Wednesday: Leave your window open overnight.
- Thursday: Watch the man in the blue jacket. Do not interact.
And then at the bottom:
“You’re already doing well. Don’t break routine.”
I felt sick.
I hadn’t done any of those things.
At least… I didn’t remember doing them.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Around 2:50 AM, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, waiting.
3:00 AM.
Another notification.
“Week 3 – Perfect compliance.”
That’s when I checked my phone history.
Photos.
Videos.
Location data.
And that’s when everything fell apart.
There were pictures I didn’t take.
One of me standing on a street corner at night.
Another from inside my own apartment… taken from the hallway while I was sleeping.
And a video.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that video.
It showed me… sitting at my kitchen table, writing in that notebook.
Same handwriting.
Same pen.
Same calm expression.
Like nothing was wrong.
But I have no memory of it.
None.
I tried to go to the police.
Halfway there, I got a call.
Unknown number.
I picked up without thinking.
A calm voice said:
“Week 4 starts tomorrow.”
I froze.
“Who is this?” I asked.
There was a pause.
Then they said something that made my blood run cold:
“You asked for this job.”
The call ended.
I went back home.
I didn’t know what else to do.
The notebook was still on the table.
But now… there was a new page.
A new list.
And at the top, written in that same handwriting:
“Final phase.”
The first task?
“Stop pretending you don’t remember.”
I don’t know what scares me more.
The idea that someone is controlling me…
Or the possibility that they’re telling the truth.
Because sometimes, late at night…
I catch myself doing things on autopilot.
Standing in places I don’t recall walking to.
Holding objects I don’t remember picking up.
And every Friday at 3:00 AM…
I still get paid.
If Week 4 really is the final phase…
I don’t think I’m the one completing it anymore.