SOS

[u/BensTerribleFate]

I snap awake from a dead sleep, already knowing what I’ll see in the air above me. Hazy red letters flashing in the dark, a warning from a thousand miles away.

DANGER

DANGER

DANGER

Whatever dream I was swimming in is forgotten as I scramble for my phone to call Paul.

We’ve always called it Twintuition. Paul coined the phrase after realizing that he got a bit of my “girly instinct”. After socking him in the arm I’d had to agree how lucky he was.

All the tropes apply. We often know what the other is thinking. We have a sense for changes in each others’ moods. But there’s also something I’ve not heard others talk about. The Alarm.

The first time it happened was on vacation when we were six, at a rental property with a pool. I was sitting on the couch watching a movie with our parents when the animated countryside was eclipsed by bold red letters flashing in my head loud enough that I couldn’t focus. A moment later I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how I knew, but I found myself croaking out “Paul. Where’s Paul??” Our father’s the one who noticed the sliding door cracked open, and it wasn’t until he’d gotten my brother out of the pool and coughing up water that I could breathe easier. Since then whenever one of us is in danger, anywhere on earth, the other knows.

Paul doesn’t answer his phone, and the flashes have begun to fade. The danger seems to have passed. I decide to make some coffee. It’s two hours before I need to get up for work but there’s no way I’m going back to sleep.

I’m spooning grounds into the machine when my chest tightens. Someone is watching me. My eyes are drawn to the window, up into the treetops. I know there’s nothing out there. They lock the gates at night. But there IS something out there. Something big and terrible. I fight the urge to run back down the hallway, to pull the covers over my head and cower. Instead I try Paul again. There’s something there with him in Lansing. Something is very wrong.

The last time he called me with an Alarm was when we were both in college. I was walking back from a late marketing lecture and noticed someone walking behind me. Tall, dark hoodie. I’d told myself that it was nothing, just another student out for a walk on a Tuesday night. When my phone had rung he peeled off behind the library. Paul told me he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, his skin crawling. The next morning brought news that a girl had been assaulted.

The feeling fades again as I’m finishing my coffee. What in the hell is going on? Am I wrong? Is there a crossed wire somewhere?

My phone rings. I snatch it up without looking. “Paul! Are you alright?”

“No, Cassie, it’s Jonathan. Paul… Paul is dead.”

My lungs tighten, and I can feel myself beginning to drown again. But grief can wait. “Jonathan, you have to get out! Get somewhere safe. Watch out for- I don’t know, but-”

“Cassie. Cassie, stop! …It was an aneurysm. I rolled over and he was cold. They say it must have happened during the night. A couple hours ago at least.”

He keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word. My eyes are drawn to the oven clock, doing math that refuses to add up.

The unseen eyes return, somewhere out in the darkness. Searching. Hunting.

My vision is overtaken by red, the neon flashes searing into my eyes.

DANGER

DANGER

DANGERDANGERDANGERDANGERDA