Emma Jenkins had never been one for planning. Her life was an endless string of missed appointments and late-night scrambles to catch up. Her friends joked that she lived "creatively," while her mother often called her chaotic. Emma didn't mind; she thought spontaneity was part of her charm.
That's why the calendar caught her eye as she wandered through a small thrift shop on a rainy Saturday afternoon. It rested on a wooden shelf, its black leather cover gleaming as if it had just been polished. The words "Your Perfect Plan" were embossed in gold, neat and elegant.
Emma picked it up, drawn to its flawless design. She opened it and flipped through the pages, which were thick and smooth, with precise lines dividing each day. The dates were already filled in with neat handwriting, starting with today:
"6:15 PM: Find the calendar."
Emma blinked and glanced at her watch. It was exactly 6:15 PM.
She frowned, feeling an odd flutter in her chest. Surely this was just a coincidence. Someone must have written in it before donating it. Still, she couldn't shake the strange feeling as she carried it to the counter and bought it.
"Planning to get organized?" the shopkeeper asked with a grin.
Emma smiled faintly. "Something like that."
At home, Emma flipped through the calendar again, scanning the entries. Each day was meticulously filled out with tasks, errands, and appointments.
Tomorrow's entry read:
"7:30 AM: Coffee at the café."
"9:00 AM: Call from Sarah."
Emma chuckled. "If only my life were this predictable."
Out of curiosity, she decided to follow the entries. The next morning, she arrived at the café at 7:30 AM. She was standing in line when someone tapped her shoulder.
"Emma!"
She turned to see Sarah, an old college friend she hadn't spoken to in months.
"I was just thinking about calling you," Sarah said with a smile.
Emma's stomach twisted. The calendar had been right.
When she got home, her phone rang at 9:00 AM sharp. It was Sarah, following up on their conversation.
Emma stared at the calendar, her heart racing.
Over the next few weeks, Emma became fascinated with the calendar. Every entry was accurate, down to the minute. At first, it was mundane—reminders to pick up groceries or notes about minor encounters. But the entries made her life easier, almost magical. She felt like she was finally in control, no longer stumbling through her days.
But then the entries grew darker.
One evening, the calendar read:
"9:45 PM: Hear the crash."
Emma glanced at her watch as the clock struck 9:45. A loud screech of tires echoed outside, followed by the deafening crash of metal against metal. She ran to the window and saw a car wrapped around a lamppost, smoke billowing from the hood.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The next entry was worse:
"3:17 PM: Witness the man fall."
At 3:17 the following day, she was walking home when a construction worker slipped from a scaffold above her. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, his hard hat rolling away. Emma froze as people screamed around her, unable to process what she'd seen.
The calendar's predictions weren't just eerie—they were horrifying.
As the weeks went on, Emma's life spiraled into fear. She tried ignoring the calendar, but its pull was too strong. Every time she thought about throwing it away, the possibility of missing something important stopped her.
One day, she flipped to the upcoming week and saw her own name.
"3:00 PM: Emma learns the truth."
Emma sat in her apartment that day, refusing to leave. She locked her doors, unplugged her phone, and drew the curtains. But at 3:00 PM, there was a knock at the door.
She hesitated before opening it. A man in a crisp black suit stood on her doorstep, holding a package.
"Ms. Jenkins," he said with a polite smile. "This is for you."
Emma took the box with trembling hands. Inside was another calendar, identical to hers but blank.
"Where did this come from?" she asked, but the man simply turned and walked away.
She stared at the new calendar, her mind racing. The next entry in her current calendar read:
"11:59 PM: Your turn."
That night, Emma tried everything to escape her fate. She burned the calendar in her sink, only for it to reappear on her desk, untouched. She ripped out the pages, but they regenerated before her eyes.
At 11:59 PM, the room fell silent.
Emma's body froze. Her hand moved against her will, gripping a knife from the counter. Tears streamed down her face as she fought against the invisible force controlling her.
When the clock struck midnight, Emma's screams stopped.
The next morning, her apartment was eerily quiet. A janitor arrived at 6:45 AM, his movements robotic as he cleaned the scene. When he was done, he flipped to the next page of the calendar.
"8:00 AM: Deliver the calendar."
In a small thrift shop, a sleek leather calendar rested on a shelf, its gold lettering gleaming under the dim light. A young woman browsing the shop noticed it, drawn to its pristine design.
She picked it up and opened it, her eyes scanning the first entry:
"6:15 PM: Find the calendar."
She glanced at her watch. It was 6:15 PM.
With a faint smile, she carried it to the counter.
"Planning to get organized?" the shopkeeper asked.
"Something like that," she replied.
The calendar seemed to gleam gleefully, knowing that it had found it's next victim.