“Hello, Edward,” the man said calmly, his voice eerily familiar. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Edward froze. The resemblance was uncanny—same height, same eyes, even the same small scar on the chin he got as a kid.
“What is this?” Edward asked, heart racing. “Some kind of joke?”
The man smiled faintly. “Not a joke. A warning.”
Edward blinked. “A warning?”
“You need to stop flying Flight 227. After tomorrow, if you board that route again… you won’t return.”
“Why should I believe you?” Edward asked, edging closer.
The man stepped back, eyes suddenly filled with something that looked like grief. “Because I didn’t. And I died five years ago.”
He handed Edward a boarding pass—identical in every detail to Edward’s own, except the date: April 17, 2020.
The man turned and walked down the jet bridge, vanishing before reaching the terminal doors.
Edward stood frozen in the aisle, the paper shaking in his hand.
Next morning, Flight 227 had a new captain. Edward called in sick—and never flew that route again.
He never saw the man again either. But every April 17th, he lit a candle, not entirely sure for whom.
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