I had an ordinary notebook. Nothing special. The pages were a bit yellowed and the cover was scratched. I found it at the bottom of an old drawer when I was looking for a pen. I opened it on the first page and decided to write something. But then... something strange happened. Before I could touch the page, the words started to appear on their own. First one. Then another. And finally a whole paragraph. I wrote something... but not with my hands. I watched the letters arrange themselves into a message: > Hello, I was waiting for you. But we have little time... I froze. Someone wrote to me? I grabbed a pen and typed: > Who are you? The pen moved on its own and answered: > I am you.... But from a place you should never be. I had no idea what that meant. But before I had time to ask, the notebook turned the page itself. And there ... there was a drawing. And it depicted me. But not in my room. Just in some completely different place.