Signals From Tomorrow

CHAPTER 3: The House that Forgot Him

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Every step Ethan took felt heavy, his boots dragging against the pavement as if the ground itself was trying to hold him back, or perhaps stop him from carrying something dangerous.

The phone sat heavy in his hand, its screen now dimmed to a faint glow, but it felt as though it was burning through his skin, sending that strange, low hum straight into his bones.

He kept glancing down at it, half-expecting the words to change, or vanish, or for the whole thing to turn out to be some kind of vivid dream he was having while asleep in the janitor’s closet.

But it was real. The accident had been real. The words had been real. And somehow, it knew his name.

He turned the corner onto his street, and the familiar sight of his home came into view.

It was just like all the others on the block—two storeys, neatly painted walls, a small garden out front that his mother tended to when she had the time. From the outside, it looked warm, safe, normal. But Ethan knew better. He knew that walls could keep the weather out, but they couldn’t fix what was broken inside.

He slowed his pace as he approached the gate, taking a deep breath and shoving the phone deep into the inner pocket of his jacket, zipping it closed securely.

He didn’t know what it was, or what it could do, but he knew one thing for certain: he could not let anyone else see it.

If he told them what had happened, what the phone had shown him, what it had predicted perfectly… they wouldn’t believe him. Or worse, they would believe him, and decide that whatever this thing was, it was just another problem that he had brought into their lives.

To his family, Ethan was always the problem.

He pushed open the front door and stepped inside. The smell of dinner—spaghetti and tomato sauce—hung in the air, mixing with the scent of furniture polish and the faint, musty smell of old books stacked on the shelves. The television was on in the living room, voices echoing down the hallway, and from the kitchen came the sound of running water and clinking dishes.

“Ethan?” His mother’s voice called out, sharp and clear, carrying a tone of mild irritation that had become so familiar it was almost background noise. “Is that you? Do you know what time it is? We were about to start eating without you.”

“Sorry,” Ethan mumbled, closing the door behind him and slipping off his shoes. “I… I fell asleep in the library. Lost track of time.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He had fallen asleep, just not where he said he had. It was the kind of small untruth he had learned to tell over the years—easy to say, hard to prove wrong, and it saved him from having to explain too much.

He walked down the hallway and entered the kitchen.

His mother was standing by the sink, drying her hands on a tea towel. She looked up as he came in, her expression softening only slightly, the lines around her eyes remaining tight with what looked like constant worry or exhaustion. His father sat at the table, reading the newspaper, not even looking up when Ethan entered.

And sitting right there, in the best seat at the table, grinning widely as he twirled pasta around his fork, was Jeffrey.

Jeffrey was two years younger than Ethan, but he seemed to take up twice as much space in the room. Everything about him felt brighter, louder, more present. He had their father’s smile and their mother’s easy charm, and he had never known what it felt like to walk into a room and feel like you were just taking up air.

“There you are!” Jeffrey chirped, his voice bright and cheerful, as if Ethan had been gone for weeks rather than just a few hours.

“You missed it! Dad got that promotion he applied for! We’re going out for ice cream tomorrow to celebrate! Isn’t that awesome?”

Ethan stopped short, his hand resting on the back of the empty chair next to his brother. He looked over at his father, who finally lowered the newspaper and nodded, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“That’s right,” his father said, his voice warm and full of satisfaction. “Got the call this afternoon. They said it was the best decision they’d made all year. Your mother says it’s because of Jeffrey.”

Ethan frowned slightly. “Because of Jeffrey?”

His mother laughed softly, walking over to the table and placing a bowl of food down in front of Ethan, though she didn’t meet his eyes quite as warmly as she had looked at the others.

“Well, think about it. Ever since Jeffrey won that art competition last month, things have just been going right for us. I got that raise at the shop, your dad got this promotion, even the car stopped making that weird noise it was making. We always said Jeffrey was our little good luck charm, didn’t we? Everything he touches turns out well.”

She reached out and ruffled Jeffrey’s hair, and he giggled, ducking his head playfully.

Ethan sat down slowly, picking up his fork but not moving it toward his plate. He felt that familiar heavy feeling settle in his chest, the one that felt like being wrapped in cold, wet cloth. He had heard this a hundred times before. Jeffrey is the good one. Jeffrey brings us joy. Jeffrey brings us luck.

And what did he bring?

He remembered the time he had tried to tell them he was being bullied.

He had come home with a split lip and torn clothes, scared and upset, and instead of comfort, he had gotten sighs and shaking heads. Why does this always happen to you? they had asked. Why is it that trouble always finds its way to your door?

When he had failed a test at school, it was because he didn’t try hard enough, or because he was lazy, or because he distracted himself with things he shouldn’t.

When the washing machine broke down, or the bill was higher than expected, or it rained on a day they had planned a trip, there was always that unspoken thought hanging in the air: Things go wrong when Ethan is around.

He was the shadow in the bright room. He was the c***k in the foundation. He was the bad luck.

And Jeffrey? Jeffrey was the light. Jeffrey was the reason things worked out. Jeffrey was the answer to all their problems.

“Are you okay, Ethan?” Jeffrey asked, tilting his head as he looked at him, his eyes wide and innocent. “You look pale. Did something happen at school?”

“No,” Ethan said quickly, forcing a small smile onto his face. “Nothing happened. Just… tired, that’s all.”

“Well, eat up,” his mother said, sitting down at the head of the table. “We’ve got good news to celebrate. Your father worked hard for this, and we’re all so proud. Maybe this means things are finally going to get easier around here. No more stress, no more bad days. Just good things, from now on.”

She said it looking directly at Jeffrey, as if she was making a promise to him, as if he was the one who held the power to make sure it came true.

Ethan ate his dinner in silence, listening to the conversation flow around him. They talked about the promotion, about how they would redecorate the house, about how Jeffrey would be moving up a grade next term because he was doing so well. They laughed, they joked, they passed the food around, and for a little while, Ethan felt like he wasn’t even there. It was as if he was just a ghost sitting at the table, watching a family that belonged to someone else.

The house that forgot him, he thought bitterly, pushing his food around his plate. That’s what this place is. It remembers Jeffrey. It remembers Mum and Dad. But me? I’m just a name on the school register. I’m just the extra room we have to keep heated.

His hand brushed against the pocket of his jacket, and he felt the hard shape of the phone pressing against his chest.

For the first time, the feeling of being the source of bad luck didn’t feel like just something his parents said.

It felt like a lie. A story they had told themselves to make sense of the world. Because if he was really the one who brought all the bad things, then what was this device? What was this thing that had shown him the future perfectly, that knew his name, that had chosen him?

Maybe he wasn’t bad luck. Maybe he was just the one who saw things clearly, while everyone else walked around with their eyes closed.

After dinner, he helped clear the table and wash the dishes, while the others went into the living room to watch television and talk about their plans. No one asked him what he had done that day. No one asked him how his classes were going, or if he needed help with his homework. It was as if his life didn’t really matter unless something went wrong in it.

When he was done, he mumbled that he was going to bed early and headed up the stairs to his room.

It was a small room, tucked away at the back of the house, overlooking the overgrown part of the garden. It was plain, functional, and as much as he sometimes hated it, it was the only place in the whole world where he felt truly safe. Here, he didn’t have to be the problem child. Here, he didn’t have to be the invisible son. Here, he could just be himself.

He locked the door behind him, the click sounding loud in the quiet, and immediately reached into his pocket. He pulled out the phone, holding it in both hands as he walked over to his bed and sat down cross-legged on the mattress.

The screen was still dark, but when he pressed his thumb against the power button, it lit up instantly, as if it had been waiting for him. The main screen looked the same as before—clean, simple, no icons, no apps. But right there in the centre, new text had appeared while he was eating dinner, text he hadn’t seen until this very moment.

"System scan complete. All core functions active. Initial testing phase finished. From this moment forward, predictions will be specific, detailed, and time-stamped. No more generalities. No more guesses. You will know exactly what is going to happen, where and when."

Ethan’s heart began to race again.

He read the words over and over, his mind spinning. He had thought the first prediction was amazing, terrifying even—but this? This was something else entirely.

“Why me?” he whispered, speaking out loud even though there was no one else in the room. “Why did you come to me? Why not Jeffrey? He’s the one everyone says is special. He’s the one everyone pays attention to.”

As if it could hear him, the screen flickered, and new words appeared beneath the previous message.

"You were the one who looked. You were the one who stopped. You were the one who chose to see, even when you were afraid. That is why."

Ethan stared at the words, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. Anger, sadness, fear, but also… something else.

Something that felt like power. Something that felt like being seen.

For years, he had walked through life feeling like he didn’t matter. His parents thought he brought bad luck. The bullies at school thought he was easy prey. The other students thought he was just quiet, just invisible, just there.

But this phone didn’t think that. It knew who he was. It knew what he had done. It had chosen him.

And now, it was telling him that things were going to change.

He looked up from the screen and glanced around his small room. Posters hung crookedly on the walls, his books stacked haphazardly on the shelf, his school bag thrown in the corner. It was the room of a boy who felt like he didn’t belong anywhere.

But now, he held something that belonged only to him. Something that gave him knowledge no one else in the world possessed.

He looked back down at the display, his fingers hovering just above the glass.

“Show me,” he thought. “Show me what happens next. Show me everything.”

The screen shifted again, the text fading away and being replaced by a single line, bright and clear and impossible to ignore:

"Prediction 002: Tomorrow at 10:17 AM, during History lesson, Mr. Hale will announce a surprise test. The questions will come entirely from Chapter 4 of the textbook. Time confirmed. Accuracy guaranteed."

Ethan let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for years.

He didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t know if this was a gift or a curse. He didn’t know if it would save him or destroy him.

But he knew one thing for sure.

He wasn’t invisible anymore.

And the future?

The future was his to read.