PUT IT BACK

One moment there was nothing, and the next – there it was. A small, black notebook sat neatly in the centre of the previously unoccupied desk. Mark paused as he glanced down, his eyes widening.

He looked over his shoulder and around his home office. He knew this was a fruitless gesture, seeing as he lived alone and no one else had access to his apartment, but it seemed like the right thing to do in the circumstances. What else do you do when something appears out of nowhere?

Cautiously, Mark reached out to touch the notebook. The fantasist in him almost wanted there to be some sort of dramatic anomaly as he did so; a tingle or a spark, just a hint of something unusual. But as his fingers touched the book he felt nothing but the dull murmur of mundanity. It was just a normal notebook, nothing special about it.

In fact on closer inspection, it was a familiar notebook. This was the one Mark had received as a birthday present from Julia last year, he was sure of it. She always got him notebooks, he supposed as a way to try and urge him to keep notes – which of course he never did. Organisation wasn’t something he was ever good at, and he maintained that it was too late to start now.

He recalled the last time he had seen this particular notebook was the afternoon of his last birthday, when he had placed it in the top drawer of his cabinet. As far as he remembered he had never even opened it, and would have had no reason to use it since then. Yet there it was, having appeared on his desk out of thin air.

The feeling of mundanity passed and was quickly replaced by a strong sense of unease as Mark started to fret about what had just happened. He must have put it there himself, but he had no recollection of doing so. He couldn’t even think of why he would have picked up the book in the first place. Was he losing it? His grandfather had Alzheimer's, was this how it began? A knot started to turn in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated this potential degradation of his mind.

The only thing Mark could think to do was put it back where it belonged. He stood up and carried the book over to his cabinet. As he walked he absentmindedly flicked through the off-white pages. His brow furrowed as he opened the first two pages wider, and an even greater feeling of unease washed over him.

04 09 23 30 35 48 11

The string of numbers was written in pencil across the centre of the page. Mark stopped walking and stared at them intently. The handwriting was unmistakably his.

Mark turned to the next page and furrowed his brow even deeper as he stepped back and lowered himself back into his chair.

PUT IT BACK

Mark mouthed the words silently to himself. “Put it back.” It was scrawled in capital letters across the entirety of the next page, once again in his handwriting. He quickly closed the book and placed it in his lap as he tried to concentrate.

He had written this, there was no doubt about it, but he had no clue as to what it meant or when he had done it. Not only that, he had then clearly placed the book on his desk without any knowledge of doing so. The knot in his stomach grew tighter. Had he blacked out? Did he sleepwalk? He checked the clock. It was seven minutes past two, ten minutes since he’d last checked it. There had been no lost time. He had no answers to his questions.

He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. A thin layer of sweat formed across his forehead as he stressed over this mystery. He opened the book again.

04 09 23 30 35 48 11

A phone number? No, not a phone number. Code? No. He wouldn’t write himself a code without knowing what it meant, even if he was losing his mind. Or perhaps that is exactly what someone who was losing their mind would do. He didn’t understand.

It was too much to bear thinking about. Mark dragged himself out of the chair and walked straight to the cabinet. He opened the top drawer and was about to put the notebook back where it belonged when he saw something else he didn’t understand. A small, black notebook sat exactly where he had left it on the afternoon of his last birthday. The same small, black notebook Mark was holding in his left hand.

The unease swelled inside him as he glanced between the two identical books. His hands felt heavy and loose, and the book slipped from his grip onto the floor.

Living alone was clearly taking its toll on him. The whole thing must have been a dream. A dream or a hallucination or… Mark stopped himself. There was no use speculating. He decided some fresh air would do him good.

The warmth of the late spring sun hit Mark the instant he stepped outside, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of going out sooner on such a nice day. He closed his eyes to bask in it for just a second as he decided where he should walk. He inhaled slowly and deeply, taking in the floral scent of the air. A sharp breeze rustled at his hair, momentarily stealing the warmth from him, and he began to walk. He had no destination in mind, just the need to get away from his apartment for as long as he could.

After an hour or so of his aimless trip, Mark smacked his lips and realised how dry his mouth was. He remembered there was a small convenience store a few blocks from where he was, so he took the next right and started to turn back on himself and head towards it.

The drinks cabinet was bursting with brightly coloured bottles and cans all vying for his attention. Ignoring them all, he reached down to the bottom shelf for a bottle of water with a plain white label. That was more his style.

Mark walked over to the counter to pay when he noticed a display for the local lottery draw. What the hell, he thought, he could do with some good luck. He plucked a blank ticket from the stand and picked up the miniature pen attached to the display. As he considered which numbers to circle on the ticket he froze, a sudden coldness took hold as if the blood was being drained from his body. The feeling of unease was back. It didn’t make sense, but something about it felt… right. He blinked and without hesitation circled the numbers on the ticket.

04 09 23 30 35 48 11

As he left the shop Mark couldn’t help but laugh at himself and the ridiculous situation. The joy quickly subsided and for the rest of his slow walk back he did his best to think about something else.

The rest of the evening went by in the blur. He didn’t have much of an appetite but forced himself to eat. He tried to do some reading but nothing would stick in his mind. He called it a night.

Mark climbed into bed and lay his heavy head on the pillow. The strangeness of the day had been surprisingly exhausting, and it wasn’t long before he fell into a deep sleep.

He woke to a bright beam of light pointed at him, reaching through a gap in the curtains where he hadn’t drawn them tightly enough. Mark squinted and clumsily reached his hand up to shield his eyes. Another sunny day at least, he thought.

Mornings weren’t when Mark was at his best, and it always took him a while to get going. He put on a pot of coffee and idly swiped at his smartphone to check the news. A disgraced councillor. A break in. A street being renamed. Local lottery results.

Local lottery results. The memory of yesterday’s events came flooding back. Hesitantly, Mark tapped the link and the knot in his stomach instantly returned.

04

That could just be a coincidence.

09

What are the odds?

23

No, this can’t be right.

30

No. No no no.

35

This can’t be happening.

48

It can’t be.

11

Mark scrolled further. The jackpot was $20,000. The organisers believed there was one winner.

Mark put down his phone and leant back against the kitchen counter. He shut his eyes for a long time, the knot twisting and turning, yet try as he might he couldn’t suppress the smile that crept across his face.

He thought of the small, black notebook. He knew now that he had written the numbers. He had written the note. But he also knew that he hadn’t done either of those things. Or, at least, he hadn’t done them yet. Slowly, Mark stepped towards his office.

Mark opened the cabinet drawer and stared at the notebook. He reached his hands towards it and picked it up. The weight and the texture of the cover was identical, and he had no doubt that this was exactly the same book he had picked up from his desk yesterday, the same one that currently lay splayed on the floor where he had dropped it. A shiver ran through his whole body. His legs wouldn’t stop shaking as he sat in his chair.

“This is crazy,” he muttered. It was crazy. But it felt right.

He fumbled as he reached over to pick up a pen – no. A pencil. It was written in pencil.

He exhaled slowly until all the air was emptied from his lungs as he opened the book to the first page and hovered the pencil above it. It made a satisfying scritch scratch as he wrote, doing his best to align each number to the thin black grid printed on the page.

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Without trying, they were perfectly identical in every way to how he had seen them in the book yesterday. Mark closed his eyes, leaving them shut for several seconds as he tried to process what was happening. The room started to spin as if he was drunk. He steadied himself against the desk and tried to regain his composure.

He turned the page, and knew what he needed to write. Instructions to his past self, or else this might not work. Yesterday’s him might not understand. He had to be clear and firm.

PUT IT BACK

The characters filled the page. It was clear. He would understand, he knew he would.

Mark slowly and carefully began to place the notebook on the desk, exactly where he had found it the previous day. His hands let go and he blinked in disbelief. One moment there it was, and the next – nothing.