A strange coincidence

At 8:17 every morning, Daniel Vale bought a coffee.

It wasn't an important coffee.

It wasn't particularly good coffee, either.

It came from a little shop called Bell & Bean, wedged between a laundromat and a locksmith on Mercer Street. The coffee was too bitter, the cups were too thin, and the barista had the unnerving habit of writing people's names incorrectly despite having known them for years.

Daniel went there because it was on his way to work.

That was all.

Until Tuesday.

At 8:17, Daniel walked through the door.

The bell above it chimed once.

"Morning," said the barista.

Daniel nodded.

"Black coffee."

The barista turned around.

"Already made."

Daniel frowned.

There was a paper cup sitting on the counter.

His name was written on it.

Not just his name.

His handwriting.

Daniel stared at the cup.

"What's that?"

The barista looked confused.

"Your coffee."

"I didn't order it."

"You always order black."

"I mean, I haven't ordered it yet."

She shrugged.

"You were going to."

Daniel laughed.

It seemed like the only appropriate response.

"Apparently."

He picked up the cup.

On the side, beneath his name, someone had written a small number.

Daniel looked at the barista.

"What's thirteen?"

She glanced at it.

"No idea."

He took the coffee anyway.

At 8:23, he spilled it on his shirt.

It happened exactly the way it always happened.

He was crossing Mercer Street while checking his phone. A cyclist swerved around a parked delivery truck. Daniel stepped backward. His heel caught the uneven pavement. The coffee tilted.

Hot liquid splashed across his white shirt.

Daniel closed his eyes.

"Of course."

The cyclist stopped.

"Sorry!"

Daniel looked up.

The cyclist was a woman wearing a yellow helmet.

She stared at him.

Then she said something strange.

"You're early."

Daniel blinked.

"What?"

She seemed confused by her own words.

"I don't know."

She hurried away.

Daniel watched her disappear into traffic.

Then he looked down at his ruined shirt.

He decided Tuesday was going to be a bad day.

He was wrong.

Tuesday was going to be a very strange day.

At 9:41, Daniel received an email from his boss.

Come to my office.

At 9:42, before Daniel could stand, his coworker Marcus leaned over the cubicle wall.

"Boss wants you."

"I know."

"You're probably getting fired."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

At 9:43, Daniel walked into his boss's office.

His boss was holding a yellow envelope.

Daniel had never seen it before.

His boss looked uncomfortable.

"I need you to take this."

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

"Then why are you giving it to me?"

"Because someone left it on my desk."

"Who?"

"Myself."

Daniel stared at him.

His boss sighed.

"Not literally. There was a note."

He handed Daniel the envelope.

On the front was Daniel's name.

In his handwriting.

Again.

Daniel's stomach tightened.

"What does the note say?"

His boss turned it over.

There was only one sentence.

You will need this at 6:13.

Daniel looked at the clock.

9:44.

"What happens at 6:13?"

"I don't know."

"Who wrote this?"

"I don't know."

Daniel opened the envelope.

Inside was a brass key.

It was old.

Heavy.

And engraved with the number 13.

Daniel picked it up.

The moment his fingers touched the metal, the lights in the office flickered.

His boss frowned.

Then the lights stabilized.

"That's weird."

Daniel put the key in his pocket.

"Yeah."

Neither of them mentioned that the clock on the wall had stopped.

At 9:44.

At lunch, Daniel told Marcus everything.

Marcus listened while eating a sandwich.

When Daniel finished, Marcus nodded thoughtfully.

"You're cursed."

"Thank you."

"Or haunted."

"Better."

"Or both."

Daniel stared at him.

Marcus took another bite.

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Yes."

"Any weird dreams?"

"No."

"Then you're probably fine."

"That's your medical opinion?"

"I'm an accountant."

"Exactly."

Marcus chewed.

Then he stopped.

"Wait."

"What?"

Marcus pointed behind Daniel.

On the wall of the restaurant was an old clock.

The second hand wasn't moving.

Daniel turned around.

The clock displayed 6:13.

Marcus swallowed.

"Okay."

Daniel stared at it.

"That's not normal."

"No."

"Do you think—"

The clock started ticking.

6:14.

Daniel turned back.

The restaurant was normal.

People were eating.

Someone laughed.

A waitress dropped a fork.

Nothing happened.

Marcus slowly returned to his sandwich.

"Maybe the universe is bad at clocks."

Daniel almost laughed.

Then his phone rang.

It was his sister.

He answered.

"Hey."

Her voice was trembling.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

He frowned.

"Why?"

There was silence.

Then she whispered:

"I just had the strangest dream."

That evening, Daniel left work at 5:52.

He walked home instead of taking the train.

He didn't know why.

Something about the day made him uncomfortable around enclosed spaces.

At 6:02, he passed Bell & Bean.

The shop was closed.

At 6:07, a black cat crossed the sidewalk in front of him.

At 6:08, a woman dropped a red umbrella.

At 6:09, a bus drove past displaying the number 13.

At 6:10, Daniel realized he was counting.

At 6:11, he stopped walking.

At 6:12, his phone vibrated.

A message.

From his own number.

Don't open the door.

Daniel stared at it.

Then someone knocked on the apartment door.

Three times.

Daniel froze.

His apartment suddenly seemed very quiet.

Another knock.

Three times.

He looked at his phone.

6:13.

The brass key in his pocket grew warm.

Daniel approached the door.

"Who is it?"

No answer.

He looked through the peephole.

The hallway was empty.

Then he noticed something on the floor.

A yellow envelope.

He opened the door.

The hallway remained empty.

Daniel picked up the envelope.

His hands were shaking.

His name was written on it.

His handwriting.

Inside was a photograph.

It showed Daniel standing outside Bell & Bean.

He was holding a coffee.

The photograph had been taken that morning.

On the back, someone had written:

You have eleven minutes.

Daniel looked at his watch.

6:14.

He stared at the photograph again.

Something was wrong.

The photograph showed him wearing a white shirt.

Not the stained one he'd worn that morning.

A clean shirt.

And behind him, reflected in the coffee shop window, was a woman.

Yellow helmet.

The cyclist.

Daniel's heart began pounding.

He turned the photograph over.

There was more writing.

She knows what happens at 6:25.

Daniel ran.

He didn't know where he was going.

He simply followed the only clue he had.

Bell & Bean.

The city felt different now.

Too empty.

Too quiet.

He reached the coffee shop at 6:19.

The door was locked.

Daniel pulled the brass key from his pocket.

There was no lock on the front door.

He had never noticed that before.

Yet when he pressed the key against the glass, something clicked.

A lock appeared.

Daniel stared.

Then he inserted the key.

The door opened.

Inside, the coffee shop was dark.

Except for one light.

It illuminated a table in the corner.

Two chairs.

A coffee cup.

And the woman with the yellow helmet.

She was sitting there.

Daniel stopped.

"You."

She looked up.

"You came."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Elena."

"Why do you know me?"

"I don't."

Daniel stared.

"You said I was early."

"I know."

"Why?"

She looked at the clock.

6:21.

"Because the last time I saw you, you were late."

Daniel's blood went cold.

"The last time?"

Elena nodded.

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"You never do."

Daniel stepped closer.

"What does that mean?"

Elena looked tired.

"Every time it happens, you forget."

"What happens?"

She looked at the coffee cup.

"6:25."

Daniel sat down.

"What happens at 6:25?"

Elena reached into her coat.

She pulled out a photograph.

She placed it on the table.

Daniel looked at it.

His breath stopped.

It was a picture of Bell & Bean.

The same table.

The same two chairs.

The same woman.

The same Daniel.

But this Daniel was older.

Much older.

His hair was gray.

His face was lined.

And there was blood on his shirt.

Written across the bottom of the photograph were four words.

The thirteenth time worked.

Daniel looked at Elena.

"What's the thirteenth time?"

She didn't answer.

The clock ticked.

6:22.

6:23.

6:24.

Daniel stood.

"What happens now?"

Elena looked at him with something resembling pity.

"You're going to hear a bell."

Daniel listened.

Nothing.

Then—

Ding.

The bell above the door rang.

Daniel turned.

Nobody entered.

The door slowly closed.

Ding.

The bell rang again.

The lights went out.

Daniel heard Elena whisper:

"Don't look at yourself."

Too late.

A faint glow appeared behind him.

The coffee shop window reflected the room.

Daniel looked into it.

He saw himself.

Standing behind the table.

But the reflection wasn't wearing his clothes.

It was wearing the bloodstained shirt.

Older.

Gray-haired.

Dead-eyed.

The reflection smiled.

Daniel didn't.

The reflected Daniel raised one hand.

On his palm was the number 13.

Then he spoke.

Not aloud.

But Daniel heard him.

You finally noticed.

The clock struck 6:25.

Everything disappeared.

Daniel woke up on the floor.

Morning sunlight streamed through the window.

His alarm was ringing.

7:30.

He sat up.

His head hurt.

For several seconds he couldn't remember why.

Then he saw the coffee cup beside his bed.

Black coffee.

His name written on it.

And beneath his name:

Daniel stared at it.

His phone buzzed.

A text from his sister.

Are you okay? I had the strangest dream about you.

Daniel frowned.

He stood.

He walked to the bathroom.

Looked in the mirror.

His reflection looked normal.

Young.

Tired.

Alive.

He showered.

Dressed.

Left the apartment.

At 8:17, he walked into Bell & Bean.

The bell above the door chimed once.

The barista smiled.

"Morning."

Daniel nodded.

"Black coffee."

She handed him a cup.

"Already made."

Daniel stared at it.

His name was written on the side.

His handwriting.

Beneath it:

Daniel slowly looked up.

The barista's smile disappeared.

"You remember?"

Daniel swallowed.

"No."

She looked relieved.

"Good."

He took the coffee.

As he turned to leave, he noticed someone sitting at the corner table.

A woman.

Yellow helmet beside her.

Daniel stopped.

The woman looked up.

Elena.

She smiled.

Daniel walked toward her.

"You know me."

Elena nodded.

"Yes."

"How many times have we done this?"

She looked at the clock.

8:18.

Then she looked back at him.

"Twelve."

Daniel sat down.

"Twelve?"

"Today will be the thirteenth."

Daniel felt cold.

"What happens on the thirteenth?"

Elena smiled sadly.

"That's the strange part."

"What?"

"We don't know."

Daniel stared at her.

"Why not?"

"Because every version of us who reached it forgot."

She slid something across the table.

A brass key.

Daniel stared at it.

On the key was a number.

Not thirteen.

Fourteen.

He looked at Elena.

She whispered:

"Maybe the coincidence isn't that this keeps happening."

Daniel looked toward the window.

Outside, a cyclist wearing a yellow helmet rode past.

"Then what is it?"

Elena's expression changed.

"It may be that someone is trying to make sure it happens."

Daniel looked back at the key.

For the first time that morning, he noticed something engraved beneath the number.

A date.

Tomorrow's date.

His heart stopped.

Because beneath the date were three words.

Daniel Vale dies.

The bell above the door rang.

Once.

Then again.

And somewhere, very far away, something began counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

Daniel looked at Elena.

"Do you hear that?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

"How high does it count?"

Elena's face went pale.

"I've never heard it get past twelve."

The bell rang a third time.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Daniel tightened his grip around the brass key.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

The clock above the counter began moving backward.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Then it stopped.

Daniel held his breath.

The bell rang one final time.

Thirteen.

And every person in the coffee shop turned toward him.

Every single one smiled.

Except Elena.

She was crying.

Daniel looked down at the coffee cup in his hands.

For the first time, the number beneath his name had changed.

It wasn't 13.

It was 14.

Daniel looked up.

The entire coffee shop had vanished.

The streets outside were gone.

The city was gone.

There was only darkness.

And, somewhere within it, a voice spoke.

His own voice.

Older.

Terrified.

And very close.

"Daniel."

He turned.

"Yes?"

The voice whispered:

"Now you remember."

Daniel's eyes widened.

Because suddenly he did.

All twelve mornings.

All twelve coffees.

All twelve deaths.

All twelve times he had noticed the same coincidence.

And all twelve times, he had believed he was discovering it for the first time.

The darkness shifted.

Something enormous moved beyond it.

Daniel finally understood.

The coincidence had never been that the same things kept happening.

The coincidence was that he kept noticing them.

Because something was allowing him to notice.

And now that he had noticed for the thirteenth time—

Whatever had been waiting for him could finally see him, too.

Daniel looked at the brass key in his hand.

The number fourteen began to glow.

Then a door appeared in the darkness.

Daniel didn't know where it led.

But he knew one thing.

Tomorrow, at 8:17, he would buy a coffee.

And this time—

he would remember why.