“Hey there. It’s me, and by me I mean you. What the hell. Why did I decide to write a letter? Nobody even writes letters anymore. I suppose it was the only logical conclusion to make, though. Anyhow, I am in grave danger, and if you do not help me I will die.”

These words were contained in a pristine envelope, addressed to my name and address. The sender was also my address, and the date was a day ago. I did recognise my scratchy handwriting and my rambling prose, but I doubted this was true. I could have just texted me, and as I am an efficient, borderline lazy, person, I would likely have done so. I didn’t remember sending a letter, so I supposed I would test my theory by texting my own number.

“Why the hell did you write a letter?"

A few moments later, I saw the ellipsis pop up on the corner of my screen. “Shit.”

I had been wrong, and my alternate self was less lazy than I was.

“Because I wanted the drama, you idiot."

Alright, that was me.

“Ok, fine. How can I help you, me?"

A moment passed. “I don’t fucking know. You’re smart, figure it out.”

“Yeah, but you’re me, so you’re smart too.”

“Bruh."

“Yeah, ‘bruh’ indeed. Now let’s think. What exactly are you endangered by, me?”

“You know Cthulhu, yes?"

“Oh shit. Really?"

“Yeah."

“Unfortunate, see you in hell buddy."

I blocked my own number.

I’m sure as hell not getting mixed up with Elder Evils.