It was a cool spring evening as I walked up a winding trail near an old, picturesque village in England. My friend and I, worn out from a long hike, were searching for a place to rest. Just as we were about to reach the peak, a sign appeared on the path, its worn letters warning: “Turn back now, or continue if you dare.” My friend—a daredevil by nature—smirked and marched ahead, ignoring my quiet urging to head back to our hotel. The sun was slipping below the horizon, and shadows thickened around us.

As we ventured deeper into the forested path, our flashlights pierced the dark. Somewhere ahead, we heard voices—soft hushing sounds and quiet, mournful weeping. Moments later, a strange group passed us: three women and a man. They glanced back, their faces twisted into expressions that were somehow both sorrowful and smiling. One of them—a tall man with tear-streaked green eyes and messy blonde hair—paused and whispered, “Be cautious of the phone booth at the peak… It tells you your future.”

My friend and I exchanged nervous smiles, her laughter echoing against the silent trees. When we finally reached the summit, a red phone booth stood on the edge of the peak, its yellow light glowing faintly from within. The view was hauntingly beautiful, and I couldn’t resist snapping a few pictures. At some point, one of us suggested stepping inside, though I couldn’t remember whose idea it was. But as I entered the cramped space, an eerie silence swallowed me; even my friend’s voice faded outside the booth. The air was thick, carrying the stale scent of sweat. Before me, on the wall, instructions were scrawled in a shaky hand:

1. Pick up the phone.

2. You may dial anyone, or wait for the “Voice.”

3. If you wait for the Voice, DO NOT respond.

4. Let it tell your future.

5. HANG UP immediately after the voice ends.

I hesitated, then picked up the phone and waited. Minutes later, a voice—strangely like my own but colder, distant—broke the silence. “Don’t ask questions. Just listen.” It spoke of a strained future with my friend, urging that we remain close, even if this trip would be our last. And then it said something about my dream job in the States… The voice continued, but the rest blurred as it abruptly cut off. I stood there, shaken, feeling a strange mix of joy and sadness as my friend’s face appeared in the dim glow, her bright eyes confused.

She insisted on entering the booth herself, despite my warning. I watched through the tiny window as she read the instructions, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock. When she emerged, her face was pale, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “It said this will be our last trip together,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “But it’s lying… it has to be lying.”

We hugged tightly, both of us shaken. As we descended, we passed an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand up the path. They stopped, smiling kindly, and asked if we’d used the phone booth. We nodded, and they chuckled. “Don’t feel bound by what it told you,” the man said. “We’ve ignored half our predictions, and here we are—still happy, still together.”

With those words echoing in our minds, we walked back to the village, feeling the weight of a mystery we couldn’t fully understand, yet sensing the power to shape our future lay within us—not a haunted phone booth perched on a lonely mountain peak.