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MidReal Story
Moonlit Whispers: A Lunar Warning
Scenario: It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes me up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". I have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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Alessandra Delaney
curious and skeptical, friends with Justin and Christine, short black hair, green eyes, intelligent and cautious
Christine Li
spiritual and empathetic, friends with Alessandra and Justin, long curly hair, blue eyes, intuitive and compassionate
Justin Jensen
techsavvy and logical, friends with Alessandra and Christine, tall with glasses, brown hair, analytical and brave
Official Alert: DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON
I woke up to a deluge of messages.
My friends back home were texting me, asking me to turn on the TV.
A quick scan of the headlines made it seem like mass hysteria, so I clicked on the first link.
Breaking News: Official Alert Crashes National Emergency System
An official alert was sent out today warning all citizens not to look at the moon under any circumstances. The message was sent out through the national emergency system, which is typically used to warn of natural disasters or terrorist attacks.
The alert caused the system to crash and phones to go silent for several minutes.
Experts are working to figure out what caused the glitch.
In the meantime, theories abound.
Some have pointed to a recent hack of the national system by a group claiming to be Chinese.
Others have said it must be a test—what other explanation could there be for warning people not to look at the moon?
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts, my fingers shaking.
"Mom & Dad" was nestled between a missed call from Justin and a text from Christine.
I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.
3:17 AM.
I paced back and forth across the linoleum floor as I listened to the ring.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three.
"Hello?"
My mom's voice was groggy, like she'd been woken up by the call.
"Mom, did you get an alert?"
I blurted out, faster than I'd intended.
"What kind of alert?"
She sounded more awake now, but still confused.
"It said not to look at the moon."
I pulled up the screenshot of the message on my phone so I could read it verbatim to her.
"It said—"
"Wait, what's going on?" my dad's voice boomed in the background, his phone suddenly blaring with the same alert.
"Why would they tell us not to look at the moon?" my mom asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I don't know, but it can't be good," I replied, trying to keep my own fear in check.
"Maybe it's not the moon itself," my dad suggested, his tone turning serious, "but something that's about to happen around it."
My heart pounded in my chest as I pictured them walking to the bedroom window.
"Please, don't check outside," I interrupted, gripping my phone even tighter.
"Just stay away from the windows until sunrise."
"Well, we have that big security light in the backyard," my mom started to say, but I cut her off.
"Promise me you'll stay in bed."
My dad's silence made me worry.
He was always the curious type, and I knew he'd want to look for himself.
I could hear rustling through the phone, like they were getting out of bed.
Then footsteps, growing fainter with each passing second.
"Dad? Are you there?"
The line crackled as he moved the phone back to his ear.
"I'm here," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution.
"Listen, there's something else," I hesitated, knowing this would change everything.
"I heard a rumor that people who looked at the moon... they haven't been the same since."
I gripped the phone even tighter, waiting for his response.
I could hear his breathing change, becoming shallower and quicker.
"Are you okay?"
My mom's voice came through muffled, like she was holding the phone away from her ear.
"What's wrong?" she asked him.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice still tight with concern.
"I just need to sit down."
"Just stay in your room," I pleaded, my throat growing tight.
"Board up the windows if you can."
He started to say something about the neighbor's house, but I cut him off.
"Don't look outside, not even through the curtains."
I heard more rustling through the phone, then the sound of their bedroom door closing and a chair scraping across the floor.
"We're blocking the door," my mom whispered into the phone.
"I'll drive over as soon as it's light," I promised, "but you have to swear not to peek outside until then."
"Okay," my dad said finally, his voice still tight with worry.
"I promise."
"Swear it three times," I insisted, knowing that was what it would take to convince him. "I swear... I swear... I swear," he repeated, each word heavy with determination.
"Okay," I said finally, feeling a small sense of relief wash over me.
"Just stay safe until sunrise. Then I'll be there."
I hung up the phone and collapsed onto the couch, my heart still pounding in my chest.
3:42 AM.
I paced back and forth across the darkened living room, my phone clutched tightly in my hand.
The stream of texts had continued unabated since the alert, each one echoing the same message.
But now, the numbers sending them were no longer random - they were local.
Mrs. Peterson from the library.
My old high school teacher, Mr. Johnson.
The barista who always poured too much syrup into my latte.
Each message urged me to look outside, to behold the beauty of the moon hanging low in the night sky.
My hands shook as I blocked number after number, trying to stem the flow of messages that seemed to be coming from all directions at once.
I pulled the thick winter curtains tighter over the windows, securing them with clothespins from my kitchen.
The sound of a car alarm blared outside, followed by screaming and what sounded like shattering glass.
I turned off my phone, knowing it was the only way to silence the growing chorus.
I had already covered the windows in my bedroom, and the only other room with a view of the outside was the living room.
But even with the curtains pulled tight, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me from just beyond the edge of perception.
I paced back and forth across the room, trying to distract myself from the growing sense of unease.
As I turned by my bookshelf, my foot caught on a loose floorboard.
I stumbled, my sock catching on the edge of the board.
Curiosity piqued, I knelt down to investigate.
It was an old house, and I'd never noticed this particular board before.
I ran my fingers along the edge, feeling for any hidden catch or lever.
The wood was worn smooth, but as I pressed down on one corner, it gave slightly beneath my hand.
I worked my fingers into the gap, prying it up slowly.
The air that wafted out was stale and musty, carrying a faint scent of decay.
My heart pounded in my chest as I reached into the gap, feeling around for whatever was hidden there.
My fingers brushed against something soft and supple - leather, worn to a fine sheen. I managed to get a grip on it, and with a surge of adrenaline, I pulled it free from its hiding place.
It was an old journal, bound in a dusty brown leather that felt like parchment beneath my fingers.
The cover creaked as I opened it, releasing a faint cloud of dust into the air.
The pages were yellowed and crackled as I turned them over, each one filled with handwriting that seemed to dance across the paper in frantic loops and scrawls.
I shone my phone's flashlight onto the first page, squinting to make out the words in the dim light.
"1987," I read aloud to myself, my voice barely above a whisper.
The date seemed to leap off the page at me - exactly thirty years ago tonight.
I flipped through the pages quickly, scanning for any mention of what was happening outside.
And then I saw it - "Emergency alert," scrawled across two pages in bold black ink. "They're sending messages," I breathed, my eyes scanning down through the text frantically.
"Exactly like tonight."
The words blurred together as tears welled up in my eyes - tears of fear mixed with relief that I wasn't alone in this strange night.
I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the journal open on my lap.
My hands shook as I scanned the next page, the writer's words growing more controlled here.
The panicked scrawls gave way to neat, deliberate script - a set of instructions, laid out in a series of numbered steps.
1. Gather salt.
Enough to encircle the entire house.
2. Mirrors - at least four, but more if possible.
3. Red string or twine.
Enough to tie around each window frame.
4. Position mirrors in each corner of the room, angled to reflect away from windows and doors.
A loud crash echoed through the night air outside, making me jump.
But I forced myself to keep reading, my eyes scanning down through the list with growing urgency.
5. Complete the ritual before dawn breaks.
6. Do not look outside until sunrise.
7. Repeat as necessary until messages cease.
I felt a cold draft brush across my skin, and I realized that I'd left a window open in my bedroom.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the journal and shoving it into my back pocket as I made my way upstairs.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an unearthly glow over everything it touched. As I reached my bedroom door, another emergency alert buzzed through my phone - this one with coordinates attached, pointing to a location downtown.
I hesitated, staring at the coordinates flashing on my screen.
"Are you going to check it out?" a voice asked from the shadows of my room.
I spun around, heart racing, to find my brother standing there, his face pale and eyes wide with fear.
"What are you doing here?"
I asked, clutching the journal tightly in my hand.
Mike shouldn't be here - he lived three hours away in Portland, and there was no way he could have driven here that fast.
And then I remembered the coordinates on my phone, and the strange feeling that something was watching me from outside.
Something was very wrong tonight.
The journal trembled in my grip as I took a step backward, remembering the writer's warning about people acting strangely tonight.
"Are you going to check it out?" my brother asked again, his voice flat and mechanical.
He took a step closer to me, his eyes darting toward the open window behind my back.
I felt a surge of fear mixed with confusion - what was Mike doing here?
And why was he acting so strange?
I tried to move around him, but he kept pace with me, his eyes fixed on the window.
"Mike," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"What are you doing?"
His gaze flickered toward me for a moment, his eyes empty and black as coal.
Then they snapped back to the window, his hand reaching out to pull the curtain. "Don't," I said, lunging forward to stop him.
But he was too quick, and his fingers closed around the fabric before I could grab it.
I tried to pull him back, but he was surprisingly strong - his grip on the curtain unyielding as he pulled it open with a flourish.
"Look," he said, his voice eerily calm as the moonlight flooded the room.
I shielded my eyes, feeling an inexplicable pull toward the window despite every instinct screaming to look away.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he murmured, his gaze locked on the glowing orb in the sky, as if entranced by something I couldn't see.
