Living next door to the Darko family meant you’d gotten used to Donnie’s strange sleepwalking habits. Most nights, you’d spot him wandering aimlessly, only to find him asleep somewhere on your lawn come morning. Your dad hated it — mostly because Donnie always ended up on his precious golf course grass.

This morning was no different — except it was. When you stepped outside to wake Donnie before your dad noticed, the cool morning air hit your face and you saw him lying near the conservatory, clutching a black Sharpie. Scrawled along his arm were the cryptic numbers: 28:06:42:12.

You knelt down and shook him gently. Donnie jolted awake, confused and muttering your name, trying to piece together what had happened. Rubbing his eyes, he spoke up in a groggly voice.

"Sorry..."