Flowers from 1970 // reupload

1.2

It was the next day. 

George brought up a bowl of cereal to his room to eat. He seemed to stare at his cellphone, waiting for calls and texts of "how are you?" from people that never seem to come. 

He booted up his computer to watch videos, when suddenly the old telephone started ringing again. George hesitated for a bit. Did he really want to talk to a crazy person again? Then again, it wasn't like there was anyone else that would talk to him. 

He sighed then picked up the phone. "Hel-" 

"How did you know." The same man said into the phone. 

"What?" 

"About Tubbo. How someone was going to attempt to kill him today." He asked seriously.

George rolled his eyes, "I told you. Everyone in the state knows, we learned about it in school and everything. Didn't you? Also, why do you keep saying 'today?'" 

"What's the date for you?" The man asked George. 

"Uh..." George tapped his phone to check the date, "July 28, 2020." 

No response. Just heavy breathing that sounded like hyperventilating. After a while the man spoke again softly, "It's July 28, 1970 here." Now this was confirmation that whoever George was talking to was crazy. 

"Look if this is some kind of prank I'm just going to hang up. This isn't my phone and I'm not 'Sap' or whoever that is." 

"WAIT." The man yelled, "Do you live on 821 Manburg street?" 

George started freaking out. The man knew his address. He was going to end the call and contact police or- or- "Don't freak out!" The man read his mind, "That's my old house. Well, it's my 'old house' for you but I live there right now. Does the upstairs bedroom still have the hideous flower wallpaper?" 

"Yes." George answered hesitantly. 

"That means they haven't changed it since I lived there! Give me a sec." 

The man was silent for a while until George heard a clicking sound. It was a pen uncapping. 

"What are you doing?" George asked. 

"Look in the corner of the wall, near the window." The man told him. 

"Why-" 

"Just do it." 

George heard what sounded like scribbling on the other side of the phone. George hesitated, but walked anyway to the corner of the room, "What am I supposed to be looking at-" Suddenly, old worn out pen marks started appearing on the wall slowly, like burning wood. "Hi" it said. 

"Do you see that?" The man on the other side of the phone asked, before audibly capping his pen again. 

"Y-yes." George was hyperventilating and clutching his chest. This surely was not possible. 

"Who are you?" "Who are you?" They both asked at the same time, but the man answered first, "My name's Cl- Dream." 

"Dream?" George raised a brow. 

"It's a nickname. I don't want to give you my real name yet since you could be some government spy or something." 

George chuckled, "Well I'm George." 

"So tell me George, who wins the world series next year? Asking for a friend." Dream asked, half jokingly. 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." George responded, "Well technically I can, but morally it's pretty wrong." 

"Darn, thought that was going to work." Dream asked, "So tell me about the future. Wait does that sound nerdy? Hm, tell me about 2020." 

"Well..."