I took slow, deliberate steps, my mind heavy with the words of the man in the suit.
"You must confront the truth of your past, even if it shatters you."
The phrase wouldn’t leave my head. I had been running in circles, trapped in this town, reliving the same moments. But now, I knew something—I wasn’t just lost. I was kept here, my memories buried under layers of fog. And if I didn’t act soon, I might forget who I was entirely.
The streets stretched endlessly before me, but my feet moved with a strange certainty, like they had walked this path before. The fog thickened, swirling around me, but I didn’t slow down.
Then, I saw it.
A house.
Not just any house—my house.
I didn’t know how I recognized it, but I did. It stood at the end of the street, worn and abandoned, but the moment I laid eyes on it, something deep inside me ached. A memory—just out of reach.
I stepped onto the porch, the wood groaning under my weight. My fingers hesitated over the rusted doorknob. Then, I turned it.
The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior coated in dust. The scent of old wood and something metallic clung to the air. I stepped inside.
Everything was untouched, frozen in time. White sheets covered the furniture. The bookshelves stood undisturbed, their spines layered in dust. I took slow steps, my gaze scanning every corner.
Then, I saw it.
A photograph, sitting on a wooden table.
I walked closer, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The frame was cracked, but the image was clear. A young boy stood between two adults—a man and a woman.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Me.
I was the boy in the picture.
But the adults’ faces—my parents’ faces—were blurred, distorted beyond recognition.
Wait. I have been in this exact situation before. There was a book shelf back then. I was with lily then, wasn''t I? Come to think of it, where is she? How long has she been gone?
A sharp pain shot through my head.
I stumbled back, gripping my temples as memories crashed into me.
Laughter. A warm voice calling my name. Hands guiding mine.
Then—
Darkness.
Cold air. The sensation of being pulled away. Shouting voices.
The memories slipped away before I could grab hold of them. My breathing was heavy as I steadied myself. I knew my parents had disappeared when I was eight. That much was clear. But why couldn’t I remember their faces? Why was the town trying so hard to erase them from my mind?
I turned to the staircase leading to the second floor. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but my gut told me the answers were up there.
Each step creaked under my weight. The hallway was just as still, just as untouched. But one door at the end of the hall was slightly out of place.
I hesitated.
Then, I pushed it open.
It was a bedroom. My bedroom.
Bookshelves lined the walls, and a small desk sat beneath a window. The air felt charged, like something was waiting for me.
Then, I saw it.
A journal, lying open on the desk.
I picked it up, my fingers brushing over the worn cover. The pages were yellowed, the handwriting rushed and uneven.
"If you find this, remember—this town is not real."
I froze.
"The people are not real. They exist only to keep you here. You are forgetting more each day, but you must not let them take everything. Find the truth. Find the exit."
A chill ran down my spine.
The final line made my hands tremble.
"They will come for you soon."
A noise echoed through the house.
I held my breath.
The air around me grew colder.
I wasn’t alone.
I clutched the journal to my chest and bolted for the stairs. As I ran, the walls seemed to shift, the shadows stretching unnaturally. The entire house felt like it was closing in.
By the time I reached the front door, the temperature had dropped so low that my breath came out in visible puffs.
But I didn’t stop.
I ran.
Out of the house, out of the street, into the town that had been trying to keep me blind.
But now, I knew the truth.
The memories weren’t fading.
They were being taken.
And if I didn’t fight to hold onto them—
I might lose myself completely.