Lost Town, Found Trouble
It started with a missing town. A journalist’s dream, really—mystery, intrigue, and the kind of story that could finally get my editor to stop looking at me like I was the human equivalent of unsalted crackers.
That’s how I, Kitt Remington—award-winning (once, in college) investigative journalist—found myself staring at an old, dog-eared map with a town circled in red ink. A town that, according to every updated map, database, and GPS system in existence, didn’t exist.
That should have been my first clue to turn back. But as we already know, common sense is a thing for people with stable incomes and a healthy fear of the unknown. So, with my dented sedan, a half-charged phone, and a level of confidence usually reserved for men named Chad, I drove into oblivion.
The Town That Wasn’t
To be fair, it looked like a normal town. Too normal, actually, like a film set for a ‘50s sitcom. Quaint little houses, a general store, a diner called “Mabel’s” with the classic flickering neon sign. The people were…odd. Not horror movie odd, but the kind of unsettling you can’t quite put your finger on. They smiled too much, blinked too little, and had a way of answering my questions like they were running customer service for an eldritch god.
“Disappeared? No, no, dear,” said the elderly man at the general store, his voice coated in the kind of warmth that made you instinctively clutch your wallet. “We’ve always been here.”
“But—”
“Always.”
That’s when I noticed it. The underlying hum beneath their words, like a shared script. The way they all seemed to know me, despite my very unremarkable face never having graced this place before.
And then there was the clock. A massive, ancient thing in the town square. It read 11:59. I checked my watch. 11:59. The diner clock? 11:59.
A town frozen in time.
The Vanishing Act
My investigation took a turn when I found the records office—or what was left of it. The shelves were stacked with files on people who had vanished. All dated exactly ten years apart.
There was a pattern. And at the bottom of that pattern was me.
There it was, in old, typewritten ink: Kitt Remington. Missing since 2014.
Impossible.
I stepped back, knocking over a stack of old files, and that’s when I saw it. A mirror. Cracked, faded, and yet, undeniably showing a version of me that wasn’t quite right. My hair was longer. My face thinner. My clothes? Not the ones I came in with.
The pieces clicked together so violently; I nearly heard them snap.
The Loop
The townspeople gathered outside the records office, watching. Not angry, not scared. Just…waiting.
“You found it,” Mabel said, stepping forward, the neon diner sign buzzing behind her like a warning.
“What is this?” My voice was steady, but my heart was sprinting like it had a personal vendetta against my ribs.
“A reminder.”
And then, the clock struck midnight.
The town blurred, like a tape being rewound at an impossible speed. Buildings reset, people flickered, and my vision tunneled. I felt myself being pulled back, forced into the cycle again.
Then I was in my car, staring at an old, dog-eared map. A town circled in red ink.
A town that didn’t exist.
And the worst part?
I never remembered.
But they did.
And they were waiting.
