The necklace glimmered faintly in the dying light.Elias stared at it for what felt like hours, the silver chain coiled like a serpent on his wooden floor. Every few seconds, the pendant—a small locket, shaped like a tear—caught the reflection of the fading daylight and blinked back at him.
He didn't want to touch it. He knew what it was before his mind allowed him to remember.But denial has a way of wearing thin when the truth waits just a breath away.
He crouched down slowly, his fingers trembling as they brushed the cold metal. The moment he picked it up, the house seemed to sigh.
And then—click.
The locket opened on its own.
Inside was a photograph, folded neatly to fit. The image was slightly water-damaged, but the smile was unmistakable.
A woman.Long dark hair. Eyes that held a softness he hadn't seen in years.
And standing beside her—his own face.
Younger. Happier. Whole.
The air left his lungs.
He stumbled back, clutching the locket as his memories began to stir, faint and fragmented. The photograph blurred, morphing in his shaking hands.
Rain.A forest road.Headlights through the mist.A scream that tore through the night.
He gasped and dropped the locket. It hit the floor with a metallic clink, and when it did, the photograph slid out completely.
But this time, the photo had changed.
The woman's smile was gone. Her eyes were hollow, ink-black voids staring straight through him. And faintly, behind her, the outline of the town could be seen—Hollow's End—where no one remembered tomorrow.
Elias's heart pounded violently in his chest.
He backed into the kitchen wall, his breath shallow. "No, no, no… This isn't real. None of this is real."
From somewhere behind him, a floorboard creaked.
He turned, but the kitchen was empty. Only the faint tick of the wall clock filled the silence.Tick. Tick. Tick.
The same time as always: 11:55.
He tried to calm his breathing. I just need air. I need to think.
He shoved the locket into his pocket and stepped outside.
The sky was unnaturally dim, though it was barely evening. Fog rolled through the streets like a living thing, coiling around his legs, creeping up his coat sleeves. The town was silent—but not dead. Elias could feel it breathing.
A single streetlamp flickered at the corner, beneath which stood a figure.
Mira.
The girl from the market—the only one who ever seemed to recognize him twice. She looked pale, her usual smile replaced by a quiet tremor in her lips. When she saw him, her eyes widened.
"You shouldn't be out after the festival," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. "They're looking for you."
Elias froze. "Who?"
"The ones who remember when they shouldn't."
Her words chilled him. "Mira… do you know this woman?" He pulled out the photograph with shaking hands.
Mira took one look and went pale as parchment. "Where did you get that?"
"It was in my house."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "That's Lena."
The name hit him like a strike to the chest. It was too familiar, too warm, too painful.
Mira continued, "She used to live here. Before the forgetting began. But she disappeared. The night before everything changed."
Elias's throat went dry. "When was that?"
Mira's gaze drifted toward the clock tower at the heart of town. "The night the clock stopped."
11:55.
The same time. Every day.
Mira shivered. "Some people say she's the reason it stopped. Others say… she was taken by it."
Elias's fingers tightened around the photograph. "Taken?"
Mira looked at him with a haunted expression. "The town doesn't forget by accident, Elias. It forgets on purpose. It forgets to protect itself."
"Protect itself from what?"
She hesitated. Her voice cracked when she finally answered. "From you."
The world tilted.
He stumbled back a step, his breath catching. "What did you say?"
Mira's eyes filled with tears. "I shouldn't have told you. If they hear me—"
"Mira, who are they?" Elias demanded, reaching out to her.
But before she could answer, the sound of the clock tower boomed through the fog — not the gentle chime of passing time, but a deep, hollow groan that shook the ground beneath them.
The light from the streetlamp shattered, plunging them into darkness.
Mira's scream echoed once — and when Elias spun around, she was gone.
Only her voice lingered, whispering through the fog like a prayer unraveling:
"Remember her before they do…"
Elias stood frozen, the photograph clutched tight in his hand. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He looked down at the photo again.
The woman's eyes—those black voids—were no longer looking at the camera.
They were looking at him.
And faintly, just beneath the smear of water damage, new words had appeared in handwriting he recognized as his own:
"You promised me forever. But forever ended at 11:55."
To be continued…
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