In a city where time bends and twists like a broken compass, Asher was about to meet a man who could unwrite his very existence.
Problem? That man wasn't supposed to be real.
Location: The Back Alley – 11:57 PM
The moment Asher stepped out of the library, his feet felt heavier. The old stones beneath his boots seemed to pulse faintly, like they remembered something he didn't. The air had grown denser, thicker—as though the atmosphere itself had weight, pressing against him, daring him to take another step.
The world around him seemed to vibrate, like someone had just dialed the universe's static to an unbearable frequency.
He paused.
The city never truly slept, but tonight it felt like it was pretending to. Buildings loomed like watchers. The sky was cloudy, save for a sliver of jagged moonlight that sliced through like a broken blade. It wasn't right. That crescent—it reminded him of something. Or someone.
Rachel.
Why can't I remember the last time I saw her smile? The thought cut deeper than he expected.
He tried to shake it, but it clung like cobwebs in the corners of his mind. The feeling that everything—everything—was off kept returning, heavier each time.
Answers.
He needed answers.
The Black Key. The rewrite. The girl from the morgue. The fire. They all led back to a single name whispered across redacted files and dream fragments—
The Man Who Wrote Tuesday.
A paper bird fluttered in his hand. Frayed at the edges, pulsing faintly like it had a heartbeat of its own. It twitched once and took off, folding midair like origami obeying invisible fingers. It drifted, slow and deliberate, guiding him forward.
The alley gave way to a hidden stairwell, and at its bottom sat a door he was certain had never existed.
Above it blinked a cracked neon sign: "The Missing Hour."
He hesitated only a moment.
Then stepped inside.
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Inside The Missing Hour
The air was thick with smoke. Not the kind you'd expect in a bar, but the kind that made you feel like time itself was choking the room. Every face in the place was slightly blurred at the edges, like the world had forgotten them. There was a tall man in the corner booth, and the chair opposite him was… empty.
Asher sat down.
The man smiled—a sharp, too-perfect smile. His hair was white, but his eyes gleamed like they had never seen the passage of years.
"Ah, Asher Blackwood. You found me." His voice was rich and unsettlingly warm, like the sound of a record playing backward. "Took you long enough. Not many are brave enough to enter this part of time."
"You're the one who's been messing with my reality," Asher said, no humor in his voice.
The man leaned back, watching Asher intently. He tapped his fingers on the table.
"Messing? No, no, I don't mess with time. I simply… edit." He paused, enjoying the silence. "You see, time isn't linear, Asher. It's more like a web, fragile and tangled. Some people—some things—have the ability to shift it."
"I'm not here for philosophy lessons," Asher growled. "I need to know why I keep dying. Why I can't remember my past clearly. Why I—"
"—why you don't belong in this timeline?"
Asher froze. The man's voice felt too familiar now.
The man smiled again, a flash of amusement crossing his features. > "I've watched you unravel, Asher. It's fascinating, really. You're a ghost in this world, a mistake that someone tried to correct, but... failed."
Asher slammed his hand down on the table. > "Tell me the truth. What the hell happened to me?"
The man didn't flinch. He just tilted his head, almost pitying Asher.
"Do you remember the fire?" he asked. "The one you thought killed you?"
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Flashback Fragment: The Fire
A sudden rush.
Asher couldn't breathe. Smoke clawed down his throat. The heat was unbearable. His skin screamed. Pain blurred into a haze of red and black. Everything collapsed inward.
Then—movement. A figure. Someone stepped through the inferno, untouched. Their outline shimmered, wrong, like static on flesh.
The fire stopped.
And so did everything else.
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Creepy Event #6: The Repeating Clock
The clock behind the bar struck twelve.
Dong.
A flicker.
Dong.
Another flicker.
Then again.
And again.
Twelve... twelve... twelve... twelve...
It sped up. Faster. Louder. Each chime felt like it was splitting his skull. Then—
Silence.
The bar froze. Patrons mid-laugh, frozen like mannequins. A bottle hovered in the bartender's hand. A fly hung in the air.
Asher couldn't move.
The man across from him didn't blink.
"You must understand time," he said gently. "Or it will devour you."
Asher gritted his teeth.
"There was a shadow in the fire. Who was it?"
The man tilted his head.
"That is a longer story. One you've yet to finish." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But your real question isn't about the fire."
Asher tensed.
"It's about who made you."
His heart stopped.
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The Truth About the Rewrite
"You weren't meant to wake up," the man said. "The rewrite... it was an error. A fracture in the narrative. Someone tampered. Pulled you back from a timeline that had already buried you."
Asher swallowed, but his throat felt like sand.
"Who?"
"They tried to erase you. But someone else—someone very determined—rewrote your ending."
The man leaned forward. His eyes flared—silver and endless.
"But memory is a lock, Asher. And you were never meant to have the key."
He paused.
"But now that you do…"
A whisper in the dark.
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Creepy Event #7: The Clock's Final Toll
The chimes returned.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
The bar plunged into darkness.
And in that void, a voice emerged—not the man's.
It was deeper. Older.
"We're coming for you, Asher. And this time… we'll rewrite everything."
The light flickered back.
The chair across from him was empty.
The man was gone.
So was the paper bird.
-----------------------------
Meanwhile: Creepy Event #8 – The Watcher
In an abandoned tower, a dusty monitor buzzed. A black-and-white image of Asher blinked in and out. A gloved hand adjusted the dial.
Another figure appeared on screen.
"It's time," a raspy voice whispered.
Buttons clicked.
The screen turned red.
------------------------------
Back to Reality
Asher stumbled out into the street, breathing hard.
The city was unchanged. Normal. Too normal.
But he wasn't.
He couldn't shake the feeling—the presence, the pressure—that everything he knew was now a lie.
The rewrite wasn't done.
Not yet.
But it had already started again.
[End Of Chapter 6]
Preview for Chapter 7 – The Long Arm of Fate
Asher seeks to uncover the identity of the mysterious person who rewrote his past. But as he digs deeper, the lines between friend and foe blur. A strange ally emerges, and with them, the first real glimpse of the power that can undo everything.