My House Was Built on a Repeating Loop

I. The Move

I bought the house in spring.

Small, cheap, oddly modern for its location — tucked between forest and fog on the outskirts of Murree. No neighbors. No traffic. Just silence and space to breathe.

I moved in alone, needing peace. Life had been chaotic. This was supposed to be my reset.

But peace didn’t come.

Not even on the first night.

II. The First Sign

I walked from the kitchen to the hallway and turned left — toward the bedroom.

Three steps later, I passed the living room again.

I froze.

How?

I turned around and walked the other way.

After a few steps, I reached the same living room. Same sofa. Same coffee cup on the table. Same creaky floorboard under my left foot.

I stood still, confused.

Maybe I was just tired.

III. The Loop

I decided to test it.

I placed my phone on the dining table, walked ten steps forward, then turned right.

Suddenly — the phone was in front of me again.

Same table. Same blinking notification.

I put my hand on the wall and tried to follow it all the way around the house.

After three minutes of walking straight — I returned to the same point.

Every path, every turn — led back to the same room.

As if the house was a circle pretending to be a square.

IV. The Mirror Room

On the third day, I found a door I hadn’t seen before.

It was behind a tall wooden cabinet — pushed against the far corner of the hallway. I swear it wasn’t there before.

I opened it.

Inside: a small circular room with mirrors on every wall.

In the center stood a single chair.

And on the chair — a note.

“Don't sit.”

The handwriting looked like mine.

V. Time Distortion

The clocks were wrong.

Each room had a wall clock. None of them matched.

My phone battery drained within minutes.

I’d leave a room in daylight and enter the next one at night.

I kept seeing myself in reflections — but my reflection didn’t always match. Once, I walked past a mirror and saw myself still standing there.

Staring.

VI. The Visitor

On the fifth night, I heard a knock.

At the mirror room.

When I opened the door, there was no one there — just a second chair now sitting beside the first.

The note had changed.

“One of you sat.”

I ran.

But no matter where I went — the layout looped. I’d enter the bathroom and come out the attic. I’d exit the front door and appear in the mirror room.

The house wasn’t just looping — it was folding in on itself.

VII. The Realization

I tore up the floor.

Concrete.

I broke down the walls.

Behind them — nothing but more doors, leading to more rooms.

At some point, I stopped eating.

Stopped sleeping.

It didn’t matter.

Every nap became a trap. I’d wake up in a different part of the house — sometimes with new bruises, new doors, or missing hours.

VIII. The Copies

Last week, I saw myself.

Not in the mirror. In the kitchen.

He stood by the sink, wearing the same clothes. Same tired eyes.

But he was smiling.

And when I stepped closer, he whispered:

“You’re the copy.”

He hasn’t left the kitchen since.

Now there are more of him.

One sits in the mirror room.

One sleeps in my bed.

One paces the hallway.

They don’t speak.

They just wait.

For me to break.

IX. The Last Attempt

I’m writing this with the last of my strength.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days? Months? Loops?

If someone finds this — burn the house.

Don’t go near it. Don’t enter. Don’t follow the walls.

Because this isn’t a home.

It’s a maze made to copy the people inside it.

And eventually, it replaces them.