The House that Knew Her

Some cycles cannot be broken- Michelle Liew

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Evelyn's car made its way up the driveway of an old house on a deserted street. The house was a contradiction-both familiar and strange, like a comforting llullaby sung in an unfamiliar voice. She couldn't remember being there--yet she felt strangely at ease.

She walked up the patio steps, her feet trembling. The house key the agent had passed her quivered in her hands. It didn't just fit-it obeyed, turning too smoothly. Too eager. As though the house had been waiting for her. She should have felt like a stranger--an intruder. But the home had a will of its own.

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Inside the home, ornate, antique furniture lay covered in sheets and layers of dust. As Evelyn walked through the hall, she noticed minor details--a chipped mug someone left unwashed, a coat, exactly her size, waiting, unwanted, by the door.

This must have been her childhood home--those trivial details didn't raise any hairs. Then, her gaze drifted to the glass panel on a door.

NOTHING.

Her breath caught. The reflection WAS her--as a little girl. The glass refused to show the woman she was.

A slow, creeping horror worked its way into her bones. THE REFLECTION SMILED.

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A few quick presses on her mobile's keypad, and her mother was on the line. Surprised?

"Evelyn, why are you calling so late? Is anything wrong?" Her mother's voice rang with concern.

"Mom, do we have a family home I don't remember? That we moved out of long ago?"

Her mother's voice dropped to a faint, edgy whisper. "Why must you keep going there? It won't stop."

Then, silence.

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She crept hesitantly into the attic. On the floor was a row of dolls, all identical. All wearing THE SAME DRESS FROM HER CHILDHOOD.

On one was a pinned note.

"We had to keep creating you, Evelyn. You don't last long."

Then, a soft creak. A foot, a hand, poking through the surface of the glass. The reflection stepped forward, standing behind her. Her height. Her voice.

HER FACE.

The copy loomed before her, tilting it's neck to the side. "You always return."

She opened her mouth to scream. But the woman spoke first.

"Oh, great. You've found it. It's now time."

Suddenly, she froze in place. Her limbs betrayed her, refusing to move. A thin crack spread across a cheekbone. Then, another.

A sharp pain sliced her head. Memories flashed through it, one's she didn't recognize, but somehow knew.

Then, A thousand Evelyns. A thousand lifetimes.

She wasn't just being replaced: she was meant to be there. Her whole life, every ieteration, every version, had always wanted to revamp itself. To fix the errors in her life.

The attic was meant to be her forever home.

HER GRAVE.

The copy took another step forward. A cracked, crooked grin spread across its face. "You never survive. We know how to start again."

Evelyn froze in place, a quiet statue. Her final thought before all went still: Some cycles are in loop.

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This work is entirely original. The presence of AI tags is coincidental. The number of words after the quote is 500.