The Town Where No One Remembers Yesterday

The Town Where No One Remembers Yesterday

When time resets, trust no one.

The first thing that struck Ethan Cross when he arrived in Bellwick was the silence. Not the peaceful kind, but a hollow quiet that seemed to swallow every sound. The quaint town, with its cobblestone streets and perfectly trimmed hedges, looked like a picture frozen in time. Yet something was off. The people smiled too easily, their eyes too vacant, as if the spark of recognition had been snuffed out long ago.

Ethan, an investigative journalist, had come to Bellwick after hearing whispers of its strange reputation. The locals called it "The Forgetting Town" a place where no one remembered what had happened the day before. At first, it sounded like folklore or the makings of a bad horror story. But a series of missing-person reports tied to Bellwick made it impossible to ignore.

His first day in town was uneventful. He checked into the only inn, run by a soft-spoken woman named Claire. She offered him tea, asked him where he was from, and smiled like a host trying to put a guest at ease. That night, he stayed up late, jotting notes, planning interviews. Everything seemed normal enough.

The next morning, Claire greeted him like a stranger.

"Hello there! Checking in today?" she said, handing him a fresh key to the same room.

Ethan froze. "Claire, it’s me. I checked in yesterday. We spoke. You gave me tea."

She tilted her head, confused but polite. "I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve never seen you before."

It was only the beginning.

As the hours passed, Ethan realized everyone he met seemed caught in the same loop of forgetfulness. The baker introduced himself three times in a single afternoon. The postman didn’t recognize the route he’d delivered for years. Even the children played as if every morning were the first time. It wasn’t just forgetfulness; it was as if the previous day had been erased entirely.

Determined to uncover the truth, Ethan began keeping meticulous records. He took photographs, audio notes, and even left small markers around the town a coin under a bench, a paper tucked into a library book. Each morning, they were gone, as though wiped clean by an unseen hand. His phone, however, remained unaffected, preserving his evidence.

On the fourth night, he noticed something chilling. As midnight approached, a dense fog rolled through the streets. Lamps flickered. For a moment, the world seemed to shiver. He hid near the clocktower and watched. Through the mist, shadowy figures moved tall, indistinct, almost translucent. They swept through homes and shops with silent precision, touching objects, walls, people. Wherever they passed, things seemed to shimmer, then dull, as if memories were being drained.

The next morning, no one spoke of the fog. But Ethan’s camera captured fragments of the night: blurred shapes, streaks of light, faces frozen in eerie stillness. He was sure of one thing Bellwick was not suffering from amnesia. Something was actively erasing the past.

Ethan’s investigation grew riskier. Each night, he followed the fog, mapping the figures’ patterns. He discovered they converged at the old library, a gothic building on the edge of town. Inside, hidden behind a false wall, he found a spiral staircase descending into darkness. At its base, a chamber hummed with energy. In the center stood an ancient machine a web of glass and brass, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Before he could study it, he heard footsteps. Claire appeared, but her demeanor was different no warmth, only cold recognition.

"You shouldn’t have come here," she said. "The Forgetting keeps Bellwick safe."

"Safe from what?" Ethan demanded.

Her gaze was steady. "From yesterday. From the things that happened here long ago. The machine doesn’t just erase it contains. There are memories in this town that should never resurface."

Before he could press further, the chamber trembled. The fog began to seep in early. The figures were coming. Claire’s voice dropped to a whisper. "If you stay, you’ll forget too. Run."

Ethan didn’t. He raised his camera, snapped photo after photo as the fog thickened. The figures drew close, their touch cold, numbing. He fought to hold onto his thoughts, repeating his own name like a mantra. He stumbled out of the library, his mind fraying at the edges.

The last thing he remembered was the clock striking midnight.

---

When Ethan woke, he was in his car on the edge of Bellwick. His notes, photos, recordings—all gone. His phone was blank, the memory wiped. Only one image remained, tucked into his jacket: a single photograph of the library’s basement, showing a faint outline of the machine and a shadowy figure watching him.

He stared at the photo, trying to remember why it mattered. Then he glanced at the town in his rearview mirror. Bellwick looked peaceful, almost inviting. Perhaps he’d stay for a night. Perhaps he’d write about it.

But as he drove back into town, Claire waved at him from the inn, smiling like she had never seen him before.