Darkness covered the small urban town like a thick layer of ash. A man struggled with the lock on a breaker box, huddling against the wall between two houses. He could barely make out his trembling hands by the dim light of a nearby street lamp, desperately trying to fit the small, cheap key into its lock. He got it in, and glanced left, then right.
The cramped alleyway was empty. With a click, the lock snapped open in his hands, and his eyes were drawn back to the task at hand. The door to the box opened, revealing rows of switches all in the “on” position. He downed a dry, strained swallow as he ran one finger down a list of labels to the right of the breaker.
The man’s eyes landed on the numbers “21” and “Bedroom 3” and he flipped the corresponding switch on the left. A deep clunk sounded from the box; he slammed the breaker closed and turned away.
There was someone behind him. A sharp, intense point of pain shot through his back. He gasped and tried to reach it, but all he felt was his warm, damp shirt now sticky with blood. The man dropped to his knees and let out a final clutching gasp before crashing to the earth, dead.
Light trickled in through half-open blinds covering a window. It cascaded over a pile of dust-covered books, clothes, and barely scribbled-on papers. One beam pierced the stagnant air, landing squarely on the dozing eyes of a young man. Shaggy rust-colored hair surrounded a slim, round face that scrunched up at the bright light interrupting his sleep. He shifted to one side before bringing an arm up to cover his eyes.
A low groan sounded from the depths of Finn’s stomach as he rolled away from the sun. His eyebrows lowered slowly as he removed his arm from over his eyes. Then he shot upright, mouth agape, and stared at the window.
He found the phone strewn at his feet, scooped it up, and tapped on its blank screen. It didn’t turn on. “Oh…oh crap.” Finn cast the blanket from his legs and tugged on the phone. It was still plugged it, but dead of charge.
Its power box was firmly in the outlet, and unplugging it and plugging it back in didn’t help. He muttered something incoherent, scrambled to his feet, and accepted the fact that he was completely and utterly late.
If the sun had already risen enough to cut through his windows, it wasn’t 7 AM as he’d set his alarm. No, it must be at least nine o’clock—an hour after English II started.
With no time left to lose, he dug through nearly empty drawers for a set of mismatched clothes and rushed out the door. The university he attended was only a half-mile from the townhouse he stayed in, so travel was never much of an issue. However, being late was another thing entirely.
Usually, he would head to class the normal way—on the sidewalk and through the courtyard at the center of the university. He prided himself on not taking shortcuts and destroying someone’s perfectly manicured bush. Today was different. The shrubbery would have to endure.
He shot a glance at his digital watch. 8:54. By now his best hope would be Calculus; English was a lost cause. As he entered the classroom, a buzz spread around the room. He took a seat in his normal spot—all the way in the back. As he unpacked his bag he overheard a group of women chattering on his right.
“Did you see that girl this morning?”
“Yeah! Just looming in the courtyard. Have you ever seen her before?”
“What was she doing out there?”
Finn found an outlet next to his desk, jammed the charger in, and sighed as the Apple logo on his phone popped onto the screen. So it wasn’t totally dead, thankfully.
Besides a heated scolding from his English professor on the way to his next class, the rest of Finn’s day edged on mundane. He took a lackadaisical approach to classes so missing something like English didn’t bother him. He didn’t like spending too much time at college at all; it made him feel depressed. Every day, attending the same classes again and again. He hated the monotony.
With an overwhelming anxiety of the future looming over him, he began the short walk home. His watch read 6:32, just enough time to get back and settled before sunset. He took the path through the courtyard this time; no need to ruin the foliage any more than he already had. As he left, the conversation from earlier bounced through his mind. He subconsciously glanced around the empty courtyard. No strange woman in sight.
He let out a sigh of relief—one he didn’t know he was holding—and continued towards home. The tiny, paranoid voice in his head wouldn’t win this time. The only thing left would be to uncover the morning’s mystery. He arrived home shortly and started his investigation of the house. Upon a quick once-over, he discovered that the breaker on the had tripped.
See? He assured himself, Nothing suspicious.
But that small voice said otherwise. Why just his bedroom? What about the rest of the house? Why did one of his roommates flip his breaker? Just to screw with him? He’d have to ask Paul when he saw him next—he would likely know which hooligan would try something stupid like that.
Finn rubbed his forehead. It didn’t really matter, did it. Just another stupid prank. He shook it off, walked upstairs, and entered his bedroom. His watch read 6:57.
“That was smart, Finn—using the cycle to avoid me like that.”
Finn froze. His earlier speculations came crashing back like a tidal wave. That wasn’t one of his roommates. It wasn’t even someone he recognized. And this wasn’t a co-ed townhouse. Then who…? He turned as the voice continued.
“I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to catch onto the cycle so fast, but it appears this you just undid all your precious work.”
His eyes landed on a woman—a woman around his age with cold blue eyes and long brown hair. Her slender face pierced his vision and sent a shiver down his spine. Was it déjà vu? Had he seen her somewhere before? He stepped back and fell onto his bed. The woman glanced at the small, delicate watch attached to her wrist. She sighed and pushed towards him.
“Time’s up. I wish it didn’t come to this, but I’ll have to figure this out next time,” she said.
Finn shoved himself backward off the bed, fell to the ground, then scrambled to the far side of the room opposite the door. The woman walked towards him calmly and smoothly.
“What do you want from me?!” Finn asked, frantic.
The woman eyed him, callous, and unholstered a handgun from her hip. Finn’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”
A pressure akin to a sledgehammer smashed into his chest. There was a searing, twisting pain in his lungs, his heart, and he pulled at his sticky shirt trying with everything just to keep breathing.
The woman knelt down beside him, blotting out the dimming light from the window, and pointed the pistol at him again. Bang. Finn spewed blood and his head lolled to one side. Faintly he heard the sound of ticking.
Then he was dead.
A shaft of light cut the morning air, landing inconveniently on Finn’s eyes. He groaned and shifted to one side, flopping an arm over his face to shun the early light. It was early, right?
Wincing, he sighed and felt around for his phone. Nothing. His eyes shot open and darted around his bed. No phone in sight. And something…something smelled horrible.
Finn covered his nose, threw his feet over the edge of the bed, and sat up, glancing around the room. His door was slightly ajar, and…
He stopped, mouth dropped open, and screamed at a picture straight out of a nightmare. A large, chaotic splatter of red painted the far wall, and on the floor… He shot to his feet and bashed against the wall on his right.
“What…what?” was all he could say. He screamed it. “WHAT?!”
That was…that was him. His body, strewn limp against the far wall of his bedroom. His head lolled to one side, eyes lifeless, not even closed. There were…flies buzzing around his corpse. He was going to throw up. A single thought barreled through his head: It’s not real. It can’t be.
He burst through his bedroom door, down the steps, and out of the house. A burning acidic taste rose in his throat. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Was that him? Did he have a hallucination? What was going on?
Acid bubbled into his throat again, forcing him to bring a hand to his mouth. No. That stench, that sight, was very real. He couldn’t avoid that. Something happened; something impossible. A doppleganger? Was he wearing a mask?
Before he knew it, Finn was in the courtyard of his university. Subconsciously, he wandered to the place where things felt most stable, maybe searching for an ounce of the mundanity he had only yesterday. He found none of it. None of his classing were appealing. He tried to sit through Calculus and had to get up and leave in the middle.
Wandering through the courtyard again, he remembered the body and felt the acid rise into his esophagus like a volcano. He rushed to the nearest bathroom.
The restroom was empty, but he only had enough self-control to reach the nearest stall before the acid bubbled up and out of his throat. Even on an empty stomach, he could only dry heave. He was sick. He had to be. Then he remembered the body and dry heaved again and again and again.
Sometime later—he couldn’t distinguish how long he spent knelt over a toilet—he stepped outside and took a deep breath. With a hand on his chest and his nose pointed upwards, he sighed.
That wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. He couldn’t accept the fact that what he saw was real. It just didn’t make sense. So, in his mind, it wasn’t real. He was only sick.
“What did you see?”
A voice to his left made him clutch his chest again. The cold tone of her words sent a shiver down his arms to his fingertips. The woman from before.
…before?
Finn couldn’t think. A thought niggled in the back of his mind telling him that—despite everything he knew to be true—he was lying dead in his room. But that was insane, and Finn wasn’t insane, so he turned slowly around and looked at the source of the voice.
It was a young woman about his age, brown hair and blue eyes, with a green book bag thrown over her shoulder. She cocked her head and raised a perfect eyebrow. “You’re acting differently from how you usually do. What happened this morning?”
“I…what? Who are you?” And how do you know about this morning? Finn struggled to form any more words. His mind screamed for him to run.
“Was there something in your bedroom?”
She knows.
Finn twisted, stumbled, and ran. He barreled through the courtyard and out of campus. The woman knew. She knew about his morning, the body from earlier, his path to school, everything. Somehow, something impossible had happened. Again. The woman sprinted after him.
“How did you kill…me? The other me?” Finn yelled.
The woman lurched to a stop behind him. “Kill…other you? What do you mean?”
Finn looked ahead and kept running. Even if there was a misunderstanding, he couldn’t shake the feeling deep in his chest. If he could outrun her, maybe he had a chance to think things through. His eyes shot to a group of students loading onto a bus.
There!
He slipped into the crowd, crouching as he did to blend in. He barely caught a glimpse of the woman as he boarded the bus. She was caught in the group left behind, forced to wait for the next one. He pushed through the crowd to the very back and took a seat. Nerves buzzed through the roots of his hair to the slits under his fingernails.
Holy actual hell, he thought as he clutched his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. My body…is real. It’s me. And that woman has something to do with it.
The thought of his dead body rotting in his bedroom was still disturbing and quite frankly unbelievable, but he wasn’t dead. That meant he had a chance.
Finn waited for a few stops to pass before exiting the bus. It dropped him off far from home, but at this point that might be a good thing. He entered a convenience store nearby to wander the aisles and think. Eventually, he decided some food would help his mind. Maybe if he waited until nightfall, she couldn’t follow him. He could get back home in peace and…clean up.
Finn bought a sandwich from the counter and, after eating, decided to keep moving. Maybe going home wasn’t such a bad idea. If the woman followed the bus stops, he could head directly home without worry. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head.
It was a long jog, but with food in his stomach, the run was manageable. Along the way, his mind slowed from its panicked state. He could find a way out of this—no, he would find a way out. If for once in his life he could succeed at something, he wouldn’t mind going back to the mundanity of school for a few years.
Rapid footsteps sounded behind him. A cold sweat broke out all over his body, but he didn’t look behind him. If he started running, and she hadn’t already recognized him, that would tell her for sure.
The steps slowed to a walk, but he swore he heard panting. If he turned back to check, they would know for sure. He kept a brisk pace, making sure not to show signs of the near-panic attack that was going on in his mind.
Stay calm…look normal.
He kept jogging. The sound behind him quieted then faded into the distance.
Home was only a few blocks away. By now the sun was hitting its peak—it was almost noontime. He’d worry about the classes he missed later. Heading back to school was not an option.
Finn passed by a variety of houses, each different shapes and sizes. They had all looked familiar yesterday on his jog to school, but something was different about them now. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins or the experience that morning, but he was no longer at ease on these streets.
A few minutes later, he reached his own house and approached the front door. It sat closed, as he left it. His hand trembled. It was time to confirm it—to find the truth and examine things for real. He shot a glance behind and found no sign of anyone trailing him. With a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob and twisted.
It opened quietly, swinging easily. He didn’t know what he expected, but he sighed nonetheless. His eyes turned to the stairs, then to his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar; his shoulders and neck tensed at the thought of entering. That small voice was not so small anymore, and it told him to march up the stairs and open the door.
The floorboards of the steps creaked under his feet. As he rounded the corner, it hit him. A stench—one of a rotting corpse—blasted his nostrils. He held his eyes tightly shut; he couldn’t bear to look at it yet. But it was very much there. Real. Dead.
Feeling the wall, he made his way over to the bed. If he could cover it with the blanket, maybe he could open his eyes. He reached for the corner and pulled the sheet off, tossing it to his right. The blanket floated to the ground, hopefully covering his body.
Finn peaked through one hand to check. His eyes were greeted with a mangled lump covered by a blanket. So, it was real, and most likely still him. The smell had gotten so strong that he had to hold his nose closed, but at least he wouldn’t puke. He had to find some way to get rid of it.
Somehow, someway, you died. Or…other you died. But he would make it out alive. He had to. If it was just the woman after him, he could deal with that. Right?
Finn stepped out of the room—still holding his nose—and shut the door. He needed a break from the stench. Maybe then he could think.
A sound came from the first floor. His eyes shot down the hallway towards the front door. Nothing. Was that my imagination, or did I just—
A second sound, this one more distinct. The sound of metal being wrenched from metal and a hinge squealing under pressure. The back door.
He hesitated for a moment, glanced back at his room, and rushed downstairs. His best bet would be to face the intruder head-on, and, if his suspicions proved him correct, stop the woman in her tracks.
He grabbed a broom sitting next to the staircase and unscrewed the top, leaving him with a metal rod. It was better than nothing. He heard footsteps and pressed himself against the wall.
If I can surprise her, maybe I have a chance. The footsteps grew louder, closer. Just a little longer.
He sucked in a breath and charged around the corner. There was the woman, creeping through the door. Finn screamed and brought the metal rod down onto her head. But she caught it, deflected it to the right, and jabbed something hard into his chest. Finn coughed and stumbled back, but dodged a swing at his head.
He planted the heel of his shoe into her stomach and kicked, throwing the woman out of the back door and onto the ground. It was the only way out. Finn roared and charged through as the door swung in at him.
The woman kicked the door and it slammed into Finn. But it didn’t bounce off like he expected. And…now there was a wicked ache in his side. He blinked down at his stomach to see a gnarled mess of metal that was once the patio handle jammed into his side, bits of skin and guts screwed up and torn apart.
He gaped, gasped for breath, and tried to scream but found no breath in his lungs. The woman snarled and kicked the door back out, which ripped the mangled handle free along with part of Finn’s stomach. He lurched over, coughed, dropped, and the woman got to her feet.
She raised a blunt wooden stick, spat, and bashed his head in.
An alarm blared in Alice’s ears. She shot up in bed and reached for her stomach. The pain was gone, but the memory was not. Her eyes glanced at a small table to her right. The digital alarm clock on top of it read 6:30 AM. She sighed and pulled hair out of her eyes. That was too close. If he had escaped again, I don’t know if I could have caught him.
Alice pulled herself out of bed, held her head, and considered her options. The body in his room is going to cause problems. I’ll have to remove it to have any chance of doing this right.
She picked out a blouse and skirt, tried them on, and checked herself in the mirror. How many loops has it been now? Her body didn't show the countless wounds she had taken, but her mind... She exhaled, stretched, and knelt for her shoes. Currently, he’s getting up at 8:25. If I factor in travel time, he arrives on campus at 8:55. After Calculus, he comes straight home. That’s roughly an hour and a half to get in, remove the body, and get out. I can do that.
Alice slipped into a pair of flats and turned to her cabinet. It seemed that no matter what she used to kill him—blunt objects, guns, a sword, once, or even electricity—he always came back the next day. And always his room was the same as the loop before.
Today a pistol would suffice. She holstered a Glock 19 in her calf strap, locked the safety, and threw on the rest of her clothes. There were be further cycles to try other methods; right now she just had to return his schedule to normal. No more mistakes. No more waiting around. Tomorrow she would confront him and talk to him.
Alice left her house at 7:01, exactly one minute behind schedule. With eyes trained on her watch, she bolted down the steps of her apartment complex and out into the street. Finn’s house stood a few minutes from the university. With the right path, she could make it there in three. She shot a look at the crossing sign across the street.
Two streets away, she thought. A loud horn blared on her right.
Then the whole world was spinning. Alice rammed into a windshield, smashing it and sending glass everywhere, then rolled off and dropped to the hard asphalt. She wheezed, head throbbing like hell, wet, dripping, pain everywhere. She felt crushed bones, cut skin, torn skin all up and down her back and face.
“Oh…oh hell,” she whispered. “Not here…” The pain was overwhelming. Was this how he felt? All that work, all that planning. And it was all…for nothing.
Someone rushed up to her; a man with a tussle of brown hair and green eyes. He knelt beside her, asking if she was alright. Alice wearily looked up, barely able to keep her eyes open, and saw the face of the man that had gotten her into this in the first place: Finn.
The first looper. The man who would grow up to be so much more, so much worse, now that she had failed. He was trying to help her. With the last of her strength, she shut her eyes and let out a pitiful whimper. A single thought slipped through her head before she lost consciousness forever.
How damned ironic.
I submitted this story to the Lorian Hemingway short story competition in 2020. Needless to say it didn't win (it didn't even get on the shortlist!) and I can see why. But the idea of time loopers who get to keep one thing over the loops (for Finn it was his bedroom, for Alice it was her memories) has always interested me.
The story isn't too polished, but I have ideas and plans to turn it into a much fuller story, with several other short looper perspectives, and an intro on how to kill a looper, permanently. I absolutely love time travel stuff, and this was one of my first forays into it.
I hope you enjoyed!
