No one remembered seeing the town the day before, yet now it stretched in neat rows where once there was only open prairie. The air was cold and unnaturally still, as if the world itself held its breath. As the first rays of sun sliced through the fog, shapes began to stir behind the frosted glass—shapes that looked disturbingly familiar.
A small group of townsfolk gathered at the edge, unsure whether to approach. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with a blend of hope and dread.
One by one, the newcomers stepped into the open, and gasps rippled through the onlookers. There was a woman in a blue dress, her hair tied just so—identical to a mother lost to illness years ago. A little boy with a lopsided grin darted past, echoing the laughter of a child who vanished without a trace.
Martha Evans, a middle-aged woman with trembling hands, stared as a stooped man approached her, his gait and gentle smile unmistakable.
"Henry? Is it really you?"
People wept and clung to the replicas, desperate for comfort, but the embraces felt cold, almost hollow. Questions tumbled out—where had they been, what had happened, did they remember the ones left behind? The replicas responded with perfect recollections, recalling birthdays, secrets, moments only shared between loved ones.
Yet something was off—their eyes never quite met anyone else’s, and their smiles never wavered, even when tears fell.
Tommy Reed, a teenage boy, stepped away from the group, his face pale.
"They remember everything, but they don't feel... real. It's like they're reading from a script."
Others began to notice the same—stories repeated word for word, gestures looped and unnatural. The town, once a miracle, now felt like a maze of mirrors, reflecting only what people most yearned to see.
Desperation grew as some tried to leave, only to find the edge of the town looping endlessly, no matter which street they took. The replicas stood in silent ranks, blocking every escape, their faces blank and pitiless.
"Why are you doing this? What do you want from us?"
The answer came, not in words, but in a chilling wave of sorrow that pressed against every heart—an echo of longing so deep it threatened to consume the living and the dead alike.
When the sun rose again, the ghost town had vanished as suddenly as it appeared. The people were left standing on the prairie, clutching memories both soothed and haunted, uncertain if what they’d seen was a miracle or a curse.
In the days that followed, they spoke in hushed voices about the night their longing was answered, and the price of wishing for lost faces to return.