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- Herausgeber: Twist & Tether Press
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
Elias Vale remembers waking up in the pod.
He doesn’t remember launching it.
When a long-lost deep-space capsule reappears decades after it vanished, its sole passenger, Elias, is found alive—but untouched by time. As medical teams, analysts, and former loved ones gather to make sense of his condition, Elias begins to feel time folding around him. Strange gaps in memory. Echoes of voices never spoken. Objects from the past showing up in places they shouldn’t be.
The world he’s returned to has moved on. But something about him hasn’t.
As Elias hunts for answers, the line between memory and reality blurs. Each step closer to the truth pulls him further into a mystery that spans not just years—but the structure of time itself. He must confront the possibility that he was part of something larger, more terrifying, and infinitely more personal than anyone expected.
What was the true mission of VANTA-7?
And if the stars lied… who whispered to him in the dark?
A haunting, twist-driven thriller of identity, longing, and the secrets we bury in the space between moments.
What if you remembered things that never happened—
because someone needed you to?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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The Time That Forgot Me
A Lost-Time Thriller of Memory, Time, and the Self
When the Stars Lied
Margot Elise Winters
Copyright © 2025 by Margot Elise Winters
All rights reserved. This book, including all individual stories and original content, is protected under international copyright law. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the author, except for brief excerpts used in reviews or academic commentary, which must be properly credited.
Fiction Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Cover Image Notice:
The cover artwork for this book was created using licensed generative AI tools under commercial-use terms. It is an original, symbolic composition created specifically for this title. Any characters depicted are fictional and do not represent real individuals.
AI Tools Acknowledgement:
The cover image and/or illustrations were created using generative AI technology under appropriate commercial-use licensing. All visual elements are original compositions intended solely for this publication.
Thank you for reading this special collection. I hope you enjoy every story inside.
Table of Contents
The Time That Forgot Me
Description
Prologue: The Echo Delay
Chapter 1: The Familiar Earth
Chapter 2: Home Isn’t Home
Chapter 3: Ripples in the Glass
Chapter 4: The Wrong Memory
Chapter 5: The Twin That Wasn’t
Chapter 6: What Came Through
Chapter 7: The Time That Forgot Me
Epilogue: The Empty Signal
The Time That Forgot Me
Description
Elias Vale remembers waking up in the pod.
He doesn’t remember launching it.
When a long-lost deep-space capsule reappears decades after it vanished, its sole passenger, Elias, is found alive—but untouched by time. As medical teams, analysts, and former loved ones gather to make sense of his condition, Elias begins to feel time folding around him. Strange gaps in memory. Echoes of voices never spoken. Objects from the past showing up in places they shouldn’t be.
The world he’s returned to has moved on. But something about him hasn’t.
As Elias hunts for answers, the line between memory and reality blurs. Each step closer to the truth pulls him further into a mystery that spans not just years—but the structure of time itself. He must confront the possibility that he was part of something larger, more terrifying, and infinitely more personal than anyone expected.
What was the true mission of VANTA-7?
And if the stars lied… who whispered to him in the dark?
A haunting, twist-driven thriller of identity, longing, and the secrets we bury in the space between moments.
What if you remembered things that never happened—
because someone needed you to?
Prologue: The Echo Delay
Elias Vale
The voice was broken, wrapped in static, hollowed by distance and time.
“We are not... where we think.”
A whisper, low and distorted, trailed by a scraping hum, then silence. Silence so pure it throbbed.
Elias stared at the waveform looping on the monitor, light flickering dimly across his face in the darkened control room. Rain tapped against the windows like fingernails. The audio was timestamped exactly thirty-nine seconds after what should have been routine reentry. But nothing about his return had been routine.
He leaned closer. The smell of dust and ozone lingered in the air, from the long-dormant equipment waking up when he arrived. He pressed play again.
“We are not…”
Click.
Why does it sound like me?
The voice was his. Not recent. Not worn-down like now. Younger. As if someone had sliced a fragment of his past and left it drifting in this frequency.
Outside, a low fog swallowed the night. The city beyond the research compound’s fence looked ghostly, blurred by condensation. Streetlights bled yellow across the wet pavement, but Elias could barely feel the passage of time. Everything around him had too many echoes. The computers, the desks, the pictures on the walls—off by one detail, like a memory retold too many times.
He reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the cracked compass. Cold. Familiar. Its needle jerked a degree west, quivering.
He held it to his chest and closed his eyes.
Something followed me back.
***
Fourteen years earlier.
The therapist’s office smelled of lavender oil and worn leather. The walls were painted a pale, unnatural green. Outside the frosted window, winter clouds curled low and slow, blanketing the horizon in stillness.
Elias sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, shoes not quite touching the floor. He was twelve. Skinny, hollow-eyed, the kind of quiet that made teachers uneasy.
Dr. Halvorsen tilted her head slightly, pen motionless above her notepad.
“And the dream,” she said, voice soft, “it’s the same every night?”
Elias nodded. His mother’s hand rested on his back, her thumb brushing in slow circles.
“I wake up,” Elias said, “but I’m already standing.”
A pause. He shifted. The leather creaked beneath him.
“I’m standing by my bed, looking at myself. Sleeping. But I’m also dreaming of standing there. And I... I don’t know which one is real.”
Dr. Halvorsen watched him carefully. Outside, wind pressed against the window in a slow gust, making the glass groan.
His mother squeezed his shoulder, gently. The cracked compass around her neck clinked softly as it swung forward.
“And what do you feel in the dream?” the therapist asked.
Elias hesitated. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Cold. Like I’m hollow. Like I’m watching a version of me that forgot I ever existed.”
***
Back in the control room, Elias opened the drawer beneath the console. His fingers hovered over the journal inside—his own handwriting, tight and deliberate at first, then warped and looping near the end. He didn’t remember writing any of it. The ink smelled faintly metallic, like dried blood.
He flipped to the first page.
Day 1 – Launch successful. Initial readings stable. Compass reacting normally.
Page two, three, four—technical notes. Test logs. A sketch of a constellation.
Then a shift.
Day 28 – Heard breathing. Not mine.
Elias inhaled sharply, holding the breath. The room pressed in. A low hum, barely audible, pulsed in the floor. The fog outside had thickened.
He flipped forward. Near the final page, the ink lines twisted into spirals. Not writing. Symbols. Circular. Repeating.
He touched one. His hand trembled.
***
The therapist’s voice faded as Elias turned to look at his mother. She was staring into the corner of the office, eyes distant.
“You always came back,” she said softly. “But never quite the same.”
Dr. Halvorsen blinked. “What do you mean, Mrs. Vale?”
She reached for her necklace. The cracked compass swung into her palm.
“There was a day,” she said, “when Elias vanished for almost twenty-four hours. Police thought he ran away. Then he came home. No memory. Said he was just walking.”
She looked at her son, her voice shaking.
“He was smiling. But it wasn’t his smile.”
Elias stared at the floor. His shoes were new. He didn’t remember how he got them.
***
Later that night, the hallway outside the control room was empty. Lights flickered overhead. The air smelled of rust and sterilized plastic. A distant vibration hummed through the walls, rhythmic and soft—like breath.
Elias moved slowly, each footstep echoing too long.
The compass in his pocket spun slowly, ticking like a clock.
