The alarm was set for 5 am but Georgina Armstrong’s body clock woke her fifteen minutes earlier. Her jogging and work clothes had been laid out the night before, so all there was to do was get dressed and drink some water, not the suggested 16 ounces as that required a two-hour wait period before the jog, but enough to keep her body hydrated.

As Georgina reached for her cell phone to check the weather, she noticed the battery was nearly dead – a consequence of forgetting to recharge it before bed. Muttering a curse under her breath, she plugged it into the charger and left it behind on the kitchen counter. She didn’t like jogging with the added weight anyway.

Stepping out of 79 Earls Avenue, Georgina set off on her way. Meditation was a beast she could not tame so in order to reduce her daily stress levels, she jogged instead. No music, no affirmation audiobooks, just the sound of her own breathing and the rhythmic thud of her running shoes on pavement set against the background noise of the cityscape.

To avoid pedestrians and traffic, Georgina plotted a route down side streets to the avenue that ran along the river where all the industrial warehouses were situated. The crack of dawn was the perfect time for a peaceful run as the pre-workday streets were empty and the city was as quiet as a city could be.

Navigating the same route every single morning, Georgina knew this patch of the city like the back of her hand, down to the location of every crack in the pavement. Everything was the same as it ever was…except for the man blocking her path. No matter which way she maneuvered, the man stepped left or right to block her again.

“Excuse me,” Georgina said, jogging in place. “I need to get by.”

“You must go back,” said the man who had the appearance of someone with the ability to see straight through to your heart and freeze the entirety of your soul by blinking an eyelash. “This is no longer your path.”

“What are you talking about? Get out of my way, you loon!” Georgina pushed past the man, knocking him to the ground, and continued her jog.

“No! You must go back before it’s too late!” the man yelled repeatedly, his voice fading into the backdrop of the awakening city.

The incident unsettled Georgina, casting a shadow over the familiar streets. She quickened her pace, eager to return to the sanctuary of her home. As she turned the corner onto Earls Avenue, the first rays of the sun kissed the rooftops, casting long, stretching shadows across the pavement.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the door, only for it to be opened from the inside. A stranger stood before her, his expression a blend of confusion and irritation. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Georgina demanded, her voice seething with a mix of fear and anger.

Instinctively, Georgina’s hand went to her fanny pack, her mind racing to call the police. But as her fingers grasped at empty space, the stark reality hit her – her cell phone was back at home, left charging on the nightstand. A surge of helplessness washed over her, amplifying the surreal nightmare she found herself in.

The man, taken aback, replied defensively, “This is my home. Who are you?”

Refusing to back down, Georgina tried to push past him, insistent that this was some kind of bizarre mistake. But as she struggled, her gaze fell past the man into the house. The interior was completely different – unfamiliar furniture, unknown pictures on the walls, nothing that belonged to her.

Her movements faltered. She stopped pushing against the man and took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the exterior of the house. It looked like her home, yet it was distinctly different. A chilling realization washed over her. “This isn’t my house. I mean, it is my house, but it isn’t where I live.”

The man, observing her bewildered state, ventured a rational explanation, “Are you sure you’re on the right street? A lot of these houses look the same…”

“No, this is where I live.” Georgina’s voice was firm despite the growing turmoil inside her. She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her ID, holding it out to the man. “Look, this is my address.”

The stranger inspected the ID, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s strange,” he murmured, handing it back to her and before she could respond, he extended a hand, though still blocking the doorway. “By the way, I’m Daniel, Georgina.”

Georgina blinked, taken aback for a moment. “How do you know my name?”

“It was on your license,” Daniel replied with a hint of a smile.

“Oh, right, yes, of course,” she mumbled, feeling a fresh wave of disorientation.

“Um, Daniel, I know that this is a strange thing to ask, especially given the weird circumstances, but would it be possible for me to use your phone?” Georgina asked, her voice quivering. “You see, I left my cell on the nightstand by my bed because I forgot to charge it last night…” She was on the verge of tears, the enormity of the situation threatening to overwhelm her.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” The man, now looking at her with a blend of sympathy and caution, hesitated. “But, you’re not a psycho maniac, are you? My family’s asleep inside and, well…I don’t want any trouble…”

“I swear I’m not crazy,” Georgina pleaded. “If I could just use your phone.”

After a moment’s consideration, Daniel nodded. “Okay, come in. But let’s make this quick.”

Stepping over the threshold, Georgina was immediately enveloped by an atmosphere that was disturbingly foreign. The air carried unfamiliar scents – a blend of spices and something floral, completely unlike the lemon-scented freshness she associated with her home. Her eyes darted around, taking in the decor that was utterly wrong. The walls, once a calming shade of blue, were now painted a stark, impersonal white. The furniture, which should have been her cozy, well-loved pieces, was all wrong – too sleek, too modern, placed in arrangements that made no sense to her.

The layout of the house was the same, but everything else was unrecognizable. Where her comfortable sofa should have been, there was a stark, angular couch, and the pictures on the walls were those of strangers, smiling mockingly in their frames. The ambiance was entirely different – not the warm, inviting space she knew, but something colder, more austere.

The subtle hum of a house that wasn’t hers filled her ears, a discordant soundtrack to the surreal experience. Even the way the light filtered through the curtains was different, casting unfamiliar shadows across the floor. It was as though she had stepped into a parallel version of her own home, one that echoed the structure but none of the soul.

Georgina moved forward hesitantly, each step feeling heavier, as if she were wading through a dream. The dissonance between this house and her home created a chasm in her mind, widening with every mismatched detail she absorbed.

Daniel observed her warily, mistaking her disorientation for emotional distress. “The phone is this way,” he said, leading her to the kitchen, a room that, like the rest, bore no trace of the life she remembered.

Not The. End.