Chapter 58: Testimony of Ellen Carver: The Time Supplements
My name is Ellen Carver. If you're reading this, you might think it's just another crazy tale, but I assure you, it's very real. I'm here to tell you about something that defies understanding—a phenomenon that will make you question your grasp on reality. It all began with my need to recover what we all desire most: time.
I was introduced to time supplements by a colleague who had always been a little too eager to share his "discoveries." These pills, they told me, were a revolutionary breakthrough—each one containing the power to reclaim a portion of the universe's most precious resource: time. They claimed you could reverse small errors, correct mistakes, and relive moments you wished you'd handled differently. It sounded like a dream.
At first, I was skeptical. The whole concept seemed too good to be true. But as life grew more demanding, the idea of regaining lost time became increasingly appealing. I decided to try them.
The first pill I took was supposed to give me back just one hour—a seemingly insignificant chunk of time. I swallowed it and waited. Nothing happened immediately, and I was about to dismiss it as a scam when, quite suddenly, I noticed something odd. My memories of that hour were clearer, more vivid. It was like stepping back into a perfectly preserved moment.
Over the next few months, I took more of these pills. Each one promised to restore a larger block of time. I began to use them obsessively. A missed opportunity at work, an argument with my sister, a lost day of productivity—I started reclaiming them all, one pill at a time. Each time, I felt an eerie sense of deja vu, as if the world around me was subtly shifting.
It was when I took the pills too frequently that things started to go wrong.
One evening, I ingested a pill meant to reclaim an entire day—something I'd never done before. I had high hopes of undoing a major mistake I'd made at work. As the hours reversed themselves around me, the world grew darker, more distorted. The air felt heavier, and shadows seemed to stretch longer.
I relived that day, but something was different. The people I interacted with were no longer quite right. Their faces were obscured, their voices hollow. It was as if I was seeing through a warped lens. And then there were the figures—silent, shadowy beings that lurked at the edges of my vision, their presence almost palpable.
I tried to ignore them, focusing on fixing my mistake. But no matter how much I tried to alter the past, the figures grew bolder. They began to appear more frequently, their outlines growing clearer. Their eyes—if you could call them eyes—seemed to follow me with an unsettling intensity.
When the day ended, I tried to return to my current life, but the world felt irrevocably changed. My apartment was the same, yet different. The shadows seemed to linger longer, and the silence was heavier. I thought I was just exhausted, but as days went by, I realized something was terribly wrong.
The figures from my past were now everywhere. They haunted my waking hours and my dreams. I could no longer tell if they were real or just figments of my overworked imagination. They were always there, watching, waiting. Their presence grew more oppressive with each passing day.
Desperate, I stopped taking the pills, hoping it would make them disappear. I tried to live normally, but nothing worked. They were etched into my reality now, a permanent reminder of my obsession with reclaiming time.
The most chilling part is that nobody else seems to see them. When I tell people about these figures, they look at me like I'm crazy. But I know what I saw—what I still see every day.
So here's my warning: if you ever come across those time supplements, don't take them. They might promise to give you back what you've lost, but they'll take something far more valuable in return. Your peace of mind. Your sanity. And perhaps, your very soul.
I don't know if I'll ever be free of them. But maybe, just maybe, sharing my story will prevent someone else from making the same mistake.
Be careful what you wish for, because sometimes, the cost is too high.
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