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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s
The Man Who Belonged
Ethan Caldwell woke up every morning with the certainty that he was where he was supposed to be. His town, Dunridge, was a place people left but rarely arrived at. It was a quiet, tree-lined community. The roads curved in familiar ways. The seasons changed precisely when expected. The faces at the local diner never seemed to age.
He belonged here. He had always belonged here.
And yet, something was wrong.
It wasn’t how he looked—Ethan was an ordinary man with an ordinary life. He had ten fingers, ten toes, and a name that didn’t feel borrowed. Ethan had memories of childhood scraped knees. He remembered teenage love. His father taught him how to drive down the old county road. He worked at the hardware store. He knew which coffee shop made the best brew. He navigate the town with his eyes closed.
But deep within him, something itched. It wasn’t a feeling of displacement—it was the opposite.
He fit in too well.
There were no awkward silences when he spoke to strangers. No one ever misheard his name or mistook him for someone else. When he ordered at the diner, the waitress nodded as if she had already known his choice. His keys never went missing. The mail always arrived right when he expected.
He tried to shake the feeling, but it settled deeper.
One night, he walked the streets of Dunridge in search of something—he didn’t know what. The town was calm, quiet, and lit by the amber glow of streetlamps. As he passed the shops, he caught his reflection in the glass.
He looked at himself. Normal.
But the reflection wasn’t watching him.
It was waiting.
A chill ran down his spine, and Ethan took a step back.
The moment he did, the feeling disappeared. He was himself again, the same Ethan Caldwell who had lived here his whole life.
But the thought lingered: Had he lived here his whole life?
The next day, he tried to recall his first memory of Dunridge. It was not just any memory. It was his first one, the earliest thing he remembered.
But there was nothing before the age of twenty-seven.
That wasn’t right.
He had childhood memories. He had school pictures. He had friends who swore they’d known him since grade school.
Hadn’t they?
He asked his neighbor, Mrs. Wallace, how long she had lived in Dunridge. She smiled, hands on her porch railing.
“Oh, all my life.”
“And me?”
He asked.
She blinked, her smile unwavering.
“Why, Ethan, you’ve always been here.”
He swallowed.
“Right. Always.”
Mrs. Wallace nodded as if the question itself was odd.
“You belong here, Ethan. Always have.”
His stomach twisted.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed. Ethan had never noticed it before.
And suddenly, he was sure—something was wrong with this place.
Or maybe something was wrong with him.
That night, incapable of shaking the feeling, Ethan wandered the streets again. The town was as still as ever, its perfection unnerving. He passed the grocery store, the barbershop, and the town hall. Then he found himself in front of the library—its doors unlocked, though he had never seen anyone inside past closing.
He stepped in.
Dust motes filtered in the air, interrupted by his presence. The smell of old paper filled his nostrils. He ran his fingers along the spines of books until he reached the town records. He pulled one down and flipped through its pages.
And his blood ran cold.
There were no births recorded in Dunridge. No deaths. Only arrivals.
A new book, bound in leather, sat on a lower shelf. Inside, Ethan found the names of the people he’d known all his life next to brief descriptions. Scanning the pages, his hands trembled as he read:
Ernest Thatcher – Arrived: October 12, 1956 – Deformed hands, two thumbs on the left hand.
Lillian Monroe – Born without eyes
Samuel Dwyer – three-legged, five-arms, ousted by family at age 1
Patricia Thorne – Hairless, extra digits on each hand
The list went on. Each name was followed by a peculiarity—some mild, others grotesque, all rejected from wherever they came.
Ethan hesitated before flipping to the last page, where his name should have been. And when he found it, he almost dropped the book.
Ethan Calloway – 27 years old. No known origin. No memories before arrival. There is no past to recall. No home before Dunridge.
His breath hitched. His hands shook.
The town knew. All the townsfolk knew.
They were all misfits. They were cast out, discarded, and abandoned. They were left to disappear into a world where their abnormalities were masked. No one asked questions in this world. No one looked out of place because everyone had become perfect.
Even Ethan himself.
But why was he here? Why was he the only one who looked –– normal?
He turned to the mirror again, staring at his reflection under the streetlight.
And then, for the first time, he indeed saw himself.
He saw what he had been blind to all along.
And that’s when the horror set in.
Ethan had ears where his nose should be. There was a mouth where his ears should go. A nose sat on top of his head. His eyes looked back at him from his throat. Then, Ethan wished that he had never questioned his being.
Sometimes, it is best to not change memories.
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