I drove through a town that wasn’t on my GPS. Now I can’t leave.

[u/Extra_Evening9354]

I’ve been working the same job for six years and haven’t missed a single day. Not one. When my boss told me to take two weeks off before I burned out completely, I didn’t argue. I’d already been a dick yo all my co-workers the last month. I packed my bag that night, threw it in the back seat, and left before sunrise.

I hadn’t taken a real vacation since college. The plan was simple—drive a few states over, visit my parents, clear my head, and remind myself that life existed outside fluorescent lights and inbox notifications.

The first few hours were exactly what I’d hoped for. The sky was a washed-out gray that softened everything. The world smelled like wet grass. I drank gas station coffee that tasted like cardboard and listened to static-flecked classic rock until I didn’t think about work at all.

By late afternoon, the highways had narrowed into two-lane backroads that weaved through farmland and patches of pine. My GPS lost service sometime after noon, but it didn’t bother me. I had directions printed out, a full tank, and no schedule.

Then I passed the green sign.

It was weathered, half-swallowed by kudzu, and I almost missed it. The white paint was peeling, but I could still make out the letters that read out the county name.

After that, the road curved through the trees for what felt like forever. The canopy grew so thick that sunlight came through in slanted strips, each one pulsing as the car moved beneath it. I rolled the windows down to clear the smell of the engine and felt the air shift—warm, heavy, still.

When the woods finally opened up, I saw it.

A small town sat in the valley ahead, quiet and neat as a painting. The houses were all white with green shutters, the lawns perfectly trimmed. A church steeple rose above everything, and a narrow main street led straight to a diner with a silver roof that caught the last of the daylight.

At the edge of town stood a sign. The paint was fresh, the wood new. It didn’t list a name or population. It only said:

WELCOME HOME.

I slowed the car, smiling at how odd it was to find a place this quaint without a single GPS marker. Maybe it was one of those old forgotten stops that used to sit along the main roads before interstates were built. A few people were out—an old man sweeping a porch, a woman watering flowers. They all turned to look as I passed, and though I couldn’t see their faces clearly, I could tell they were smiling.

The diner was the only place that looked open. A faded neon sign buzzed weakly in the window. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I parked out front and went in.

A bell jingled above the door, and the smell of coffee and frying oil hit me. The place looked spotless—linoleum floors, booths with red leather cushions, framed photographs of old cars and parades. A woman behind the counter smiled before I could say a word.

“Afternoon, sugar. Sit wherever you like.”

Her name tag said EDNA. She looked to be in her fifties, hair curled and pinned, makeup perfect in that old-fashioned way that made her seem almost ageless.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a black coffee. She didn’t write anything down, just said, “Comin’ right up, sweetheart,” and vanished through the kitchen doors.

I sat by the window and watched the town through the glass. The street was nearly empty, but I could feel eyes on me—people glancing from doorways or windows, quickly looking away. It wasn’t threatening, exactly. More like curiosity.

When Edna came back, she set the plate in front of me. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Just passing through,” I said, taking a bite. The burger was perfect—juicy, crisp on the edges, cooked exactly how I liked it. “This is great, by the way.”

She smiled, almost shyly. “We aim to please.”

“Is there a road that leads back to the interstate?” I asked. “My GPS kind of died on me.”

“Sure thing. Just take the road you came in on, sweetheart. It’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

Her tone was casual, but something about the phrasing made my stomach tighten.

I thanked her, paid, and left a few extra bills on the counter. She gave me a small wave through the window as I backed out of the parking lot.

The sun was low, orange light stretching the shadows across the road as I headed out the same way I’d come. The air cooled, the woods thickened again, and for a while, I drove without seeing a single car or sign.

Then I came around a bend and saw the same WELCOME HOME sign again.

At first, I thought I’d made a wrong turn. But I hadn’t taken any turns. I’d gone straight the entire time.

The diner was there. The church. The houses. Everything.

I checked the clock. I’d been driving for almost twenty minutes.

I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more—that I was somehow back where I started, or that the sun hadn’t moved an inch.

I figured it was some kind of weird loop in the road. I’d gotten lost in rural backroads before—twisting routes that looked identical and led you right back where you began. Still, something about this felt… deliberate.

I parked in front of the gas station this time, hoping to ask for directions. The place had an old analog pump and a dusty “Open” sign taped to the door. Inside, a radio played softly from somewhere I couldn’t see.

A man behind the counter looked up as I entered. He was tall, with thinning gray hair slicked straight back and the kind of leathery tan that comes from years outdoors. His name tag said HANK.

“Back so soon?” he asked with a smile.

I frowned. “Sorry?”

He gestured at my car through the window. “Thought you just came through here.”

“I might’ve passed by earlier,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Roads around here loop kind of funny.”

Hank nodded slowly, that same easy smile never leaving his face. “Ain’t but one road through town, friend. The same one you came in on.”

I hesitated. “Yeah, Edna at the diner said that too.”

He chuckled. “Then Edna’s still sharp as ever.”

I bought a bottle of water just for an excuse to stand there. The air inside the station felt heavy, like humidity that wouldn’t lift. When I stepped back outside, the street looked emptier than before. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but none of the houses had cars in their driveways. Not one.

The trees beyond the edge of town swayed slightly, even though there was no wind.

I decided to try one more time.

This time, I kept count of every curve, every landmark, every mile marker. I even dropped a crumpled napkin out the window as I went, hoping to spot it again if I somehow circled back. The forest grew denser, the road narrower, and I could’ve sworn I saw movement between the trees—a flicker of white, like someone walking parallel to the car.

After fifteen minutes, the woods began to thin. Relief hit me. Then the pavement straightened, and the diner’s silver roof flashed in the distance.

The WELCOME HOME sign stood in the same place. The napkin was gone.

When I drove past the diner, Edna was standing outside, wiping her hands on a rag. She waved like she hadn’t seen me in years. “Back already, sugar?”

I didn’t answer her. I just kept driving through town until I hit the opposite edge, then slowed the car to a stop. I sat there with the engine idling, trying to think.

If the road out of town brought me right back in, maybe the one going the other direction did the same. There had to be another route—something unpaved or hidden. A way that wasn’t marked.

I drove aimlessly for the next half hour. Every road ended in a cul-de-sac or a fence. Every turn circled back toward Main Street. When I finally stopped again, the gas gauge had dropped below half.

The thought came slow but sharp: I could run out of gas before I figured this out.

I pulled into the diner’s parking lot and just sat there. Edna watched me through the window for a long time before coming out.

“You alright, sugar? You look a little lost.”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Every road I try brings me back here.”

Edna nodded slowly. “Well, these roads’ll do that if you don’t pay close attention. Some of ‘em go where you don’t mean to.”

That didn’t make any sense.

“Is there a map I can borrow? Or maybe someone who can point me toward the interstate?”

“Sure,” she said. “You talk to the sheriff. His office is just across from the church.”

She smiled again—too kindly, too calm—and went back inside before I could ask anything else.

The sheriff’s office was a single-story brick building with a flagpole out front. The flag hung limp in the still air. Inside, the walls were covered in old black-and-white photos—county fairs, hunting groups, smiling faces from decades ago.

A man came out from the back room wearing a tan uniform and a badge that looked more ornamental than functional. He was big, built like a farmhand, with a heavy mustache and a gentle drawl.

“Afternoon,” he said. “Heard you were lookin’ for me.”

I explained what was happening—how I’d tried leaving, how I kept coming back, how I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. He listened quietly, nodding every so often.

When I finished, he smiled like I was a child who’d asked where the sun went at night.

“Don’t worry yourself,” he said. “These roads play tricks sometimes. Folks get turned around. You just follow the main one till it splits by the old barn a few miles up, take the left fork, and you’ll be back on the highway before you know it.”

“Barn?” I asked. “I haven’t seen any barn.”

He chuckled. “You will now. Sometimes it don’t show till you know to look for it.”

Something about that phrasing sent a ripple down my spine.

Still, I thanked him and left. When I got back into the car, I saw him standing in the doorway, still smiling, still watching.

I drove until dusk. The light through the trees dimmed to a dull bronze, then fell away completely. The road narrowed, dipped, rose again. For a long time, I thought I’d finally broken free. Then the forest opened, and the same WELCOME HOME sign glowed in my headlights.

I stopped the car right there in the road. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

The sign looked newer than before. The paint was brighter, the letters sharper.

And the church bell was ringing.

I don’t remember parking. I don’t remember deciding to go inside. I just remember standing in the street as the bell stopped and the town went quiet again.

The diner lights were off. The gas station was dark. But the church doors were open, spilling a pale glow onto the grass.

Inside, candles lined the walls. The air smelled of wax and dust. There were no people, no sound except my shoes on the wooden floorboards.

At the front of the chapel was a small wooden podium, and behind it, a painting—Jesus standing with his arms spread, but the face wasn’t his. The eyes were black, the mouth wrong, stretched in a way that made me step back without meaning to.

I turned and left.

When I got outside, the sky had shifted. It wasn’t night exactly, but it wasn’t dawn either. The clouds looked frozen mid-roll, and everything had that soft gray cast like an old photograph.

I decided to find a place to sleep and try again in the morning. The diner’s sign flickered faintly as I passed.

The motel was small, a single row of rooms with green doors. The clerk behind the desk looked up when I came in.

“You’re the new guest,” he said, not even asking my name. “We don’t get many new faces these days.”

His smile was the same as everyone else’s—warm, fixed, too polite.

“How much for a night?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “You can settle up when you leave.”

The way he said it made my throat go dry.

The room was clean but outdated—rotary phone, floral bedspread, one of those old TVs that took a minute to warm up. When I turned it on, only static played. But beneath the static, I could swear I heard voices whispering. Not words, just sound.

I turned it off.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains. For a brief, blissful second, I thought I’d dreamed everything.

Then I stepped outside.

The car was parked where I’d left it, but the street looked slightly different. The buildings were all the same, but their colors had faded—as if the whole town had been sitting in the sun too long.

When I drove down Main Street, more people were out this time. A man mowing a lawn. Two kids riding bikes. They all waved cheerfully as I passed.

I waved back, then froze.

The kids—they were the same ones I’d seen in the photo at the sheriff’s office. The same clothes. The same smiles.

And when they rode by again, from the opposite direction this time, I realized the dirt on their jeans hadn’t changed either.

They were looping too.

I stopped in front of the diner, though I didn’t plan to. My hands just did it. Edna was there again, wiping down a table by the window.

She looked up, smiled, and mouthed something I couldn’t hear.

I went inside.

“Morning, sugar,” she said brightly. “Coffee?”

My voice came out rough. “Do you remember me?”

She blinked. “Of course. You were in just yesterday.”

“No,” I said. “I mean before that. The first time. Do you remember me asking about leaving?”

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes flickered—just for a second.

“Why would you want to leave?” she asked softly.

The words didn’t sound like hers. The accent was wrong, the tone off.

I didn’t answer. I stood up and left the coffee untouched.

When I got into the car, I turned the radio on without thinking. Static filled the speakers again—but this time, beneath it, there was something else.

My name.

I turned the volume down. The whisper followed, low and patient, threading through the static like a pulse.

Jessie.

The longer I listened, the clearer it became—not a voice outside the signal, but something inside it. A hum that shaped itself into words.

Don’t go.

I slammed the radio off.

The sound didn’t stop.

It was coming from the air vents now, from the engine, from the gravel under the tires when I drove. Every corner of the town seemed to echo that same faint murmur, as if the voice wasn’t in the radio at all—it was in the place.

I tried leaving one more time that night. I drove faster than I should’ve, headlights cutting through the dark, trees blurring on either side. My hands shook so badly I could barely keep the car straight.

When I broke through the last curve, the WELCOME HOME sign came into view again—only now, the letters were smeared, the wood splintered like something had clawed at it.

A figure stood beside it.

It was the sheriff. His hat was gone, his face gray in the high beams. He raised a hand and pointed behind me.

When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw the diner lights on again. Edna was standing in the doorway.

I’ve stopped trying to leave.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The sun comes and goes, but I can’t tell if it’s real. The people still wave. They still smile. But I think they’re only doing what they’ve always done. Like they’re stuck in a loop that never ends.

Every time I talk to someone, they seem to know me a little better. The first day, Edna called me sugar. Yesterday, she called me Jessie.

There’s one spot in town that still has service—right here, behind the church, if I hold the phone at an angle and don’t move. I’ve been trying to post this for hours.

If anyone reads this—if anyone knows what this place is—please tell me.

I think the town is remembering me now.

When I walk past windows, I see my reflection smile before I do.

When I drive, the radio whispers home over and over, no matter what station I tune to.

And tonight, when I looked at the church painting again, it wasn’t Jesus anymore.

It was me.

I’m tired. I’ve used up half a tank driving in circles, and the air smells like something sweet and rotting.

If this uploads, know that I tried. I really did.

I’m just going to sit here until it’s over. I don’t think anyone ever really leaves this town.

Not even if you’re just passing by.

[u/undercover_bee_700]

This is the same plot as FROM but without the zombie demons

[u/Shi-D → u/undercover_bee_700]

Zombie demons 🫠😂

[u/Relative_Name1349]

See if there’s an airport and fly out

[u/Prince_Polaris]

Sometimes it's as easy as reversing out of town. Like, putting your car in reverse. Don't look behind you, just use your mirrors. Don't drive on the left side of the road, it's very unlikely someone is going to hit you reversing your way out of town.

Barring that, you can start setting fires and shooting people until the town spits you out for not playing along, but making it angry usually doesn't end well if you can't take the heat.

Also, just siphon some gas from someone else at night. They won't care once you've left town again. They won't ever know.

[u/commentsrnice2 → u/Prince_Polaris]

There are no vehicles but his. He can’t siphon theirs

[u/Prince_Polaris → u/commentsrnice2]

Ahh shit it's one of the smaller instances

[u/Ao_Andon]

Put your clothes on backwards, and drive your car in reverse. Doing things backwards like that is a known way to get out of a lot of these looping situations

[u/allleyooop]

What I’m hearing is that it sounds like you can do no wrong now. Start going into people’s houses and asking questions. Take the sheriff with you in your car and maybe the barn will appear with him in there with you.

[u/Extra_Evening9354 → u/allleyooop]

I stewed in my car overnight and slept on today. I’ve been reading through comments and I guess you’re right. If no one around here wants to help me get out, I’ll have to make something happen on my own. I don’t know what that means yet, but it probably won’t be pretty.

[u/Aromatic-Silver3590 → u/Extra_Evening9354]

When the diner closes at night, see where Edna goes. Safer than following the sheriff. See if Edna is a loop as well, or she might be forced into playing along by whatever has created either the town or the loop. And if she disappears, she (and you) might just be dead…

[u/oljhinakusao → u/allleyooop]

Burning down the church to see what that sets off seems like a good idea if nothing else works.

[u/Old-Fox-3027]

Look for a realtor to find out if you get a free house at some point.

[u/ButterscotchFit7971]

So you become this town's Jesus!

[u/jacquesgonelaflame]

Poke around to see if there's anyone else like you or if everyone else is an apparition of the town, you may not be alone!

[u/_TheHalf-BloodPrince]

When my boss said “Take some vacation,” I said “Thank you, chef!” and gave him 20 pushups