[ WP ] Sitcom characters become horrifically aware of ﻿the laugh track , limited amount of rooms , actors being replaced , and the universe continually resetting ﻿the show status quo regardless of their actions .

It all started last summer. My wife, Julie, and I had been talking for some time about getting a dog for the family. Our three boys, now in their mid teens, were finally old enough to handle the responsibility. My sister, Sue, and her two boys moving in with us a few months earlier following her divorce certainly complicated our lives, but it would do us good, we thought. We talked and talked about it, and made the decision. The first day with the dog, he tracked mud all over the living room carpet, spilled wine on the couch, and ran out the front door. I spent all night driving through the neighborhood trying to find him. The next morning, I wake up—and I swear to God, it ’ s like a dream. I can ’ t remember how I got home, but there ’ s the damn dog, asleep on the bed. And the living room is spotless. It ’ s like it never happened. Jules and Sue act like everything ’ s normal. Eventually I guess I sorta forgot about it. Blamed it on being tired. Put it out of my mind. 
 
 In November I crashed my car into a mailbox. A boy had run right out in front of the car, and I swerved to miss him. The car was fine, just a small dent, but the mailbox was ruined ( as it turns out, the house belonged to my ex-girlfriend from high school, Rebecca ). With everything that happened that day—my wife got jealous, and wound up signing us up to attend the art gallery showing that night that Becca was putting on, they fought, then we fought—I had completed forgotten about the mailbox by the next day. I don ’ t know what made me think of it, but I went outside and checked the car. 
 
 There was no dent. 
 
 I drove by Rebecca ’ s house, and the mailbox was back in it ’ s place, just like it had been before. 
 Everything was just like it had been before. 
 
 I tried telling Julie, but she kept blowing me off. Said I was being crazy. I even tried to talk to Rebecca, to find out if she had replaced her mailbox or what, but she wasn ’ t home. 
 
 Ever. 
 
 I went to her house every day for two weeks, and she never answered. It was like she was just gone. 
 
 Just like the dent. 
 
 Just like the mess. 
 
 That ’ s when I started writing everything down, when I started living in some godforsaken *Groundhog Day. * I figured, hell, maybe I *was* losing my mind. I figured that there had to be some way this all makes sense, that it all fit together. 
 
 I woke up the day after Christmas, turned over in bed, and kissed a face that was not my wife ’ s. 
 Julie was gone. 
 In her place was a beautiful woman, about the same height and build as Jules, but with a very different face. 
 I screamed, I begged, I pleaded. No one else—not the boys, not Sue, not the fuckin ’ dog—noticed a difference. All our photos had changed, my wife ’ s face replaced with the imposter ’ s. I called the cops—they came, talked for a while, and left, satisfied. I called the hospital—we went, they asked me questions, and sent us home, confident that I was no danger. 
 
 It's been three weeks since then. I know now that I ’ ve got to keep calm, play it safe. Someone, somehow, is fucking with my head. I know it. Every single day I notice something else about my world that ’ s been tampered with. My house has windows where there are no rooms. My boys have best friends that visit who I ’ ve never seen before, and who never come over again. Sometimes, if I ’ m quick enough, I can see straight through my walls, through my ceilings. I don ’ t know what ’ s real, if anything is. I can ’ t trust my wife, my sister, my boys. None of them are real. 
 I ’ ve got to be patient. Watch everything. Play the game. 
 
 I ’ m living in hell, but I ’ ll find my way out. I ’ ve got a plan. These people, they aren ’ t my family. I owe them nothing. I ’ ll get out of here, and when I do, I ’ ll take this world crashing down with me. 
 
 This isn ’ t a game. 
 
 This is my life. And I ’ m taking it back. 

