Loop

“My aunt reads interesting articles found in the basement”

The strange static voice that had come from the other line, sent a chill down Angelo’s spine as he ran out of his room; he grabbed a bundle of papers that resembled coordinates. His thin, pale fingers trembled as he stirred the wheel through the bumpy roads. He felt his rush of adrenaline.

Upon arriving at the debris site, Angelo hurried towards the area and managed to clear out space that brought light to its unusual wooden texture. As he noticed the silver handle’s glint, he pulled it out with great force and had come across a spiral of stores [stairs?] downstairs, remembering the previous encryption he had heard; it wasn’t about someone’s aunt, perhaps it was about his sister; his only remaining blood-relation.
(insert space here)
“Maria” was her name which was spelt out using “My aunt reads interesting articles”, and the location was given along with it too — the basement.

It was cold and incredibly dark at the bottom of the so-called basement; Angelo hurriedly looked around in tears, expecting a frail brunette figure like himself to be present.

However, all he saw was Corteo — a friend he knew in the past. Corteo had a strange look of pity through the faint glow of the torch. “Angelo… We finally meet again…”, his voice was filled with warmth and sadness. “You must know the truth, please, don’t ignore it anymore and face it.”

Angelo realised at once, that it was Corteo who had sent him that ominous encryption. “You! How dare you trick me?!” He was furious. “Where is my sister?!” He sprinted towards him only to pass through Corteo’s bulky figure.

“Huh?”, he spoke out in confusion.

“Angelo… You never had a sister. This world of yours isn’t real. Wake up, wake up and come back to us.” Corteo had been with Angelo throughout their childhood, and he knew everything about him, as he walked through his chain of memories.
(insert space here)
Angelo realised that, indeed, he had no sister! Suddenly, he found himself fluctuating, his pale hands disappearing each second. He hastily looked up at Corteo.

“Stop torturing yourself and come back.” Tears that rolled down his friend’s cheek greatly put Angelo in confusion.

It was morning again; the phone rang, Angelo picked it up, he heard the same phrase, he rushed out. Corteo had been watching Angelo repeat the same misery for the four-thousand-six-hundred-fifty-eighth time, “Oh, my dear Angelo… It is terrible torture to the soul, to go through the same loop countlessly. Oh, how many years has it been…”