A small town in northern Kazakhstan. A sun-drenched street. Apples scattered on the floor. A void where hours should be.

People began waking up in strange places with no memory of how they got there. A teacher. A cyclist. A woman who simply went to the market. Kalachi was succumbing to a waking dream, a collective slumber with no explanation.

We walk its empty streets to investigate a mystery that swallowed time itself. A companion piece with photographs is available on our blog.

Fall into the story on Threshold.