I walked into my apartment that evening, and everything felt confusing and strange.
It was like I was dreaming, but everything looked real.
Two doors that had never been there before appeared on the blank wall. A small gap separated them.
I tried to open one, but the handle vanished.
My heart raced. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I received a text from an unknown number.
The message said: Do not look at the gap.
I froze. I felt like I was going to die.
I glanced back at the doors.
One of them seemed to have two large eyes, which sent me into a panic.
I tried to run, but I couldn't.
To make things worse, the door cracked open slightly and started leaking blood.
The blood stained my white sneakers.
Out of nowhere, the wallpaper in my living room began to peel and curl like burned skin.
I didn't wait to see more.
I didn't even check my phone again.
I dashed to my room, room 404, fumbling with the key as I attempted to unlock the door.
It wouldn't open.
At that moment, I prayed for help from above.
A sound came from the two doors behind me.
It was like a seal breaking—a wet, suction-like pop.
Ethan.
The voice echoed in my head, cold and vibrating in a way that made my teeth ache.
Finally, the key turned, and the door opened.
I rushed inside and slammed it shut, thinking the room would be safer.
I threw myself onto my bed with a deep sigh of relief, gasping for air that felt like needles in my lungs.
I was safe.
I was in my room.
The familiar smell of old, stale coffee should have calmed me.
But the room was silent.
Too silent.
I got up from my bed and decided to get some fresh air from the window.
I looked outside—and what I saw terrified me.
The London skyline—the tall buildings, the glowing streetlights—was gone.
Outside was only a violet void, like the beginning of the world before anything was created.
At first, I thought I had gone insane or that I was dreaming.
I jumped and slapped myself three times in the face, just to be sure.
I wasn't dreaming.
I screamed, but no sound came out.
I couldn't hear myself.
I turned back and looked at my wooden door, but it began to change into something unrecognizable.
It slowly morphed into the shape of a screaming face.
Then I realized the true horror.
My door—the one I had locked—no longer had a handle on the inside.
I wasn't in my apartment anymore.
I was in a room that didn't exist.
I fainted for a few minutes.
When I came to, the room was very dark.
At first, all I could see was a moving shadow.
Then it turned into a man.
He sat at a wooden breakfast table, calmly peeling an orange with a silver scalpel.
"You're late, Ethan, and you brought the shadows with you," the man said.
His voice sounded dry.
The floorboards beneath me began to turn to liquid, becoming thick, dark oil.
I tried to move, but my feet sank.
A cold substance crawled up my ankles like hungry snakes.
"Who are you?" I managed to ask.
The man stepped into the light—and he looked exactly like me.
Same messy hair. Same scars above my left eye.
The only difference was his eyes.
They were gold.
And terrifying.
"I'm the version of you that stayed in the room," he said, smiling and showing rows of needle-sharp teeth.
"Now give me your name. I need it to leave."
The shadows in the corners of the ceiling began to drop like heavy curtains, closing in.
I reached for a heavy glass vase on the side table, my fingers barely grazing its cool surface before the floor swallowed my feet.
"I don't have a name," I lied.
My voice sounded dry and afraid.
The man stopped peeling the orange.
He looked at me like he was studying prey before devouring it.
The room began to tremble.
The floor growled loudly.
"A lie," the man whispered close to my ear.
"Brave one, let's see how long you can hold onto your identity when the walls start feeding on your flesh."
Suddenly, the front door burst open with a blast of dust that smelled strange.
A woman appeared.
I froze again.
For the second time, I felt trapped in a nightmare.
"He is nothing!" she shouted, as if addressing someone else.
"Grab the anchor, or we are all doomed!"
She threw a heavy iron chain toward me.
It hissed as it sliced through the oily floor.
"Grab it!" her voice echoed.
"Ethan, grab it or we are doomed!"
The man lunged through the table, his limbs stretching unnaturally, his golden eyes wide with fury.
I grabbed the chain—
And suddenly, the floor gave way.
I fell into a violent tunnel of wind and distorted memories.