The Door That Should Not Exist
The Door That Should Not Exist
The rain had been falling for three days without pause.
It wasn't a violent storm. There was no thunder, no lightning, no dramatic winds. Just an endless curtain of gray water descending from a colorless sky, as if the world itself had become tired and forgotten.
Ethan walked through the deserted streets of Black Hollow, a town that seemed abandoned by time. Most people had left years ago after the factories closed, leaving behind empty houses, broken streetlights, and silent memories.
He wasn't searching for anything in particular.
At least, that was what he believed.
Everything changed when he noticed the building.
It stood at the edge of town where no map claimed it existed. Ethan had passed that road many times before, yet he had never seen the structure. It was tall, narrow, and impossibly dark, as though the rain itself avoided touching its walls.
Curiosity pulled him closer.
The front entrance hung open.
Inside, dust coated every surface despite the constant moisture outside. Long corridors stretched into darkness. The silence felt unnatural. Even his footsteps seemed unwilling to make noise.
Then he saw the door.
It stood alone at the end of a hallway.
A simple wooden door.
No decorations.
No markings.
No handle.
No keyhole.
Nothing.
Yet somehow Ethan knew it was important.
An overwhelming feeling settled into his chest.
The door should not exist.
He couldn't explain why.
The moment his fingers touched its surface, a whisper echoed through the hallway.
“What took you so long?”
Ethan spun around.
Nobody.
The corridor remained empty.
His heart pounded.
Had someone spoken?
Or had the building itself whispered?
Before he could retreat, the door slowly opened inward.
Beyond it was not another room.
It was a staircase descending into absolute darkness.
The kind of darkness that seemed alive.
Every instinct screamed at him to leave.
Instead, he stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
The door closed behind him.
The sound echoed like a prison gate.
The staircase continued downward for what felt like hours. The air grew colder. Strange sounds drifted upward from below.
Soft breathing.
Footsteps.
Distant laughter.
The laughter of children.
But there were no children.
Finally, he reached the bottom.
A massive underground chamber stretched before him.
Thousands of clocks covered the walls.
Every clock displayed a different time.
None of them moved.
Frozen.
Dead.
In the center of the room stood a single chair.
Someone was sitting in it.
A silhouette.
Motionless.
Watching him.
"Ethan," the figure said.
His blood turned cold.
“Who are you?”
The figure laughed softly.
A familiar laugh.
Too familiar.
Slowly, it stood.
And stepped into the faint light.
Ethan staggered backward.
The face staring at him was his own.
Not similar.
Not a twin.
Not a lookalike.
It was him.
Exactly him.
The same scars.
The same eyes.
The same expression.
"What is this?" Ethan whispered.
The other Ethan smiled.
“The better question is...”
He pointed toward one of the frozen clocks.
“...how many times have you already asked that?”
A sudden realization struck him.
Every clock contained a tiny photograph.
Thousands of photographs.
Every photograph showed Ethan standing in this very room.
Different clothes.
Different ages.
Different expressions.
But always here.
Always in this chamber.
Always before the chair.
The room began spinning.
Questions flooded his mind.
Had he been here before?
Why couldn't he remember?
How many times had this happened?
And perhaps the most terrifying question of all:
Was he the original Ethan?
Or merely another copy?
The duplicate took a step closer.
Then another.
Its smile widened unnaturally.
"The door isn't a place," it whispered.
“It's a cycle.”
The clocks suddenly started ticking.
One by one.
Then all at once.
Thousands of ticking sounds filled the chamber.
Louder.
Faster.
Closer.
The walls trembled.
The photographs began changing.
Every image now showed something different.
Every photograph showed Ethan disappearing.
Not dying.
Not escaping.
Simply vanishing.
Erased.
As if he had never existed.
The final clock struck midnight.
Every light went out.
Darkness consumed everything.
And from somewhere beyond the darkness came a voice.
A voice older than time itself.
A voice asking a question.
The same question over and over.
A question Ethan somehow knew he could never answer.
“Which one of you is real?”
No answer came.
Only silence.
And somewhere, far away, a wooden door slowly opened once again.
