The Impossible Door

"Chapter One..." Zixuan murmured the words under her breath as she hesitantly pushed open the door to her room.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision swimming in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly, willing the blurriness away, but the more she tried to concentrate, the worse it became. A dull ache settled behind her eyes, like a lingering ghost of something she couldn't quite remember.

She came to an abrupt stop, pressing her fingers against her temples before rubbing her eyes in frustration. What happened before I woke up? The question lingered, unanswered, at the edges of her mind, shrouded in a haze of unease.

"What a nightmare," she whispered, shaking off the residual fear that clung to her skin. When she lifted her gaze again, her vision had finally stabilized. But something was… wrong.

The familiar contours of her home had twisted into a grotesque parody of itself. The wooden banister leading down the stairs was no longer straight but curved unnaturally, bending as though melted by some unseen force.

The once-pristine walls slanted at odd angles, their structure distorted as if they were struggling to remain upright. Even the chandelier above—the same one that had illuminated their hallway for years—swayed slightly despite the absence of wind, its chain stretched taut in a way that defied logic.

"Is everything always this…" she trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned slowly, scanning the warped architecture. "...crooked?"

Her breath hitched as she glanced at the door to her brother's room. The frame was tilted, the wood warped like a reflection in rippling water. She took a cautious step forward, a chill settling deep in her bones.

Everything had been bent to the left—everything—as though she were the only thing still standing upright in a world that had gone horribly wrong.

"M-Mom…" Zixuan gasped, her voice trembling. She took a cautious step forward, testing the ground beneath her, half-expecting her body to lurch sideways with the distorted surroundings. To her relief, she moved normally.

Her hesitation vanished as panic surged through her veins. She bolted down the hall, her feet pounding against the wooden floor, heading straight for her mother's room—only to skid to a stop. There was nothing. No door, no room, just an unbroken stretch of wall where it should have been.

Heart hammering, she spun around. To her left, where the kitchen should be, lay only a vast emptiness—except for a single knife resting eerily on the countertop. To her right, the living room remained, unchanged. The maroon couch sat in its usual place, an unsettling anchor in a world that no longer made sense.

"What's going on…?" she whispered, her breath shallow and uneven. The edges of her vision swam as the memories started piecing themselves together—flashes of fear, of screams, of something twisting reality itself.

Cecilion. Paige. Daniela. Harith.

Zixuan's breath hitched.

Mateo.

Her stomach lurched. Cold dread gripped her as the realization struck like a thunderclap. "M-Mateo is dead," she choked out.

The moment the words left her lips, the wall in front of her shuddered. The surface rippled like disturbed water—then, without warning, a door materialized before her eyes.

What unsettled her the most wasn't the sudden appearance of the door—it was the neon sign flickering above it, casting an eerie, pulsating glow.

Chapter One: Who Among Us?

Unmask the traitor before the time runs dry.

"What kind of a sick joike is this?!" Zixuan's stomach twisted. The words felt like a taunt, a cruel joke etched into the very fabric of this twisted reality. She took a shaky step back, her pulse pounding in her ears.

This wasn't her home.

This wasn't real.

But the cold sweat on her skin, the racing of her heart—those were real. And so was the heavy, suffocating sense of dread pressing down on her.

A deep breath. Another.

She clenched her fists. There was no way she was going to walk through that door and throw herself into another twisted game of survival. Everything had gone wrong the moment they stepped into that godforsaken bus station. If only it hadn't rained—if only they had waited a little longer, taken a different route, done anything else—perhaps things wouldn't have spiraled into this nightmare. But now, here she was, standing in a house that wasn't quite hers, staring at a door that shouldn't exist, with a neon sign mocking her hesitation.

Zixuan took one last glance at the flickering words above the door before turning sharply on her heel. She refused to play along. She marched toward the warped front door.

Reaching out, she grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly—only to find it unmoving, as if fused into place. Her stomach tightened.

Determined, she pivoted toward the nearest window, pressing her fingers against the cold glass as she peered outside. But instead of the familiar street, the neighbor's house, or even the dim glow of streetlights, there was only nothingness.

A vast, endless expanse of white stretched beyond the frame, neither bright nor dark, but unsettlingly void of depth. It wasn't fog, nor was it light reflecting off a surface—there was simply nothing there, as though the world had been erased beyond these walls.

Zixuan's breath hitched as a warped, unnatural melody filled the air, breaking the suffocating silence. Her body went rigid. That sound—where was it coming from?

Slowly, she turned.

Her stomach lurched.

In the center of the room, sitting on the floor where nothing had been before, was an old gramophone. Its brass horn gleamed under the flickering light, the needle scratching against a record that had not existed a moment ago.

"Run, rabbit. Run rabbit. Run. Run. Run."

The voice was off—too high, too slow, too warped. As if someone was deliberately distorting the tune. Beneath it, a deeper murmur slithered through the song, a whisper too faint to catch but present enough to raise the hairs on her arms.

Zixuan's heartbeat slammed against her ribs. She had just looked in that direction. The room had been empty. She would have seen it.

"Run, rabbit. Run rabbit. Run. Run. Run."

The needle crackled, and the song repeated. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

Then, the gramophone moved. Not a shift. Not a tremble. It turned, ever so slightly—its horn angling toward her.

Suddenly, the floor—no, the entire house—began to contract, as if an unseen force was crushing it inward, folding reality upon itself. The walls groaned under the pressure, furniture splintering as the space around her constricted.

The once expansive room was now a collapsing cage, pressing everything toward the suffocating center.

Zixuan's breath hitched. Panic clawed at her chest, her thoughts scattering like the debris flying from the crushed remains of the couch and counter.

"N-No! No!" she stammered, pressing her back against the cold, unyielding wall as though it could somehow shield her from the impending doom. It was irrational, futile—she knew that—but fear had a way of overriding logic.

Her gaze darted wildly, searching for an escape. The walls continued their relentless advance, the air thick with dust and the screech of splintering wood. She had no choice—no time to hesitate.

With adrenaline surging through her veins, she forced herself forward, sprinting toward the one door she had sworn never to open.

The moment she reached it, she threw herself against its surface, chest heaving, sweat trickling down her temple. Across the room, the old gramophone had now faced her once again.

The notes scraped at her nerves, growing louder, more invasive, as if burrowing into her skull.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" she hissed, her trembling fingers hovering over the doorknob. But before she could turn it, it caught her eye—

The knife. Gleaming. Shuddering above the counter. Zixuan's pulse roared in her ears. There was no time to think, she needs something to protect herself at least.

"FUCK!" she snarled, launching herself forward. With one swift motion, she seized the knife, its cold steel biting into her palm. Then, just as quickly, she spun back to the door, her breath ragged, her body taut with anticipation.

"Okay… okay! Fine! Fine!" she muttered, forcing herself to inhale deeply, to steady the storm raging inside her. Her grip tightened around the doorknob.

And then she twisted it.

The instant the door swung open, reality collapsed.

A violent force yanked her forward, an unseen hand wrenching her from the crumbling world behind her. She didn't step through—she fell.

And before she could even scream, she plunged straight into freezing water.

The impact stole the air from Zixuan's lungs. Cold, unyielding water swallowed her. She thrashed, her limbs flailing against the disorienting abyss.

Up. Where was up?

Her ears rang with the remnants of the gramophone's haunting tune, now warped and gurgling beneath the water. The world above was a blur, distorted by ripples and shadows. Panic clawed at her throat as she kicked, desperate to break the surface.

Something brushed against her ankle.

Zixuan's eyes snapped open, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. The water was dark, impossibly deep, yet she could see. Silhouettes floated in the depths below—too many. Twisted forms, their limbs slack, their faces blurred as if smeared by unseen hands.

She forced herself to look away, kicking harder. Her lungs burned. Just a little more.

Finally, her fingers broke through the surface, then her face, and she inhaled—only to choke on air too thick, too heavy.

It was wrong.

The sky above her wasn't the sky. It was a ceiling—no, a reflection. A mirror-like surface stretched infinitely, reflecting her wide, gasping eyes.

And behind her reflection—

A hand.

Zixuan screamed, and the water pulled her back under.