The Door That Shouldn’t Be Opened
Ethan's heart slammed against his ribs.
The two doors stood before him, one pulling him in with an invisible force, the other barely there—fading, fleeting, dissolving like mist.
Time was slipping. He could feel it.
The girl's grip on his wrist tightened. "Ethan, listen to me—"
But the voice inside the door was louder now, inside him, around him, inside his bones.
"You're already halfway here. Just open the door."
His breath hitched.
He felt his foot move forward.
Not by choice.
Like something was pulling him, guiding him toward the first door. The door that felt too real, too familiar, too much like home.
No.
Not home.
A trap.
The girl grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Ethan!"
Her voice shattered the trance for a split second.
"If you open it, you'll never leave!"
His pulse roared in his ears.
"Ethan, come home."
The whisper made something crack inside him.
A memory—his mother's voice calling him for dinner. His father's laughter from another room. Warmth. Comfort. A feeling so real it ached.
Except…
It wasn't real.
It wasn't his mother's voice.
It wasn't his life.
It was a lie.
Ethan whipped around toward the second door—the faint, flickering one, the one barely hanging on to existence.
And he ran.
The ground lurched beneath him. The world around him twisted.
The cobblestones cracked, turning to dust. The buildings warped, stretching toward the sky, their windows vanishing into darkness.
The door behind him screeched.
Like wood splintering.
Like something breaking free.
"You can't run forever, Ethan."
His legs burned as he sprinted toward the second door.
The girl was beside him, moving impossibly fast. "Don't slow down!" she shouted.
The ground rippled beneath his feet like water. Reality itself was warping, collapsing, fighting against his escape.
And then—
The first door swung open.
Ethan didn't dare look back.
But he felt it.
A rush of cold.
A sound like laughter—his own laughter—twisting into something monstrous.
Something was coming for him.
The second door was barely holding on. It flickered like a dying candle, each step forward making it more distant, more impossible to reach.
"Jump!" the girl shouted.
Ethan's muscles screamed.
The voice behind him was too close now.
"Almost there, Ethan. Just one step back."
His body wanted to turn.
It would be so easy.
Just… turn.
Just… give in.
But he didn't.
With a final, desperate burst of speed, he leapt forward—
And the world snapped.
Pain exploded through Ethan's body.
He hit something solid—not the twisting street, not the warped town—but wood. Cold, smooth wood.
The second door slammed shut behind him.
Silence.
For a moment, Ethan didn't move. His breath came in ragged gasps. His heartbeat was a wild, unsteady drum.
He was… alive?
He forced himself up, his head spinning, the world steadying around him.
And that's when he realized—
He was back.
The town was gone. The warped streets, the impossible buildings—all of it.
Instead, he was standing in the middle of his small inn room.
The lamp flickered beside him. His jacket was draped over the chair. The faint smell of dust and old wood filled the air.
It was normal.
Real.
Except…
His hands were shaking. His skin was ice-cold.
And the girl—
She was nowhere to be seen.
Ethan stumbled forward, nearly collapsing against the desk. His mind raced, struggling to process what had just happened.
Had it been real?
Had he imagined everything?
His fingers dug into the wooden surface. His reflection stared back at him from the darkened window—pale, wide-eyed, shaken.
And then…
He saw it.
A handprint.
On the glass.
Small. Almost faint.
But there.
As if someone—or something—had been standing outside his window.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then—
The whisper.
Soft.
So soft he almost didn't hear it.
"This isn't over, Ethan."