The Key
The train station was crowded.
People rushing.
Luggage rolling.
Voices blending into an endless hum.
James adjusted his coat and checked his watch.
3:45 PM.
Still ten minutes until his train.
Then—
A hand.
On his arm.
James turned.
An old man stood there.
Wrinkled face.
Tired eyes.
Clothes too big for his thin frame.
He leaned in close.
Pressed something cold into James's palm.
A key.
Rusty.
Heavy.
And then—
The man whispered:
"Don't use it."
James blinked.
"What?"
But the old man was already gone.
Vanished into the sea of travelers.
James stared at the key in his hand.
Old brass.
Scratched.
But the teeth—
Sharp.
Almost too sharp.
Like it had never been used.
He pocketed it.
Shook off the unease.
The train arrived.
Doors opened.
People poured in.
James found his seat and sat down.
But his fingers kept brushing against the key.
And the old man's whisper echoed in his head.
"Don't use it."
That night, back home, James emptied his pockets.
Keys.
Wallet.
Phone.
And the old key.
He rolled it between his fingers.
What did it open?
Who was that man?
Why give it to him?
He stood.
Walked to his apartment door.
Tried it in the lock.
Didn't fit.
He tried the drawers.
The cabinets.
The old trunk in the closet.
Nothing.
Maybe it was a prank.
Or a mistake.
But something in his gut told him—
This key belonged somewhere.
Somewhere close.
And suddenly, he needed to know.
James searched his apartment.
Every lock.
Every drawer.
Nothing.
Then—
He noticed something.
A door.
At the end of the hall.
His hallway only had three doors.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Closet.
But now there were four.
His mouth went dry.
That door—
It wasn't there before.
It was old.
Peeling paint.
A brass keyhole.
James took a step forward.
Heart pounding.
Fingers tight around the key.
"Don't use it."
He hesitated.
Stared at the key in his hand.
His pulse in his ears.
Then—
He slid it into the lock.
Turned.
Click.
The door swung open.
Darkness inside.
A long, narrow hallway.
No windows.
No sound.
Just something waiting.
James swallowed.
Stepped forward.
The door closed behind him.
The key vanished from his hand.
And the whisper returned.
Right beside his ear.
"You shouldn't have used it."
The next morning, James's apartment was empty.
The door at the end of the hall was gone.
And somewhere, far away—
An old man stood in a train station.
A key in his palm.
Waiting for the next traveler.
Waiting for someone to take it.
Waiting for someone to make the same mistake.