Not desperate.
Just three slow knocks.
Knock…
Knock…
Knock…
Ethan's eyes snapped open.
He lived alone on the 17th floor of Blackwood Heights. No neighbors on his side of the hallway. No late-night visitors. And absolutely no one who would knock on his door at three in the morning.
He checked his phone.
3:03 AM.
Again.
Knock… Knock… Knock…
This time, slightly closer.
Ethan swallowed. His apartment door was directly across from his bedroom. There was no mistaking it.
He slowly got out of bed and walked toward the hallway. The air felt colder than usual. The lights flickered once — just once — before stabilizing.
He looked through the peephole.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty.
Long. Silent. Dead.
He opened the door anyway.
No one.
But something was different.
At the end of the hallway, where there should have been a blank concrete wall…
There was a door.
A black wooden door.
It had no handle.
No number.
No frame.
It just stood there like it had always belonged.
Ethan blinked.
"I've lived here for two years…" he whispered. "There's no door there."
The hallway lights buzzed faintly.
And then—
The black door slowly creaked open.
Just an inch.
From inside, darkness poured out like smoke.
And then he heard it.
A voice.
Soft. Broken. Almost crying.
"Ethan…"
His blood froze.
No one here knew his name.
"Ethan… please… help me…"
It sounded like a woman. Weak. Terrified.
He should have gone back inside. Called the police. Slammed his door shut.
But instead…
He stepped forward.
One step.
Two steps.
The hallway seemed longer now. The door farther away. His breathing heavier.
"Ethan… it hurts…"
The voice was closer.
He reached the door.
Inside was complete darkness.
No walls.
No floor.
Just endless black.
Then suddenly—
A pale hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
Ice cold.
Rotting.
Its nails dug into his skin.
Ethan screamed and tried to pull back — but the hand was impossibly strong.
More hands began emerging from the darkness.
Dozens.
Grabbing.
Clawing.
Pulling him in.
And inside the darkness—
He saw faces.
Distorted.
Broken.
People he didn't recognize.
Except one.
Himself.
Standing inside the void.
Smiling.
His double tilted its head.
"You weren't supposed to open the door."
The hallway lights exploded.
Everything went black.
—
Ethan woke up on his bedroom floor.
Sweating. Gasping.
Morning sunlight streamed through the window.
He looked toward the hallway.
No strange door.
No darkness.
Just his normal apartment.
He laughed nervously.
"Just a nightmare…"
Then he noticed something.
Three long scratch marks around his wrist.
And from the hallway—
Three slow knocks.
Knock…
Knock…
Knock…