The morning after my discovery of the stretching room, I thought I had seen the building's limits.
I was wrong.
Hallways, staircases, rooms—they were alive, shifting, stretching. But nothing prepared me for the door.
It appeared where it shouldn't have.
I was walking past the library, checking if the hallway was normal, when a faint outline shimmered against the wall. A door, wooden and unremarkable, as though it had been waiting patiently for me. The frame wavered slightly, like a mirage, then solidified as I approached.
My hand reached out automatically, but I hesitated. A tiny voice in my mind whispered caution. I ignored it. Curiosity had become stronger than fear.
I turned the knob. It was smooth, polished, warm to the touch. The door swung open.
Inside… nothing made sense.
The room was perfectly ordinary at first glance. A desk, a chair, a lamp. The walls were bare. The floor creaked normally. And yet… there was a hum. A vibration beneath my feet that made my chest tingle.
Books on the desk flipped open on their own, pages rifling rapidly, then stopping mid-word. A candle flickered to life and burned in impossible colors—shades I had no names for. Shadows stretched across the walls, curling and twisting like living smoke.
I stepped closer. The air felt thick, heavy, almost liquid, pressing gently against my skin. I reached for a book. The letters on the page shimmered, twisting, rearranging themselves.
And then the door closed.
I spun around. It had shut without anyone touching it. I tried to push it open, pull it, even think it open—but it didn't budge.
The room itself seemed to breathe. The shadows moved toward me, then recoiled. I realized the anomalies were not just random—they were aware. Observing. Testing.
A whisper echoed faintly:
"Do you belong here?"
I froze. The voice wasn't human. It didn't sound like anything I had ever heard. Yet I understood it perfectly.
"Yes," I whispered, unsure if I was answering the room or myself.
The candle's flame danced, projecting shapes on the walls—strange symbols, flickering patterns that almost made sense. The desk rattled, papers sliding to reveal a small, glowing key.
I picked it up. The moment I touched it, the door opened again, revealing a hallway I had never seen. It stretched into darkness, impossibly long. The shadows from the room spilled into it, moving independently of the light.
I stepped inside. My heartbeat quickened. The floor shifted beneath my feet as if testing my weight, the walls bending slightly. I felt a thrill of fear and excitement.
Every anomaly I had seen before—the stretching hallway, the shadows, the impossible candle—were preparing me for this. This was not a simple room. It was a threshold.
And something waited at the far end.
I could sense it, though I could not see it. A presence. Neither friend nor foe, just… aware. Watching. Curious.
I wanted to turn back. But curiosity had become a chain I could not break.
Step by step, I moved forward. The hallway seemed endless, but the key in my pocket pulsed softly, guiding me. The shadows danced, folding in and out of view. The hum in the air grew louder, echoing inside my chest.
And then, a door appeared at the far end of the hallway. Unlike the others, it was old, carved with symbols that glowed faintly. The shadows pooled around it, like a living river.
I knew, instinctively, that what lay beyond would change everything.
I swallowed hard. Took a deep breath. And turned the knob.