The Door That Only Opens Once

Hamza had lived in the apartment for two years.

Nothing unusual ever happened.

Until the door appeared.

It was late evening when he first noticed it.

A wooden door.

At the end of his hallway.

That hadn’t been there before.

Hamza stared at it, confused.

His apartment was small. Just a bedroom, a kitchen, and a short hallway leading to the bathroom.

There was no space for another door.

“Maybe I’m tired,” he muttered.

But the door was real.

Dark wood.

Old handle.

Slightly scratched.

Hamza walked closer.

His heart beat faster with every step.

He reached out.

And knocked.

No response.

He tried the handle.

Locked.

The next morning, the door was gone.

The wall was normal again.

Smooth.

Empty.

Hamza convinced himself it had been a dream.

Until it appeared again.

Same time.

Same place.

Same door.

This time, there was something different.

A faint sound coming from inside.

Breathing.

Hamza stepped back.

“Nope,” he said quietly.

He went to his room and shut the door.

For the next few nights, the pattern continued.

The door appeared every night.

At exactly 11:59 PM.

Always locked.

Always silent.

Until one night.

A voice came from the other side.

“Hamza…”

He froze.

His name.

“Open the door,” the voice whispered.

It sounded like him.

Exactly like him.

Hamza’s hands began to shake.

“Who’s there?”

Silence.

Then—

“You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

Hamza stepped back slowly.

“I’m not opening it.”

The voice laughed softly.

“That’s what I said too.”

Days passed.

The door kept appearing.

The voice kept calling.

Getting more desperate.

More aggressive.

“You’re running out of time.”

“You have to open it.”

“You already did once.”

That last sentence made Hamza stop.

“What do you mean?”

Silence.

Then—

“You just don’t remember.”

That night, Hamza decided to end it.

At 11:59 PM, the door appeared again.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight toward it.

The voice on the other side sounded… relieved.

“Finally.”

Hamza grabbed the handle.

And opened the door.

Inside was darkness.

Endless.

Cold.

But in the middle of that darkness…

Someone stood.

It was him.

Same face.

Same clothes.

Same expression.

But his eyes were empty.

“You took long enough,” the other Hamza said.

“What is this?” Hamza whispered.

The other version smiled.

“This is where we end.”

Suddenly, memories flooded his mind.

He had opened the door before.

Many times.

Each time, he met himself.

Each time, only one version left.

The other stayed behind.

Trapped.

Waiting.

For the next version.

“This isn’t real,” Hamza said.

“It is,” the other replied. “And now you choose.”

“Choose what?”

“Who stays.”

The darkness behind the other Hamza began to move.

Like something alive.

Hungry.

Waiting.

Hamza took a step back.

“I’m not staying here.”

The other version laughed.

“That’s what we all say.”

The darkness surged forward.

The door slammed shut.

The next morning, Hamza woke up in his bed.

Everything looked normal.

No door.

No hallway changes.

Nothing.

He sighed in relief.

“It was just a nightmare…”

Then he walked into the hallway.

And froze.

At the end of the hall…

There was a door.

And from behind it…

A voice whispered.

“Hamza…”