Don’t Open the Last Door in the Apartment

write by hasnain pathan When I moved into Apartment 17B, the rent was unbelievably cheap.

That should’ve been my first warning.

The building stood at the edge of the city—old, silent, and almost forgotten. The landlord, a thin man with pale eyes, handed me the keys without much conversation.

“There’s just one rule,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“Never open the last door in the hallway.”

I laughed a little. “What last door?”

“You’ll see it,” he replied. “Just don’t open it.”

I assumed it was some kind of joke… or maybe a broken storage room.

I wish it had been.

The first few nights were quiet. Too quiet.

No neighbors. No footsteps. No sounds at all.

It felt like I was the only person in the entire building.

On the third night, I finally noticed it.

At the end of the hallway, past my apartment, there was a dark wooden door. Unlike the others, it had no number. No handle. Just a faint outline… like it had been sealed shut.

Something about it felt wrong.

Not scary at first—just… out of place.

Then the noises started.

At exactly 3:17 AM, I woke up to a soft scratching sound.

Scrape… scrape… scrape…

It was faint, like something dragging across wood.

I sat up, listening carefully.

The sound was coming from the hallway.

From that door.

I told myself it was rats. Old buildings always have rats.

But then… it stopped.

And I heard something else.

A whisper.

“…help me…”

I froze.

It was faint, almost like it was inside my head.

“…please…”

The next morning, I confronted the landlord.

“There’s something behind that door,” I said. “I heard someone.”

His face turned pale.

“You didn’t open it… did you?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said quickly. “Because if you do… it won’t just be you anymore.”

I laughed nervously. “What does that even mean?”

He didn’t answer.

That night, I tried to ignore it.

But at 3:17 AM, the sound came again.

Louder this time.

SCRAPE… SCRAPE… SCRAPE…

And then…

BANG.

Something slammed against the door.

I jumped out of bed.

The whisper returned—clearer now.

“Let… me… out…”

My heart pounded.

This wasn’t rats.

This wasn’t normal.

I grabbed a flashlight and stepped into the hallway.

The air felt colder.

Heavier.

As I walked closer to the door, the scratching grew more frantic.

Like something inside knew I was there.

“Who’s there?” I shouted.

Silence.

Then, softly…

“…you…”

My breath caught.

“What?”

“…you’re… me…”

I should’ve run back.

I should’ve locked my door and left the building.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

And fear… sometimes pulls you closer instead of pushing you away.

The door didn’t have a handle.

But as I touched it…

It moved.

Slowly.

As if it had never been locked at all.

The scratching stopped.

Complete silence.

I pushed the door open.

Inside was darkness.

Thick. Endless darkness.

My flashlight flickered as I stepped in.

The room was empty.

Just bare walls and cold air.

I exhaled, almost laughing at myself.

“See? Nothing—”

Then I saw it.

At the far corner of the room.

Something was standing there.

Perfectly still.

Watching me.

It stepped forward into the light.

And my blood ran cold.

It was me.

Same face. Same clothes.

But something was wrong.

Its eyes were hollow.

Its smile… too wide.

Too unnatural.

“You finally opened it,” it said.

Its voice sounded like mine… but layered, distorted.

“What… are you?” I whispered.

It tilted its head.

“I’m what stayed behind.”

Before I could react, the door slammed shut behind me.

I rushed to open it—but it wouldn’t budge.

“No, no, no—”

The thing moved closer.

Slow. Calm. Certain.

“You weren’t supposed to let me out,” it said softly.

“I didn’t—”

“But you did.”

The lights flickered.

The room shifted.

And suddenly… I wasn’t standing anymore.

I was outside.

In the hallway.

Staring at the door.

From the other side.

I screamed, pounding on it.

“LET ME OUT!”

But no one came.

No one heard.

From inside the apartment… I heard footsteps.

My footsteps.

The door opened.

And I watched… as I walked out.

Smiling.

Free.

Now I understand.

The rule wasn’t to keep something locked inside.

It was to keep it from replacing you.

It’s been weeks.

Maybe months.

Time feels… different here.

I still hear footsteps in the hallway.

People moving in.

New tenants.

And every night… at 3:17 AM…

I scratch at the door.

I whisper.

I beg.

“…help me…”

Because I know…

Sooner or later…

Someone always opens it.