The Room That Wasn’t There

When Ibrahim first moved into the apartment, he thought he had gotten lucky.

The rent was cheap. The place was quiet. No noisy neighbors, no traffic, no distractions. Just a simple third-floor apartment at the end of a long, dim hallway.

Perfect.

The landlord didn’t ask many questions. In fact, he barely spoke at all. Just handed over the keys and said:

“Third floor. Last door.”

Ibrahim nodded. “Anything I should know?”

The landlord paused for a moment… then shook his head.

“No.”

The first night passed peacefully.

So did the second.

But on the third night, Ibrahim woke up suddenly.

His eyes shot open.

2:13 AM.

He didn’t know why he woke up. There was no noise, no movement—just a strange feeling… like something had changed.

Then he heard it.

A slow… dragging sound.

Creeeak…

Ibrahim sat up, heart pounding.

It was coming from the hallway.

He turned on his phone flashlight and stepped out of his room.

The hallway was dark.

Too dark.

And longer than he remembered.

Ibrahim frowned. “That’s weird…”

He walked slowly toward the end.

The bathroom door was open.

But behind it—

His breath caught.

There was another door.

A tall, narrow, wooden door that had never been there before.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he whispered.

He had lived here for days. There was no extra room.

No extra door.

Yet there it was.

Slightly open.

As if inviting him.

He should have gone back.

He should have closed his eyes and pretended none of it existed.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

Ibrahim stepped closer.

The air felt colder with every step.

“Hello?” he called out softly.

No answer.

Just silence.

He pushed the door open.

Inside was a small, empty room.

Bare walls.

No windows.

No light—except the one from his phone.

And in the middle of the room…

A chair.

Facing away from him.

Ibrahim swallowed hard.

“Okay… this is not real.”

He took a step back.

Then—

Scrrrrkkkk…

The chair moved.

Just slightly.

A slow scraping sound echoed through the room.

Ibrahim froze.

“No… no…”

The chair turned.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Until it faced him.

And someone was sitting on it.

A figure.

Too tall.

Too still.

Its face hidden in darkness.

Ibrahim couldn’t breathe.

“Who… who are you?” he whispered.

The figure didn’t move.

Then its head tilted.

And a voice—dry, hollow, and impossibly close—whispered:

“You opened the door.”

Ibrahim screamed and ran.

He slammed his bedroom door, locked it, and didn’t move until morning.

When sunlight filled the apartment, everything looked normal again.

The hallway was short.

There was no extra door.

No extra room.

“It was a dream,” he told himself. “Just a dream.”

That night, he forced himself to stay awake.

But exhaustion took over.

And once again—

His eyes opened suddenly.

2:13 AM.

Creeeak…

The sound came again.

This time, louder.

Closer.

Ibrahim didn’t want to look.

But he did.

The hallway was longer again.

And the door was there.

Open wider this time.

Waiting.

Days passed.

Every night, the same thing.

2:13 AM.

The door.

The room.

The figure.

And each night… it got closer.

At first, it stayed on the chair.

Then it stood.

Then it took one step forward.

The next night—two steps.

Ibrahim stopped sleeping.

Dark circles formed under his eyes. His hands trembled constantly.

Finally, he went to the landlord.

“There’s something in that apartment,” Ibrahim said, his voice shaking.

The landlord didn’t look surprised.

“You saw the room,” he said quietly.

Ibrahim stepped back. “You knew?”

The landlord nodded slowly.

“It doesn’t exist during the day. Only at 2:13 AM.”

“What is it?” Ibrahim whispered.

The landlord looked at him… with something almost like pity.

“It’s not a room,” he said.

“It’s a place that finds people.”

That night, Ibrahim packed his bags.

He wasn’t staying another second.

As he grabbed his suitcase and walked toward the door—

Creeeak…

He froze.

Slowly… painfully slowly… he turned around.

The hallway was already changing.

Stretching.

Darkening.

And the door—

Was fully open.

Inside the room, the figure was gone.

The chair was empty.

Ibrahim’s heart stopped.

“Where did it go…?”

Then—

A voice behind him whispered:

“I’m not in the room anymore.”

The neighbors later said the apartment was empty the next day.

No signs of struggle.

No luggage.

No Ibrahim.

Just one strange detail—

The hallway inside the apartment seemed longer than before.

And at the very end…

A door.

That no one remembered seeing.