So there’s this door in my apartment—nothing fancy. It’s next to the coat rack, across from the kitchen. Honestly, I’ve lived here for almost three years and didn’t even think about it much. But lately… I don’t know. Something weird’s been happening.
Every night, around the same time (I think it’s always after midnight, but who really checks a clock when you’re half asleep?), I open it and—this is gonna sound nuts—I end up somewhere else.
Not just somewhere else like a different room. I mean somewhen. A completely different time. Another era.
Yeah. I know how it sounds.
Okay, For Example—
Last Thursday—or maybe it was Wednesday?—I opened the door and walked straight into what looked like a city square in 1910 or something. Horses, carts, those weird old hats everyone wore in photos. There was this bakery with bread I swear you could smell through the air. I tried to talk to someone, but no one noticed me.
It didn’t feel like a dream. You know how dreams are kinda fuzzy around the edges? This wasn’t.
Then There Was That One Time…
I stepped out into a room lit entirely by candles. Wooden floors, tapestries on the walls, and some guy writing with a feather pen. No joke. A quill. He didn’t look up. I watched for a minute, maybe two, and then boom—I blinked and I was back in my hallway again, holding my phone.
Which, by the way, had a dead battery. That always happens after I go through the door. Like time skips.
Am I Losing It?
Could be. Wouldn’t be the first time someone cracked from too much stress and not enough sleep. But here’s the thing: every time I go through the door, I come back feeling… calmer. Like I saw something important, even if I didn’t understand what it was.
I’ve tried telling a couple friends. Didn’t go well. Lots of “maybe lay off the YouTube before bed” comments.
So now I just keep it to myself. Or, well, I’m writing this here. Not sure why. Maybe someone else has a weird door too.
You Know What’s Funny?
I don’t even try to guess where I’ll end up anymore. Sometimes it’s loud and full of people, sometimes it’s dead quiet. One time, I stepped into what looked like a war camp—tents, fires, soldiers passed out on the ground. I didn’t stay long.
Another time, I opened the door and it was just fog. Couldn’t see anything past five feet. But I walked anyway, for what felt like hours.
When I turned around, the door was still there, floating behind me.
Anyway
It’s 12:17 as I’m typing this. The door’s probably glowing a little again—I swear it does that now, just barely.
I’ll go see what’s on the other side.
Maybe I’ll write about it tomorrow.
Maybe I won’t.
We’ll see.