I found a room in my house that shouldn't be there

I always thought I knew every inch of my home.

It was a modest two-bedroom rental on the edge of town—nothing special, but it was mine. I could walk through it blindfolded, counting the creaking floorboards and feeling for tiny cracks in the wall. I knew the house.

Or at least, I thought I did.

Until the night a storm cut the power, and in the flickering light of candles, I saw a door at the end of the hallway.

A door that hadn't been there before.

At first, I told myself it was just an illusion caused by the shadows. Maybe the storm had shrunk something loose—a piece of drywall, a hidden panel.

But the door was solid. Old wood, heavy, with a tarnished brass handle that felt...almost warm to the touch.

I hesitated, my heart racing.

Rationally, I should call the landlord. Or at least wait until morning. But part of me—the stubborn, reckless me—needed to know why.

I turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled down into darkness.

Each step I took felt heavier than the last, as if the air around me had grown thicker.

At the bottom of the stairs, I found… my home.

The same layout. The same worn couch. The same chipped coffee table. The same faded photos on the walls—but when I looked closely, the faces in the frames blurred, their features blurring like wet ink.

The air smelled strange, too, damp and metallic, like blood that had been in the sun for too long.

The clock above the fireplace ticked backwards, faster and faster, the hands blurring.

And then I heard it.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Behind me.

I turned—and froze.

The person standing in the middle of the stairs was… me.

Same clothes, same hairstyle, same wide, terrified eyes.

But my double's head tilted at an unnatural angle, and when it smiled, I saw too many teeth—rows and rows of teeth, sharp and gleaming.

It took a step forward.

And another.

I ran.

I ran back, my heart pounding, almost drowning out all sound.

But the door I had come in through was gone. In its place was a smooth, unbroken wall.

The light flickered once, twice, then went out completely.

The darkness wasn't empty. It pressed down on me, thick and breathy.

All around me, the furniture began to blend into the blackness. The walls rippled like water. I could hear hundreds of whispers, lingering at the edges of my mind.

A cold breath brushed the back of my neck.

I ran blindly into the depths of this incredible house, with only my own rapid breathing to sound.

Still I ran.

I thought I would never find a way out.

Why?