The 13th Door in Room 217

I. Why I Went There

I’ve been called crazy for exploring abandoned buildings.

Ghost towns, haunted hospitals, even cursed forests. People love my YouTube channel for one reason: I go where no one else dares to. But when I heard about Miras Hotel — a decaying structure deep in the mountains of northern Pakistan — something felt… different.

Locals didn’t just avoid it.

They feared it.

“It eats people,” one old man at a chai shop told me. His hand trembled as he passed me the tea. “That place doesn’t want to be found. And if it lets you in... it may not let you out.”

I smiled politely.

But deep down, I was intrigued.

II. Miras Hotel

I arrived late afternoon, camera bag slung over my shoulder. The sky was gray, and the wind howled like it remembered screams.

The hotel stood like a forgotten memory — vines crawling over its walls, windows shattered, rust clinging to every corner. A metal sign hung by one chain: "Miras Hotel — Since 1954", swinging gently as if warning me.

The gate creaked open by itself.

Classic.

The lobby was covered in dust thick enough to leave footprints. Chandeliers dangled, swaying gently even though there was no breeze inside. I filmed everything, narrating calmly — though my hands were colder than usual.

The second floor smelled… different. Like wet stone and rotting flowers.

III. Room 217

I found Room 217.

The infamous room where three guests disappeared in the 1990s — one of them a police officer. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just a scratched message on the wall:

“Don’t open the 13th door.”

But the room had only 12.

I counted again.

12 cabinet doors. 1 bathroom. 1 wardrobe. Total: 14.

But the wall behind the bed sounded... hollow.

When I moved the bed aside, there it was:

A small wooden door, about three feet tall, no handle, no hinges — nailed shut with rusted iron spikes.

And then I heard it.

Knocking.

From behind the door.

IV. I Should Have Left

I know what you're thinking. Why didn’t you leave?

Honestly? I don’t know.

Maybe I was too proud. Maybe I was too stupid. Or maybe the room… wanted me there.

I set up the camera and started prying the nails out.

One by one.

Each one groaned like something was crying.

The last one popped loose — and the door swung open slowly on its own.

Behind it: a narrow stone staircase descending into total darkness.

My flashlight flickered. The air shifted. It smelled… damp, like old bones and stagnant water.

Then I heard the whisper.

“You’ve already started.”

V. The Descent

I stepped down, unable to stop myself.

The door slammed shut behind me with a deafening thud.

Darkness swallowed me.

I turned on my backup light.

Something wet dripped from the ceiling.

I kept walking. 10 steps. 20. 30.

Then — a mirror appeared.

Just standing there.

In the middle of nothing.

But when I looked into it... it wasn’t me.

It looked like me. Same clothes, same height. But the eyes were gone. Just hollow, dark sockets. And the smile — wide, unnatural. Something stood behind my reflection.

A tall, black figure with no face.

VI. The 13 Doors Below

After the mirror, the hallway opened into a massive stone chamber.

Thirteen doors surrounded me.

Twelve were shut.

The 13th?

Wide open.

And something was crawling out.

Not walking.

Crawling backward. Fast. Arms bent the wrong way. Head twisted completely around.

It made no sound — except the bones cracking as it moved.

Then it spoke — in my own voice.

“You opened it. Now you stay.”

VII. Escape... Or Not?

I ran.

Through another hallway. I didn’t know where I was going. Doors blurred past me. One door slammed shut in front of me just as I reached for the handle. My flashlight died.

And then… silence.

Next thing I remember — I woke up.

Outside.

At the hotel gate.

It was morning.

My camera was missing. My phone was dead. My bag was lighter.

Inside, I found one thing:

A polaroid photo.

In it — I stood inside Room 217.

Behind me, the 13th door.

Still open.

VIII. Aftermath

I never uploaded a video about Miras Hotel.

But sometimes, in my other uploads…

in background reflections, or distorted audio…

there’s a shadow. A glitch.

A whisper that wasn’t in the original file.

Once, a fan commented:

“Who’s that behind you at 3:06? The smiling guy with no eyes?”

I never watch my own videos anymore.

And I don’t go exploring at night.

But every now and then… I hear knocking.

In dreams. In my room.

Always three slow knocks.

And sometimes…

I feel the 13th door is still open.