The Last Staircase

Some rules are written in stone, others whispered as warnings—but what happens when curiosity outweighs caution?

I’d always been drawn to the hostel’s roof. The old rule list was simple and final: “Do not go upstairs to the roof.” That was all it said. No explanation, no logic. Most students laughed it off as an outdated superstition, yet I couldn’t help but wonder: What could be so dangerous up there?

Night after night, I stared at the stairwell, imagining the view from above. And then, one night, the opportunity came. A sudden blackout had plunged the dorm into darkness. Silence reigned, thick and heavy, broken only by the occasional groan of the old building. Shadows stretched across the walls like liquid ink. My heart pounded as I tiptoed toward the forbidden staircase. Each step echoed as if another presence were climbing alongside me, unseen yet palpably close.

When I reached the top, I realized the staircase seemed to stretch farther than it should. Every step felt taller, heavier, like the wood itself resisted my weight. My legs quivered, breath hitched. Still, something compelled me upward. The thrill of the unknown drowned my fear. My hands gripped the railing as if it were the only anchor in a storm, though the silence around me was unnerving—almost alive.

The Roof… or Something Else?

Finally, I reached the top—a heavy wooden door barred my way. Pushing it open felt like forcing a secret into the world. But what I saw beyond was not what I expected.

There was no roof.

Instead, a vast field unfolded, engulfed in a thick white fog. No edges, no walls—just endless mist, stretching beyond sight. And there, in the distance, rows of wooden chairs emerged from the fog, each occupied by a still figure. Their heads were bowed, silent, as though suspended in some eternal meditation.

I called out. My voice sounded fragile, swallowed by the fog. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, one chair creaked backward. Empty. Waiting. The air felt heavier, thicker, like breathing underwater. My curiosity warred with terror, and yet, I could not stop myself from stepping forward.

The Choice You Can’t Unmake

Before I knew it, I was drawn toward that empty chair. My legs moved without permission, steps falling in rhythm with a force I could neither see nor resist. A whisper brushed against my ear:

“If you sit, you will not return.”

I froze. My pulse raced as the figures slowly lifted their heads. Eyes like bottomless voids stared at me. Hollow. Endless. Eyes that had waited too long. Their presence was suffocating, yet magnetic, pulling me closer, step by step, toward the empty chair. My mind screamed for retreat, but my body betrayed me.

I glanced behind me. The door I had pushed open had vanished, leaving only white fog in every direction. Panic surged like fire through my veins. The chair waited, as if silently urging me to sit. A terrible realization struck me: this was no ordinary place. Some force, ancient and patient, was testing me, measuring my fear, my curiosity.

Return or Captivity?

I don’t remember exactly what happened next. Time seemed to warp. The fog swallowed sound and sight alike. I stumbled, fell, clawed at the invisible ground beneath me, desperate to escape. Then, abruptly, I woke.

I was in my bed, drenched in sweat. My roommate was asleep, or pretending to be. He claimed I had never left the room. I almost convinced myself it had been a dream—until I saw the footprints.

Fresh, bare, muddy footprints crossed the dorm floor. Mine. And one more… leading inward. Into my room. My blood ran cold. Something had come with me. Something had followed.

Since that night, I avoid the stairwell altogether. I never look up when I pass it, and I avoid the roof like a plague. But sometimes, when the lights go out and the dorm is silent, I hear faint creaks above me—soft, deliberate. And I know the fog is still there, waiting for the next curious soul, ready to claim them the moment they step too far.

Some heights lead to breathtaking views. Others lead to places where return is impossible. And some stairs… should never be climbed.