The Room That Doesn’t Exist

When Daniel bought the old Victorian house, he thought he had found his dream home. It was spacious, had beautiful wooden floors, and sat on the edge of a quiet town. He planned to renovate it slowly, turning it into a perfect place for himself and his fiancée, Claire.

One evening, while inspecting the blueprints, he noticed something strange.

There was an extra room on the plans—one that didn’t exist in real life.

Confused, Daniel walked through the house, counting the doors. Every room was accounted for. Yet, according to the blueprint, there was supposed to be a door between the study and the guest bedroom.

Determined, he tapped on the wall. Hollow.

Curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed a hammer and started breaking through. After a few strikes, the plaster crumbled, revealing an old wooden door.

Chills ran down his spine.

The door had no handle.

Claire, arriving home, found him staring at it. "What is that?" she asked.

"There’s a room here. It was sealed up."

"Then maybe it was meant to stay that way," she said uneasily.

But Daniel couldn’t resist. Using a crowbar, he pried the door open. It groaned as it swung inward, revealing a pitch-black space. The air smelled damp, like something had been trapped for years.

He shone his flashlight inside.

The room was small, dust covering every surface. In the center stood an old wooden chair. Ropes lay scattered around it, as if someone had been tied there. And on the walls—deep scratch marks.

Claire gasped. "Daniel, we need to leave."

But Daniel stepped forward. That’s when he noticed it.

There were footprints in the dust.

Not leading in.

Leading out.

A shiver crawled down his spine. He turned to Claire, his throat dry. "Someone’s been here."

A sudden thud came from behind them. The door had slammed shut.

Claire screamed. Daniel yanked at the handle—now there was one—but it wouldn’t budge. The temperature in the room dropped. Then, the whispering started.

"You shouldn’t have opened it."

Daniel turned, and his flashlight flickered. In the dim light, a figure stood in the corner. Tall, shadowy, its head tilted unnaturally.

Claire sobbed, pounding on the door. "Let us out!"

The figure stepped forward, its hollow eyes locked onto Daniel.

Then, the light went out.

The next morning, the real estate agent arrived to check on the couple. Their car was in the driveway, the front door slightly open.

But the house was empty.

Only one thing was different—the hidden door was sealed again.

And from inside the wall, faint scratches could be heard.

Waiting.

For someone else to open it.