The Last Door

I walk through the dark hallways. A dripping sound echoes around me—slow, steady, too loud. It’s cold here. Dark. My breath hitches, fogging the air in front of me, thin and uneven.

I freeze.

Squinting, I try to make out the outline of the tall man standing in front of another dark hallway, darker than the rest. I tell myself it’s the exit. I need it to be the exit. Slipping into the shadows, I attempt to squeeze past the man without being spotted. Before I can make it past him, his head whips in my direction, his featureless face causes me to scream out, and a voice booms from overhead through the empty corridor, “This section is off limits.”

My body reacts before my mind does. I run.

I don’t dare turn around. My heart is racing as I hear the man's footsteps thundering behind me. I quickly make a sharp turn down another hallway, blood roaring in my ears as I dive into the shadows. My lungs are on fire as I try to catch my breath.

Silence.

Without warning, the man jumps out from an adjacent hallway and grabs me, his nails breaking the skin of my arms as he does.

I gasp as I sit up in bed. My dreams have a way of haunting me lately. I run my hands over my arms, where the man from my dream had gripped me, and feel something warm and wet on my fingertips. Jolting from bed, I flip the switch for the light, then stand in front of my mirror.

I gasp.

Bruises wrap around my arms, deep and dark, shaped unmistakably like fingers, blood trickling from the places his nails bit into my skin.

I must’ve done that in my sleep... right?

After wiping away the blood, I crawl into bed and drift back to sleep.

Darkness.

Last night's dream had almost completely escaped my mind as I went through my day. I rush to catch the bus before it pulls away, sliding into a seat near the back, and pressing my head against the window as I gaze out. Outside, the buildings blur into streaks of color as the bus gains speed.

I freeze.

The faceless man from my dream stands on the sidewalk. Watching. My breath catches. I blink.

He’s gone.

My reflection stares back at me from the glass. He was never there—was he?

When night comes, the house feels different. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that builds suspense. I sit on the edge of my bed as moonlight spills in through the sheer curtains, casting a silver glow over my dimly lit room. Each sound—the soft electrical buzz, the distant creak of settling wood—feels deliberate. I brush my hair slowly, over and over, trying to ease the tightness in my chest, but the tension lingers.

Finally, I set the brush back on my vanity, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I worm my way under the covers and reach over to turn off the lamp. As I settle into bed, I rest my head on the cool pillow, allowing my thoughts to dissolve into nothing as I drift off to sleep.

My heart drops into my stomach—I recognize that dripping sound.

I blink, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. Doors line the empty hallway. Why am I back here?

I inch toward the door on my left and ease it open, my fingers trembling against the doorknob. My eyes squeeze shut, unsure of what awaits me on the other side. Then my dad’s voice cuts through the silence—loud, livid—and my eyes snap open. He’s yelling at my mom.

I remember this fight.

I’m frozen in the doorway, unable to look away. A younger version of me peeks from behind the corner of the narrow hall, eyes wide, body rigid, face half-hidden. She screams from her hiding place as I watch my mother flinch when my dad’s hand rises. I slam the door shut, wincing, already knowing what happens next.

Clutching the neckline of my nightgown, I try to steady my racing mind.

Another door waits across the hall, nearly swallowed by darkness. Rushing towards it, I fling it open. My father’s hand makes contact with my younger self's cheek. My lip quivers as I slam the door shut and run down the dark hallway, tears fueled by hatred fill my eyes as I desperately try to escape the memories snapping at my heels. I turn down a shorter corridor, a single door at the end.

I slow, no longer running. Holding my breath before pushing the door open, I cower, bracing myself for another haunting truth of my past to show itself.

Is that laughter?

I straighten as I watch a younger version of myself playing with my sister in our backyard.

“Tag—you’re it,” I hear the younger me call out as I run away.

Tall trees cast leaf-shaped shadows over our small bodies as we chase each other, the afternoon sun blazing overhead. I draw in a deep breath and close my eyes in the doorway, almost able to smell the floral scent of the summer breeze.

Allowing myself to reminisce for a moment longer, before I close the door.

I turn down a separate hallway, my eyes scouring the shadows. Another door waits at a bend in the corridor, half-hidden. The cold metal of the doorknob stings the exposed flesh of my palm as I twist it slowly. When I push the door open, warmth spills out.

A happy family sits around a campfire—my family. Laughter crackles in the night air like the fire itself. Arms wrap around shoulders. Someone tells a joke. A faint smile creeps across my lips as I admire the scene before me. My dad looks at my younger self with soft eyes and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear while I bite into a toasted marshmallow. For a moment, the world feels whole.

I step forward, reaching for the past—

The memories of my father being kind seem almost foreign to me now.

Hands clamp around me from behind.

The faceless man’s grip is sudden and overpowering, his presence swallowing the warmth in an instant.

A blood-curdling scream tears from my throat as I fight to escape him.

I thrash wildly, kicking, scratching, clawing at anything I can reach. My lungs burn, and my muscles scream. Then—suddenly—his hold loosens, allowing me to tear free and run.

The sound of his pursuit is deafening. Just as this place begins to feel less like a nightmare, that fragile hope is ripped away. I don’t slow down, nor do I look back as I run, until I spot the hallway he guarded the night before.

There—at the end—a single door, larger than the rest.

Adrenaline surges through me. I lunge down the hallway, meeting the cold tile flooring with my chest. Scrambling back onto my feet, my heart slams against my ribs, the man not far behind me.

I reach the door and throw it open—

Inside is not a memory that I hold, but a feeling that engulfs me. I see myself on my knees, sobbing into my hands. The sound of dripping fills the space—slow, steady. Familiar.

As I step through the doorway, I don’t turn around to see if the man will stop me.

I wrap my arm around this other version of myself, her shoulders shaking beneath my touch. Her sobs begin to quiet. The dripping slows. I rest my chin against the top of her head, my chest tight as if I’ve been holding my breath for years.

I lift my gaze.

The man stands in the doorway.

Still. Watching.

A single tear slips down my face as understanding settles heavily in my chest. I finally see him—not as the monster I ran from, but as the man who created him.

My father.

It’s time to let go…

I wake up.