The Room That Shouldn’t Exist | Mysterious Story | Looming Story

 The Room That Shouldn’t Exist

Karan had always believed he was practical. No superstition, no overthinking—just straightforward logic. That’s why when he found an old flat in a slightly rundown building at a price that seemed too good to be true, he didn’t think twice. A good deal was a good deal, after all. The landlord was eager to rent it out, and while the building had its creaks and groans, the flat itself seemed fine. Two bedrooms, a decent kitchen, and enough space for one person. Karan figured he’d struck gold.

The first couple of weeks were uneventful. Karan had one room as his bedroom and used the second for storage. It wasn’t a luxurious flat, but it served his needs. The days were peaceful, and the nights, while eerily quiet, didn’t bother him much. However, as the third week began, something changed.

One night, as Karan was heading to bed, something caught his eye at the end of the hallway. It stopped him in his tracks. Where he had always seen a blank wall, there was now a door.

He blinked, confused. It was an ordinary wooden door, slightly ajar, with darkness spilling from the crack. But it hadn’t been there before. He was sure of it.

"Am I imagining things?" he muttered, walking closer. The door looked old, its paint faded and its surface slightly warped. For a moment, he considered peeking inside, but an uneasy feeling bubbled up in his chest. Instead, he shook his head and hurried to his room, convincing himself he was just tired.

The next morning, the door was gone.

Karan laughed at himself. It must have been a dream, a trick of the mind. But that night, as he returned to the hallway, the door was back.

This time, curiosity got the better of him. He approached it cautiously, his heart pounding. The air around the door was colder than the rest of the flat, and as he stepped closer, he felt a strange heaviness in his chest. Peering inside, he saw what appeared to be a small room. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the floor was coated with a fine layer of dust.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing strangely, as though the room were much larger than it looked.

There was no response. But something about the room felt… wrong. The shadows seemed to move, shifting unnaturally in the dim light. Karan stepped back and closed the door quickly. He decided to leave it alone.

But the door wouldn’t let him forget.

Every night, it reappeared. Sometimes it was slightly ajar, other times fully closed, but it was always there, waiting for him. The unease grew stronger each time he saw it. He started sleeping with the lights on and avoided the hallway as much as possible.

By the fifth night, Karan had had enough. Whatever this was—some trick of the building’s old structure or some prank—he was going to put an end to it. Armed with a flashlight and a crowbar, he approached the door. His breath fogged in the cold air as he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was freezing. The walls were damp, and the wallpaper hung in tatters. The flashlight’s beam barely cut through the darkness, but as he moved it around, Karan noticed something that made his stomach churn—the room was far larger than it had seemed from the outside.

It wasn’t just a small room tucked at the end of the hallway. It stretched on endlessly, its walls vanishing into the dark.

In the corner, the beam of his flashlight landed on an object: a chair. It was old, wooden, and splintered, sitting alone in the emptiness. Karan felt a chill as he noticed the wall behind the chair. It was covered in deep, jagged scratches, as though something—or someone—had been clawing at it for years.

"Enough of this," he muttered, turning to leave.

But the door was gone.

Panic set in as Karan spun around, his flashlight darting across the room. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows growing darker, heavier. The air felt thick, suffocating.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice trembling.

A whisper answered him.

"You shouldn’t have come."

Karan’s flashlight flickered, the beam sputtering as he turned back to the chair. It wasn’t empty anymore.

A figure sat there.

It was hunched over, its back facing him, with its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Its limbs were thin and twisted, its hands gripping the chair’s edges tightly. Slowly, it turned toward him, revealing hollow eyes and a wide, jagged grin that stretched too far across its face.

Karan stumbled backward, dropping the flashlight. The room plunged into darkness.

He could hear it now—the figure moving, its footsteps slow and deliberate, echoing in the endless space. The whisper came again, closer this time.

"Stay with me."

Karan ran. He didn’t know where he was going—there were no walls, no doors, nothing but darkness. His hands stretched out blindly, searching for anything to guide him. But the room seemed endless, a void with no escape.

The whispers grew louder, overlapping, until they became a deafening roar. Shadows swirled around him, and he felt cold hands brush against his skin.

And then, there was silence.

Days later, Karan’s friends came looking for him. They hadn’t heard from him in days and were worried. When they entered the flat, they found it empty. His belongings were untouched, his bed unmade, and his phone sitting on the table.

But Karan was nowhere to be found.

The landlord claimed to know nothing about Karan’s disappearance. He avoided questions and refused to discuss the flat’s history. But the other tenants in the building whispered among themselves. They spoke of strange noises coming from Karan’s flat late at night—whispers, tapping, and the sound of footsteps pacing back and forth.

Some even claimed they had seen a door at the end of the hallway, a door that shouldn’t exist.

But no one dared to open it.