The Room at the End of the Hall

 

The Room at the End of the Hall

Sarah had recently moved into a small apartment in a quiet part of town. The place was perfect for a fresh start—cheap rent, clean walls, and a calm neighborhood. But there was something odd about the building. The landlord had warned her that the building was old, and some of the rooms had “quirks.” Sarah didn’t think much of it.

One evening, after a long day at work, Sarah decided to unpack the last few boxes in her apartment. The sun was setting, and she noticed something strange. There was a door at the end of the hallway—one that she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t there when she first moved in.

Curious, she walked toward it. The door was solid wood, unlike the rest of the apartment, which was a mix of thin walls and chipped paint. The door looked ancient, worn, and out of place.

As her hand touched the handle, she felt an unnatural coldness seep into her fingers. She hesitated, a strange feeling washing over her. The door wasn’t supposed to be there. It hadn’t been in any of the plans, and when she had looked at the apartment during her initial viewing, it was as if that door didn’t even exist.

“It’s just an old building,” Sarah muttered, shaking off the chill. She twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was empty. Dark. Nothing but dust and a strange, stale smell that filled her lungs as she stepped inside. The walls were lined with old, peeling wallpaper, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, undisturbed by anyone’s footsteps for years. There was a window at the far end, but it was so covered in grime that it barely let any light through.

As Sarah scanned the room, her eyes fell on something strange in the corner. A small rocking chair, sitting eerily still, facing the wall. She didn’t remember seeing it there when she had opened the door.

Her heart skipped a beat as she took a step forward. There was something wrong about the chair—its presence made her feel as though something was watching her.

Suddenly, the chair rocked.

Sarah froze. The chair moved slowly, back and forth, as if someone were sitting in it. The movement was deliberate, but there was no one there. Her breath caught in her throat. She took a step back, her mind racing.

The room was silent once more, but Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. The door behind her slammed shut, and the darkness seemed to close in. Her heart pounded as she turned toward the door—only to find it completely locked. The handle wouldn’t budge.

She pressed her ear against the door, but she could only hear the low whisper of something—or someone—just beyond her reach.

"Stay with me."

Sarah gasped, the voice was soft but unmistakable. It wasn’t hers.

A shadow flickered in the corner of her vision, and the rocking chair moved again, faster this time. The whispers grew louder, more desperate.

In a panic, Sarah struggled to open the door, but the whispers consumed her thoughts.

And then she heard the voice, clear and sharp, right behind her:

"Don't leave."

With all her strength, she yanked the door open and fled into the hallway. When she looked back, the door was gone, as though it had never existed. But the whispers… they followed her, always just behind her, waiting.

And every time Sarah closed her eyes, she could still hear that rocking chair—moving, waiting for her to return.