There's a name I can't remember.
I know I had one.
It was on mail.
On my ID.
On my lips.
But now it's gone.
Like it was swallowed.
Like someone—or something—took it.
It's been three days since Eli went back into the archive.
Three days since the contract was burned.
Three days since he vanished.
I haven't left the apartment.
I don't feel safe outside.
But I don't feel safe in here either.
Because something has changed in the walls.
It started the first night.
I woke up at 2:11 AM—again.
Every night, the same time.
No alarm.
Just silence… then a whisper.
It comes from the hallway.
From behind a door that shouldn't exist.
It's between the bathroom and the kitchen.
A narrow wooden door with a rusted doorknob.
It wasn't there before.
I would've noticed.
I've lived here for months now.
I've memorized every creak and draft.
But suddenly—this door appeared.
No frame. No hinges. Just embedded in the wall like it belonged.
And every night, at 2:11 AM…
It whispers my name.
Except…
It's not a name I recognize.
It says:
"Come back, Mara."
I freeze every time.
Mara is gone. She was never me.
But the more I hear it… the more I start to remember things I never lived.
A red ribbon tied to a ceiling pipe.
A cracked mirror with someone else's reflection.
A song I've never heard—humming in the dark.
Each night, the door calls louder.
Each night, I wake up closer to it.
This morning, I found something taped to the inside of my bedroom door.
A photo.
Black and white.
Of this apartment.
Dated 1964.
In the picture: a woman standing by the window.
Her face was scratched out.
But the handwriting on the back said:
"The Host never truly leaves.She waits behind the Whisper Door."
I don't remember printing this photo.
I don't own a printer.
I tried asking the landlord.
But the office was empty.
The building was too quiet.
No footsteps in the hallway.
No TVs behind doors.
I knocked on four apartments.
No one answered.
Not even the grumpy man in 4C.
His food delivery was still outside, rotting.
It was like the whole building had... stopped.
Paused.
Like I was the only person left in a world that no longer functioned.
I decided to face the door.
I waited until 2:10 AM.
Sat across from it, flashlight in hand.
The room was silent.
The second the clock hit 2:11, the door breathed.
Inward, like lungs drawing air.
Then—softly—my voice echoed from the other side.
"Let me out."
Not Mara's voice.
Mine.
But I had never said those words.
Not out loud.
Not yet.
I reached for the knob.
Cold as ice.
It vibrated slightly—like something was humming on the other side.
I turned it slowly.
It didn't budge.
Then I heard scratching.
Not frantic.
Deliberate.
Like someone inside was carving something into the wood.
A single word:
"Remember."
Suddenly I was dizzy.
Not just tired—unreal.
Like my body belonged to a different version of myself.
My reflection in the hallway mirror blinked out of sync.
When I turned my head, it stared back.
When I blinked, it smiled.
And in its hand—it held the ledger.
Except now, it was on fire.
I stumbled backward.
Ran into the bathroom.
Splashed cold water on my face.
But when I looked in the mirror…
My eyes were grey.
Like Mara's.
My tongue moved on its own and said:
"You opened the door.Now one must stay."
I screamed.
The mirror shattered.
I tried to leave the apartment.
The door wouldn't open.
Deadbolt turned, chain unlatched—but it wouldn't budge.
I kicked it, clawed it, screamed.
Nothing.
Then I looked down.
My welcome mat was gone.
In its place:
A carved symbol.
The Sun in Thirds.
I realized something then.
The contract hadn't ended.
Eli had burned his contract.
But the ledger hadn't been destroyed.
Only the copy.
The original remained.
And it was writing me in now.
Line by line.
Memory by memory.
I searched the apartment.
Tore through every drawer, every hidden panel.
Nothing.
Until I returned to the Whisper Door.
I pressed my ear against it.
Nothing.
So I whispered, "Let me see."
And slowly…
It began to open.
Inside was a narrow staircase leading downward.
It wasn't possible.
There was no floor beneath mine.
Yet here it was—stone steps spiraling down into pitch black.
Just like the archive.
And the whisper came again:
"The Host is gone.The Witness must choose."
I looked at my reflection in the brass doorknob.
I was fading.
Not physically—but historically.
No photos of me remained on my phone.
No texts. No emails.
As if I'd never existed.
I had one chance left.
Either go down… and finish what Eli started.
Or stay… and let the cycle claim me completely.
I took one deep breath.
And stepped through the Whisper Door.