Chapter 2: The Door That Wasn't There

But when I rolled up to the customer’s apartment complex, it was even darker than the trailer park. My gut clenched again.

The buildings loomed, windows black and empty. The only light came from my phone, its glow barely cutting through the gloom. Everything felt wrong.

I used my flashlight to hunt for the unit—206. As I searched, I muttered under my breath, nerves raw.

The numbers were painted in peeling gold, almost invisible. My voice echoed in the empty hallway, swallowed by the darkness. Too quiet.

"201, 202, 203, 204, 205… 207?" I stopped, confused. Where the hell was 206?

The sequence made no sense. I paced back and forth, double-checking every door. With every step, my nerves frayed a little more.

Wait, where’s 206? My heart thudded. This wasn’t right.

I spun in circles, searching for a hidden door, a missing sign. The hallway seemed to stretch, getting longer every time I walked it. Reality felt thin.

I called the customer. The line was all static for a good thirty seconds before they finally answered. My skin crawled.

The static was so loud I had to yank the phone away from my ear. When the voice finally came through, it was warped, almost robotic. My blood ran cold.

"Turn around. I’m behind you." The words chilled me to the bone. Every muscle locked up.

The words froze me. Every hair on my body stood up, breath caught in my throat. I was a statue.

I held my breath, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Couldn’t move.

I counted to three and forced myself to turn, half-expecting the boar-thing to be looming right there. Every muscle screamed.

This was straight out of a horror movie—the moment you turn, something’s waiting. I braced myself.

I braced for the worst, every muscle coiled tight. This was it.

But when I turned, there was no monster—just the door to 206, suddenly there where only a wall had been before. I blinked hard.

I blinked, sure I was hallucinating. But there it was, clear as day, numbers shining in my flashlight beam. I stumbled back, heart racing, mind whirling.

Cold sweat broke out all over me. I knew I’d checked—this was a wall before. Now there was a door. My mind spun.

My mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. I reached out, half-expecting my hand to go through. It was solid. Real. Or at least, it felt that way. But was it?

It felt all kinds of wrong, but I forced myself to knock. My knuckles trembled.

My fist rapped against the wood, the sound echoing down the empty hall. I waited, counting the seconds, praying someone—something—would answer and end this nightmare. Please.

"Hey, your delivery’s here." My voice was tiny, shaky. I cleared my throat, tried again, louder. Still nothing. Silence pressed in.

I knocked for five minutes—nothing. Not a sound. My nerves were stretched to breaking.

Each knock felt heavier than the last. My hand throbbed, nerves shot to hell. The silence pressed in, thick as syrup.

The one who’d been blowing up my phone now wouldn’t open the door. Typical. My frustration boiled up.

I almost laughed at the absurdity. Figures. The one time I needed someone to be impatient, they ghosted me. Just my luck.

I hung the bag on the doorknob, snapped a photo, and got ready to bolt. My hands shook.

The flash lit up the contents of the plastic bag. When I checked the photo, my scalp went numb—like someone dumped ice water down my back. My heart skipped.

The image was sharp. Too sharp. The bag’s contents clear as day—and what I saw made my skin crawl. My stomach twisted.

No mistake—I recognized the packaging for candles and matches. My family lights candles for memorials all the time. This person ordered candles at 3 a.m. and acted like they’d die without them…

I stared at the photo, hands shaking. My grandmother lighting candles for the dead flashed through my mind—the smell of wax, the flicker of flame, the prayers whispered in the dark. I felt cold all over.

I remembered what my grandma always said: candles aren’t really for the dead—they’re to keep wandering spirits away from the living. My hands trembled.

The words echoed in my mind, louder than ever. Suddenly, I felt exposed, like a spotlight was on me. Like I’d walked straight into a trap. My skin crawled.

Didn’t care about anything else—I bolted. My only thought: get out, now.

My legs took over. I didn’t look back, didn’t care if I left my helmet or my dignity behind. I just needed to get away from that door. Far away.

But before I got far, the chat showed my photo had been read. The checkmark glowed blue, mocking me. I shivered.

The little blue check glowed on my screen, taunting me. I felt a chill deeper than anything I’d felt all night. Something was watching.

Then—creak—the door to 206 opened behind me. The sound scraped down my spine like nails on a chalkboard. I froze.

The sound was slow, deliberate, like someone dragging nails down a chalkboard. My body locked up. Every instinct screamed: Run!

With it came a stench I can’t even describe—like rotten blood mixed with spoiled shrimp. My stomach lurched.

The smell hit me like a punch. I gagged, pulling my sleeve over my mouth. It was thick, suffocating, sticking to my skin. I wanted to puke.

Some primal instinct screamed in my head: Run. If you don’t run now, you’ll never get another chance. Move!

My legs felt like rubber, but I forced them to move. Every step away from that door was a win. Just keep going.

But before I could move, an icy hand clamped down on my shoulder. My whole body went rigid. Terror shot through me.

The touch was cold, deep—like someone pressed a block of ice to my skin. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Panic seized me.

Time froze. I was a bug in amber, paralyzed, terror closing in on all sides. The world shrank to that one touch.

My mind raced, but my body wouldn’t listen. I was stuck, helpless, waiting for whatever was next. I wanted to scream.

The words from the drivers’ group echoed in my mind—"Never take an order after midnight. ‘They’ only come out at night." I should’ve listened.

I heard their voices, urgent, desperate, warning me again and again. God, I wished I’d listened. Regret burned in my chest.

What was it…? My mind spun. What had I seen?

The question looped, over and over. What had I just witnessed? What had followed me here? I felt trapped.

What the hell had been following me all along…? My skin crawled.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. The fear was too much, too heavy. I was drowning in it.

Just then, my phone rang. The clear tone shattered the night, breaking whatever spell held me down. I gasped.

The ringtone was a lifeline—sharp, bright. I clung to it, desperate for anything to pull me back to reality. Please, please let this be real.

I grabbed at the sound like it was the only thing keeping me afloat—never has a ringtone sounded so good. I could almost breathe.

My fingers fumbled, but I managed to answer. The cold on my shoulder vanished, replaced by a wave of relief so strong I almost cried. I was free.

I could move again. My body unlocked, just like that.

My legs wobbled, but I stumbled forward, away from the door, away from whatever waited behind me. Every step felt like a miracle.

I turned, shaking, but there was nothing behind me—just darkness and silence. My heart hammered in my chest.

The hallway was empty, the door to 206 gone like it had never existed. My heart thudded, wild and uneven. I blinked, trying to process.

The door to 206 was gone, vanished as if it had never been there. My mind reeled. Was I losing it?

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, trying to make sense of it. All I saw was blank wall, smooth and unbroken. Was it ever there at all?

So had the delivery I’d hung on the door. Gone. No trace.

The bag was gone, too. No crumbs, no wrappers, nothing. It was like I’d imagined the whole thing. My mind spun.

All I could think was—damn, I’ve seen a ghost. I ran, shivering, and picked up the phone. I needed to hear a real voice.

My voice shook as I said hello, but I didn’t care. I just needed to know I wasn’t alone. I needed to hear another human being.