You are walking. The road is wet. It glows under the streetlights. You walk fast. Your shoes slap the asphalt. *Slap. Slap.* You hear your own breath. It is loud. It is cold. You are looking for the door. The door that should not exist. You know it is there. You have always known.

The city is wrong. The buildings are too tall. They lean in. They whisper. You pass a bakery. The smell is stale. It smells of rot. You keep walking. You do not stop. You cannot stop. If you stop, you will remember. You will remember what you lost. You do not want to remember.

"Hey."

A voice. Low. Rough.

You stop.

"Hey."

You turn. A man stands there. He wears a grey coat. It is too thin. He looks at you. His eyes are dark. They are wet.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"Does it matter?" he says. He smiles. It is a small smile. It is sad.

"I am looking for the house," you say. "The one on the end of the street."

"The street ends," he says.

"Here," you say.

"Yes," he says. "Here."

He walks past you. You watch him go. He does not look back. You feel a pull. It is in your chest. It is heavy. You follow him. You have no choice. You never have a choice.

The street changes. The lights dim. The air gets thick. It tastes of iron. You taste your own blood. Did you cut your lip? You touch your mouth. There is red. It is warm.

"Stop," he says.

You stop.

He turns. He is closer now. You can see the lines on his face. They are deep. They are old.

"You shouldn't be here," he says.

"I am," you say.

"Always," he says.

You look at him. You know him. You do not know why you know him. But you do. The feeling is sharp. It is a spike in your brain.

"David," you say.

His face changes. The sadness goes. It is replaced by something else. Fear? No. Resignation.

"Yes," he says. "David."

"David," you say again. Your voice shakes. "David, I found it."

"Found what?"

"The truth," you say. "The thing in the walls."

He laughs. It is a dry sound. Like leaves breaking.

"There is no truth," he says. "There is only the wall."

"I saw it," you say. "I saw the door."

"Did you?" he asks. "Or did you see what you wanted to see?"

"I saw it," you say.

"Look at me," he says.

You look at him. His eyes are hard. They are steel.

"You are not a detective," he says. "You are a ghost."

"What?" you say.

"You are dead," he says. "You have been dead for years."

The world stops. The noise stops. The rain stops. You stand still. Your heart beats. *Thump. Thump.* It is slow. It is heavy.

"No," you say.

"Yes," he says.

"I am here," you say. You tap your chest. "I am alive."

"You are a memory," he says. "I am remembering you."

The ground shakes. A crack appears in the pavement. It is black. It is deep. It opens. You look into it. You see nothing. Only dark.

"Run," he says.

You do not run. You stand.

"Why?" you ask.

"Because it is coming," he says. "The thing you sought. It is hungry."

"I brought it here," you say.

"Did you?" he asks. "Or did it bring you?"

You look at the crack. It widens. You see a hand. It is pale. It is long. It reaches up.

"David," you say.

He does not answer. He steps back. He steps away. He leaves you.

"David!" you shout.

He turns. He looks at you. He raises his hand. He points at you.

"You are the door," he says.

Then he is gone.

You are alone. The hand is closer. It grips the edge of the crack. It pulls. The asphalt tears. You hear a scream. It is your scream. It is not your voice. It is older. It is deeper.

You fall. You fall into the dark.

You land. It is soft. It is wet. You are in a room. It is white. It is empty. There is a chair. There is a desk. There is a mirror.

You stand up. Your body is whole. It is unbroken. You look at your hands. They are clean. They are white.

You look in the mirror.

The face is yours. But it is different. It is older. It is tired. The eyes are hollow.

"Hello," the face says.

"Hello," you say.

"You found the door," the face says.

"I found the truth," you say.

"Is that not the same?" the face asks.

You sit down. The chair is cold. You put your head in your hands. You shake. You cannot stop shaking.

"David," you whisper.

The face smiles. It is the same sad smile.

"He is gone," the face says. "He is always gone."

"I loved him," you say.

"You destroyed him," the face says.

"No," you say. "I saved him."

"Did you?" the face asks. "Or did you trap him?"

You look at the wall. The wall is white. It is blank. But you see it. You see the seam. You see the crack.

It is behind you.

You turn.

There is a door. It is black. It is tall. It is closed.

You walk to it. Your feet do not make sound. You reach out. You touch the handle. It is cold. It is ice.

You turn it. It opens.

You look inside.

It is a field. It is green. It is bright. There is a man standing there. He is wearing a grey coat. He is looking at you.

"David," you say.

He does not move. He does not speak. He just looks.

You step forward. You step into the field. The grass is soft. The sun is warm. You feel the heat on your face. You feel the wind.

You walk toward him. He does not move. You get closer. You are ten feet away. You are five feet away.

You reach out. You touch his shoulder.

He dissolves.

He turns to dust. He blows away in the wind.

You stand there. You are alone. The field is empty. The sun is setting. The light is red. It is blood.

You turn back. The door is gone. The white room is gone. You are in the street. The rain is falling. The lights are on.

You are standing in the middle of the road.

Cars honk. People shout.

You look down. You are wearing a grey coat. It is thin. It is wet.

You touch your face. It is dry. You are not dead. You are not a ghost.

You are here.

You are alive.

But you know the truth. You know what you did. You know what you sought.

You know the cost.

You walk. You do not stop. You walk home.

The door is behind you. It is closed. It is locked.

You will not open it again.

You will not look.

You will not ask.

You will just walk.

The rain stops. The clouds break. The moon comes out. It is full. It is bright. It is cold.

You walk.

You are free.

You are alone.

You are safe.

Or so you think.

The door is always there. It is in your mind. It is in your heart. It is in the silence between the words.

It waits.

It is patient.

It is hungry.

And you are the food.

You walk.

You do not look back.

You never look back.

That is the rule.

That is the curse.

You live.

You breathe.

You exist.

But you are not real.

You are the echo.

You are the shadow.

You are the door.

And the door is open.

Always.