The doors didn't open.
They peeled.
Like skin.
And inside—
Faces.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Their eyes snapped open—
All at once.
"He's new…"
"He's warm…"
"He remembers…"
Ethan stumbled back.
"No—stay back—!"
One pushed out.
Its body unfolded, reshaping into something almost human.
"You opened something," it said.
"I closed it!" Ethan shouted.
"Then why are you here?"
More emerged.
Twisting into wrong shapes.
The hallway stretched.
He couldn't escape.
"You don't understand yet."
It reached into the wall—
Pulled something out.
A memory.
Himself.
Outside the house.
The first time.
"No… give it back…"
"You don't need this."
It ate it.
Ethan screamed.
Gone.
"What was I saying…?"
"He's forgetting…"
Another memory—
Gone.
"Doors don't need memories."
They circled him.
Slowly.
Closing in.