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The Third Floor Doesn't Exist

Natalie moves into an old apartment building where the landlord insists there is no third floor. After hearing mysterious footsteps at 3:17 a.m., she discovers a hidden staircase leading to a bizarre hallway filled with alternate versions of herself. Terrified, she escapes back to her apartment, only to find the door to the third floor vanished, yet the footsteps continue each night.

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11 views2 pages

The Third Floor Doesn't Exist

Natalie moves into an old apartment building where the landlord insists there is no third floor. After hearing mysterious footsteps at 3:17 a.m., she discovers a hidden staircase leading to a bizarre hallway filled with alternate versions of herself. Terrified, she escapes back to her apartment, only to find the door to the third floor vanished, yet the footsteps continue each night.

Uploaded by

dodops1243
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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The Third Floor Doesn’t Exist

When Natalie moved into the old apartment building on Holloway Street, the landlord was very
specific.

“You’re on the second floor,” he said, handing her the keys. “There is no third floor. No matter
what you think, what you hear, or what you see — do not go looking for it.”

Natalie laughed at the time, assuming he was just eccentric. The building was ancient, with
creaky floors, stained wallpaper, and the faint scent of forgotten things. Still, it was cheap, and
she was broke.

The first few nights were quiet.

Until the footsteps began.

They came exactly at 3:17 a.m. Sharp, steady, deliberate — from the ceiling above her.

She told herself it was pipes. Or raccoons. Or her imagination.

Then she found the door.

It was behind a faded tapestry at the end of the hallway, barely visible unless the light hit it just
right. A narrow staircase led upward into the dark. And though she remembered the landlord’s
warning, curiosity itched under her skin like a rash.

She went up.

The stairs groaned beneath her feet, each step colder than the last. At the top was a hallway
identical to hers — same peeling wallpaper, same flickering lights — but wrong. Too still. Too
silent.

She tried to turn back, but the staircase was gone.

The hallway stretched endlessly. Doors lined each side, all numbered 2B.

She opened one.

Inside was her own apartment. Same couch. Same coffee mug on the counter. Same jacket
draped over the chair.

But there she was, too — sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, completely unaware.

Natalie stumbled back, heart pounding.

She opened the next door.


Another version of her, this time crying into the sink.

Another door — her, sleeping restlessly.

Another — her, screaming silently at a mirror.

Each room was a version of her life, slightly twisted. A different choice, a different regret, a
different fear made real.

She ran.

The hallway went on and on, doors multiplying. The walls pulsed like they were breathing.
Behind her, she could hear the footsteps again — slow, steady, getting closer.

And then a whisper, close to her ear:

“You were never supposed to see this.”

She woke up in her bed. Gasping. Drenched in sweat.

Everything was normal.

Except the door was gone.

The hallway ended at the tapestry again.

And every night since, at exactly 3:17 a.m., she hears footsteps above her… even though the
third floor doesn’t exist.

👀
Wanna go darker? Or more paranormal? Or mess with something cosmic or cursed next? Let
me know your horror flavor

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