"REPEATING DOORS" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0276

Summary

Redwood Bureau Podcast Summary: "REPEATING DOORS" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0276

Introduction

In episode #0276 of Redwood Bureau, titled "REPEATING DOORS," hosted by the Eeriecast Network, listeners are plunged into a chilling narrative that explores the sinister activities of the clandestine Redwood Bureau. This episode delves deep into the phenomenon of mysterious doorways that serve as portals to otherworldly realms, unraveling the harrowing consequences of tampering with these enigmatic passageways.

Overview of Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0276

"REPEATING DOORS" presents a gripping tale of Agent Conroy, a former operative of the Redwood Bureau, who has defected to expose the organization's dark secrets. The Bureau is depicted as an institution that captures and studies supernatural entities, often resulting in the loss of innocent lives. In this installment, Agent Conroy sheds light on a particularly terrifying phenomenon involving doors that repeatedly transport individuals to nightmarish alternate realities.

Main Plot Summary

Discovery of the Repeating Door

The episode centers around Clark, a homeowner who, along with his wife, moves into an old house with hidden secrets. During renovations, Clark discovers a concealed door behind a wall in the upstairs hallway. Initially dismissing it as a remnant of past modifications, curiosity eventually drives him to open the door.

• Clark: "Shouldn't take long," he mutters as he begins to strip the wallpaper, only to uncover the faint outline of a door frame (09:02).

Upon stepping through, Clark experiences a disorienting shift, feeling as though reality has warped around him. The immediate return to his own hallway is accompanied by subtle but unsettling changes—unsynchronized clocks, muted sunlight, and increasingly alien behavior from those around him.

Consequences of Crossing the Door

Each crossing through the door exacts a heavy toll on Clark. He begins to notice missing pieces of himself—both physically and mentally. Fragments of his identity and memories are slowly eroded with every passage, leading to a profound sense of incompleteness and disorientation.

• Narrator: "The cost of crossing isn't something you can count. It could be your identity, your soul, your body. You could be taken apart until there's nothing left to recognize." (04:30)

Desperate to reclaim his normalcy, Clark contemplates returning to the door to reverse the effects, but each attempt only plunges him deeper into a series of horrifying alternate realities. These worlds range from desolate deserts to decaying urban landscapes, each designed to break his spirit and erode his sanity further.

Agent Conroy’s Insights

Interwoven with Clark's harrowing journey is Agent Conroy's commentary on the Redwood Bureau's handling of such phenomena. Conroy warns of the Bureau's relentless pursuit of understanding and controlling these doorways, often disregarding the devastating human cost.

• Agent Conroy: "The Bureau doesn't destroy things like that. It's far too valuable." (26:22)

Conroy emphasizes the Bureau's unethical experiments aimed at harnessing the power of the doors, including attempts to tether individuals to cross between realities repeatedly. These experiments not only threaten the individuals involved but also pose a significant risk to the fabric of reality itself.

The Final Confrontation

Clark's relentless struggle culminates in a final, desperate attempt to escape the cycle of crossing through the door. Despite immense physical and psychological suffering, he manages to reach what seems to be the exit. However, the Bureau's interference is swift and total. As Clark succumbs to his injuries, the Bureau swiftly erases all traces of his existence and relocates his wife to a secure facility, ensuring that their ordeal remains hidden from the public eye.

• Narrator: "The Bureau doesn't leave loose ends, especially when it comes to phenomena like this one." (61:06)

The episode concludes with a stark warning about the Redwood Bureau's unchecked ambition and the perilous consequences of their pursuits. Agent Conroy hints at ongoing and potentially more dangerous experiments, leaving listeners with a sense of foreboding about what the Bureau might unleash next.

Notable Quotes

1. Agent Conroy: "Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation." (01:52)

2. Clark's Wife: "We love the high ceilings and the original hardwood floors." (09:02)

3. Narrator: "There are places in this world where reality is thin..." (02:31)

4. Clark: "What if the life I knew, my real life, was back on the other side of the door?" (12:45)

5. Agent Conroy: "Doors like this weren't meant to be crossed, let alone manipulated or controlled." (62:48)

Conclusion

"REPEATING DOORS" serves as a compelling addition to the Redwood Bureau series, blending horror with investigative storytelling. Through Clark's tragic descent and Agent Conroy's ominous revelations, the episode paints a bleak picture of an organization willing to sacrifice humanity for the sake of power and knowledge. Listeners are left pondering the ethical boundaries of scientific exploration and the unseen horrors that might lie just beyond the doors of our reality.

Transcript

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[Narrator]

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[Agent Conroy]

Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation. Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost. I am Agent Conroy. I worked for the Redwood Bureau, but I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know.

[Narrator]

There are places in this world where reality is thin, where the line between what we know and what we don't want to believe can be easily crossed. Most people go about their lives unaware of these cracks, these subtle, hidden passages that lurk just out of sight. They dismiss strange occurrences as nothing more than coincidences, refusing to acknowledge the deeper that there are doors, sometimes quite literally, to other places. And when one of those doors is opened, it can alter the lives of those who open it in ways they never imagined. The Redwood Bureau has long been aware of these passages. Call them doorways, portals, or even fractures in the fabric of existence. Whatever name you give them, they all lead somewhere humankind was never meant to experience. There are cases that prove the existence of these doorways and sometimes what lurks beyond them. The most disturbing part isn't the fact that they exist. It's that even the Bureau, with its vast resources, has no concrete knowledge of where they came from or why they are here. I know firsthand that the Bureau attempts to explore these realities even without fully understanding the risk. Far too often, they play a dangerous game. And because of this, innocent lives are lost. Years ago, the Bureau came across something in a small coastal town. People were drawn to it. A simple artifact, a weathered stone with strange carvings. At first, those who touched it reported dreams, visions of other places. But soon they began to lose themselves, forgetting who they were before disappearing altogether. The town's population dwindled. As madness spread, the Bureau intervened, wiping the town from history. They took the stone, locked it away, and no one ever spoke of that place again. Like everything else, they contained it, determined to understand its power. The case you're about to hear is different, though. One of these doors was found by an unsuspecting man hidden behind a wall in his new home. It was sealed away, as though someone knew it should never be opened. But curiosity is a powerful thing, and it has led to the downfall of many. This door wasn't locked with a key. It was forgotten, deliberately erased from memory. And for good reason. The man who found it chose to walk through again and again. A mistake he was unable to reconcile. If you believe that walking through a door is as simple as stepping from one place to another, you're mistaken. You may leave one world behind, but what waits for you on the other side can be infinitely worse. And the cost of crossing isn't something you can count. It could be your identity, your soul, your body. You could be taken apart until there's nothing left to recognize. The Bureau has learned this the hard way. Although the ones calling the shots never seem to be the ones to pay the price. That price falls on those who cross, hoping to return. The man in this case is not the first. And he certainly won't be the last.

[Clark]

I'd never planned on moving into an older house, but somehow it felt right. We, my wife and I, had spent months searching for something, anything, that was in our price range. And this place, with its creaky floors and stubborn old windows, had a certain charm to it. Sure, it needed some work, but it felt lived in, like the kind of home that held memories in the walls. The house was old, but it had a certain charm. That's what drew me to it in the first place. A little fixer upper with good bones, as the realtor put it. My wife loved the high ceilings and the original hardwood floors, and I could already imagine myself sanding, painting, and making it ours. I never really thought about the people who lived here before us, not in any deep way. At least. We got the basic history from the realtor. Built in the late 40s. A family lived here for years before eventually moving out once the kids grew up. It had the typical wear and tear of a house, its age. Nothing serious, but enough to warrant some attention. I'm no journeyman, but I could handle small projects, fixing up the paint, sealing some cracks, replacing old fixtures. The little things that make a house feel like your own. It didn't take long to settle in. The first few weeks were filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, making lists of what needed to be done. But it wasn't until the third or fourth weekend that we really got into the renovations. Most of the house had been easy enough to update, mostly just paint and some minor patchwork here and there. The hallway upstairs was an area rarely traveled, so I'd put off till the end of my renovations a narrow, slightly claustrophobic space lined with outdated wallpaper that peeled at the edges. The previous owners must have been in love with the color beige, because the walls, the trim, and even the ceiling seemed to blend together into one dull canvas. I sighed, pulling at the peeling corner of the wallpaper with my fingers. Shouldn't take long, I muttered to myself. I got to work scraping off layers of old wallpaper. It was a tedious job, but there was something satisfying about it. The work was going smoothly at first, and I was actually making progress. I'd stripped most of the wallpaper and started sanding down some rough patches when I noticed something strange. One of the sections of the wall didn't feel quite right. The texture was different, and the sound of the sanding changed, almost like I wasn't hitting plaster anymore. I paused, running my hand over it. That's when I noticed the faint outline. It looked like a door frame. It was subtle, just a barely visible groove in the wall, but now that I saw it, I couldn't unsee it. The frame was covered in layers of paint, sheetrocked over to blend seamlessly into the wall wall. If I hadn't been working on that exact spot, I would have never known it was there. I stood up and stared at it for a moment, wondering why someone would go to the trouble of sealing off a door. You'd think an extra room would be a selling point, but the realtor certainly hadn't said anything to us. Hey, I called to my wife. Come take a look at this. She made her way to the hallway, wiping her hands on a rag.

[Clark's Wife]

My what is it?

[Clark]

I pointed at the outline. Looks like there used to be a door here. She squinted, leaning in for a closer look.

[Narrator]

Huh.

[Clark's Wife]

Weird. Why would someone seal off a door?

[Clark]

Good question, I muttered. Maybe it led to nowhere. Or they remodeled and didn't want to keep it. We stood there for a minute, both of us staring at the faint outline like it would give us an answer. It was just so odd how it'd been sealed up, like someone had made a decision to forget whatever was behind it. Think we should open it? I asked. My wife shrugged.

[Clark's Wife]

Your call.

[Clark]

I spent the next hour and a half carefully cutting away the extra sheetrock covering the door and trying not to damage the rest. The less I'd have to patch, the better. Soon enough, I had the door open, but what lay beyond wasn't what I expected. It was pitch black, like staring into a void. The edges of the door frame were visible, but past that it was like light couldn't reach whatever was on the other side. I didn't think there were any windows, based on the layout from outside, but it was darker than dark in that room. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to make of it. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I jumped slightly. It was my wife, her face half lit by the dim glow of the hallway light.

[Clark's Wife]

You okay?

[Clark]

She asked, her voice soft with curiosity. Yeah, I said, shaking off the weird feeling. Just. It's strange. I don't know what's in there. It's completely dark. She leaned in a bit, trying to peer into the doorway. Creepy, she said with a small laugh.

[Clark's Wife]

Maybe it's a storage room. Or it leads to a crawl space.

[Clark]

Yeah, maybe. I stared into the blackness again. Something about it just didn't sit right with me, but I couldn't explain why.

[Clark's Wife]

Well, are you going to find out, or should I?

[Clark]

She asked. I looked back at the door, taking a breath. There was nothing outright dangerous about it. No strange sounds, no weird smells. Just the unnatural, overwhelming darkness. I couldn't help myself. I stepped over the threshold, one foot into the blackness as she called behind me. Just be careful. As soon as I did, a wave of dizziness hit me it was like the world suddenly shifted. Everything around me spun, twisted, and flipped in on itself. I stumbled, grabbing the door frame to steady myself, but the sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't like losing your balance or feeling light headed. It was like the very fabric of reality had buckled for a second, warping in ways I couldn't explain. I blinked, trying to regain my bearings, but something felt wrong. I was standing in the hallway again. The same hallway I had just left. But it felt different. I glanced back at the door. It was open behind me, leading into the same black void, as if nothing had changed. But something had. What it was, I wasn't sure. I turned away from the door, trying to shake the dizziness still clinging to me. The hallway felt longer, like it was pulling away from me. As I walked, the walls seemed narrower, the shadows deeper. I paused, leaning against the wall to catch my breath. My heart was racing for no reason, like I'd just run a marathon. I glanced back at the door, still open, still leading into that pitch black void. I forced myself to keep moving, heading toward the sound of my wife in the kitchen. The sizzling of a pan on the stove filled the silence, grounding me in the moment.

[Clark's Wife]

Everything okay?

[Clark]

She called over her shoulder as I entered the room. Yeah, I said, but my voice came out shakier than I intended. Just felt a little weird. Dizzy. She turned around, wiping her hands on a towel, her brow furrowed.

[Clark's Wife]

Dizzy. Maybe take a break. You've been at it for hours.

[Clark]

I nodded, though I couldn't shake the sense of wrongness that still hung in the air. Yeah, I think I will. But even as I said it, my thoughts were drawn back down the hallway toward the open door. I couldn't help myself. I had to close it. I didn't want to look at it anymore, didn't want to deal with the strange darkness on the other side. I walked back, my steps slow and deliberate, half expecting the dizziness to hit me again. But I felt relatively normal now, almost tricking myself into thinking I'd imagined the whole thing. I reached the door and hesitated for a moment, staring into the blackness beyond it. For a second I considered stepping through again, trying to figure out what had happened, but the memory of that dizzying shift was still too fresh, still too unnerving. Instead, I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut. The soft click echoed down the hallway, but the house seemed still and normal. I stared at the closed door for a long moment, unsure of what I'd just experienced. It was just a door Just a strange, hidden part of the house, nothing more. But I didn't want to open it again. Even still turning away, I walked back toward the kitchen, my mind still buzzing with unanswered questions. Time passed, and I tried to settle back into life. As usual, I threw myself into the daily grind. More small renovations, organizing the house, running errands. For a while, I almost convinced myself that whatever happened behind that door had been nothing more than a dizzy spell. But there were moments when the world around me felt just slightly off, like a film playing at half speed or a dream where you can't quite focus on what's in front of you. I'd be in the middle of doing something, washing dishes, working on the house, and suddenly I'd feel it, this wave of disorientation crashing over me, making my head spin. It wasn't just a physical sensation, either. It was as if my thoughts slowed down, like my brain was trying to catch up with the world around me but couldn't. I never mentioned it to my wife, but it wasn't long before I started noticing some discrepancies as well. At first they were easy to ignore, just small things, details that felt off but not alarming. The clocks in the house were unsynchronized, not broken, not off by a lot, but just enough to make me glance at my watch and wonder if someone had messed with them. The sunlight that filtered through the windows seemed duller, more muted. I'd look outside, expecting to see the same bright neighborhood I'd grown used to, but the colors seemed washed out, like I was looking at the world through a dirty lens. The real shift, though, came when I started paying attention to the people. It was subtle at first. The neighbor who waved at me every morning from across the street seemed a little too friendly. Her wave lasted a beat longer than it should, her smile stretching across her face in a way that felt almost rehearsed. The people at the grocery store, their conversations felt scripted, like they were following a dialogue I wasn't part of. They looked at me the way someone looks at a stranger they're pretending to know. At home, things were off, too. My wife was the same, her voice, her mannerisms. But there was a hesitance in her I hadn't noticed before. Her laugh didn't feel quite right, like she was waiting for a signal from me before she knew how to react. I'd tell her a joke, something she used to laugh at, and she'd pause, eyes blank, for just a second too long before forcing a chuckle. It was as if she wasn't fully present, like she was going through the motions, but her mind was somewhere else. It was unnerving, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I told myself it was stress, or maybe I was just imagining things. After all, we'd been busy with the move, with settling into the house. It wasn't unreasonable to think that we were both a little off kilter. But it kept happening. Every interaction felt slightly wrong. Every conversation seemed delayed, like the people around me had to think twice before responding. And it wasn't just people. I'd find myself staring at familiar objects. Books, furniture. Things I'd seen a hundred times. And they felt foreign. The couch in the living room was the same, but it didn't feel like my couch. The paintings on the wall were familiar, but I couldn't remember where we'd gotten them or if they'd always looked the way they did. The more time passed, the more I felt like I was living in a copy of my own life. Like someone had taken the world I knew and replaced it with a near perfect replica, but hadn't gotten all the details right. I tried to push the thoughts away, but the feeling lingered, growing stronger with each passing day. I started to feel incomplete. It wasn't just the dizziness anymore, though. That still hit me in waves. No, this was something deeper, like a piece of me was missing. I'd be in the middle of a conversation or working on a project, and suddenly my mind would go blank. Whole chunks of time would slip away without me realizing it. I'd look up from my work and find that an hour had passed without me doing anything. Sometimes I'd catch myself standing in a room, staring at the wall, completely unaware of how I'd got there. It was like my thoughts weren't mine anymore, like they were being plucked from my head one by one, leaving me empty. That's when the idea first came to me. What if I'd left something behind? What if, when I stepped through that door, I hadn't come back whole? It was a paranoid thought, the kind of thing I'd normally laugh off. But it stuck with me, gnawing at the edges of my mind. The more I tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to make sense. Something had changed when I walked through that door. Something fundamental, something I couldn't put into words. I hadn't felt like this before. This sense of being incomplete, like I wasn't fully here. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that whatever I'd lost was still on the Other side of the door. It was ridiculous, of course. The door was just a door, sealed up and forgotten, like any other relic of an old house. But the dizziness, the gaps in my memory, the way the world seemed off kilter. It all started after I stepped through. What if the life I knew, my real life, was back on the other side of the door? I knew it was crazy, but I couldn't shake the thought. What if normalcy was just beyond that door? What if I could set everything right, get everything back to normal by crossing through it again? For days I avoided the hallway, convincing myself that it was just stress, that everything was fine. But at night, I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling that pull. I'd catch myself thinking about the door, about stepping through it again. And each time the idea seemed less and less insane. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. Late one night, after hours of tossing and turning in bed, I found myself standing in front of the door again. My hand hovered over the handle, the painted surface smooth under my fingertips. My wife was asleep in the next room, unaware of the pull that had got me out of bed at this hour. I wasn't sure what I expected to find. Maybe things would be different this time. Maybe I'd come back to the life I knew and the feeling of wrongness would finally disappear. Or maybe I just confirmed what I already suspected. That the problem was me. That something inside me was wrong. I took a deep breath, turned the handle, and paused. The same blackness before me. That impenetrable void, just like before. I hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of it pressing against me. But I pushed forward, letting it envelop me. Then came the flip. It hit me hard, like the world had spun on its axis, twisting and bending in ways it shouldn't. I felt it in my gut, that sickening sensation of everything being upside down, inside out. The dizziness came back, stronger than before, but I fought through it, stumbling forward until I found solid ground again. I was back in the hallway. But something was different. At first glance, everything seemed the same. The same color paint, the same creaky floorboards. But as I studied myself, I noticed the changes. The light was dimmer. The air felt heavier, thicker, like it was pressing down on me. The walls seemed older, the paint cracked and peeling in places that hadn't been touched before. It was as if the house had aged rapidly, overnight. I took a tentative step forward, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness. There was an odd sensation in my left hand, like a numbness creeping up my arm. But I barely paid it any mind. My focus was on the house. The way it felt. Wrong. Different. When I reached the living room, the feeling intensified. The furniture was there, but it looked worn, as if years of neglect had taken their toll. The cushions sagged, the colors had faded, and a thin layer of dust clung to the surfaces. I know it wasn't that way. I turned toward the window, and that's when I saw her. My wife stood there, her back to me, staring out into the dark yard. Relief washed over me. For a brief moment she was here. Everything was fine. But then, as I watched her, a chill ran down my spine. She was too still. Her shoulders were stiff, her head tilted slightly at a sharp angle, like she was frozen in place. Hey. I called softly, taking a step toward her. You okay? She didn't respond. Babe? My voice cracked slightly. What are you doing? Slowly, too slowly, she turned to face me, and when I saw her face, I knew her skin was pale, almost translucent. And her eyes. They were dull, lifeless, staring through me like she didn't really see me at all. Her mouth curled into a smile, but it was wrong, stretched too wide, pulling at her cheeks like it was painted on. Clark, she said, her voice hollow. I backed away, my heart racing. What? What's wrong with you? She took a step forward, her movements stiff and jerky, as if her joints didn't quite work the way they should. Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes remained empty, like she was wearing a mask of my wife's face. Clark, she repeated, her voice flat, emotionless. I stumbled backward, panic rising in my chest. This wasn't her. It couldn't be. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. Without thinking, I turned and bolted back to the door. My heart pounded in my ears as I raced back down the hallway, that sickening sense of wrongness pressing in on me from all sides. But I didn't look back. I couldn't. I stumbled into the nearest room and slammed the door behind me, my breath ragged and uneven. My hand shook as I fumbled for the lock, twisting it into place. With a loud click, the noise echoed into silence. I pressed my back against the door, feeling the cold wood against my spine, and tried to steady my breathing. For a moment, everything was still. The house around me seemed quiet, like it was holding its breath. I waited, listening. My ears strained for any sign of movement on the other side of the door, any sound that told me she or whatever she was, had followed me. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no creaking floorboards. No whispers. Just silence. The room I had locked myself in was dim, barely lit by the moonlight seeping through the drawn curtains.

[Agent Conroy]

It was.

[Clark]

It was the guest room, a space we hadn't touched since moving in. The bed was still made, the furniture covered in a fine layer of dust, as though no one had lived here for years. I took a few steps toward the bed, my legs trembling beneath me, and sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. My wife. Or what I thought was my wife. Her face. Her voice. It wasn't her. What had happened? How had everything gone so wrong? Then I looked down at my left hand. The numbness I'd felt earlier was still there, but now it made sense. My pinky finger. It was gone. Not mangled or torn, just gone. As if it had never been there to begin with. I stared at the empty space, flexing my remaining fingers, waiting for the pain to hit. But there was none. My breathing hitched. I leaned forward, my head in my hands, trying to force my thoughts into some kind of order. This didn't make sense. None of this made sense, but I couldn't deny what I'd seen, what I'd felt. The door. It had to be the door. The moment I stepped through, everything changed. That dizzying flip, the disorientation. Each time I crossed, it took something from me, and this time it had taken a piece of me I couldn't get back. I swallowed hard, my throat dry and tight. What if I'd lost more than just a finger? What if the wrongness I'd been feeling, the disorientation, the fog in my mind. What if that was part of the cost, too? A chill crept over me, the weight of the realization sinking in. But I couldn't think about that now, not yet. The room was eerily quiet, but at least it felt stable. I stayed there for what felt like hours, my mind running in circles, trying to decide what to do next. My heart had slowed, the panic easing into something more manageable, but the fear still clung to me like a second skin. I needed to get out of here. Out of the house. I couldn't stay locked in this room forever, hiding from whatever lurked in the hallway. I stood, my legs still shaky beneath me, and moved toward the window. The latch was rusted, but I managed to pry it open. Cold night air flooded the room, carrying with it the faint sounds of the neighborhood. Normal sounds. A distant dog barking, the hum of traffic far off, the wind rustling the leaves. It was a reminder that the world outside was still turning, that life was still going on, even as mine had twisted into something unrecognizable. I leaned out the window, looking down at the ground below. It wasn't a far drop, maybe 8ft, enough that I could climb out and make my way to safety. My car was parked just down the street. If I could get to it, I could leave this place behind. I could leave the door behind. But then, as I gripped the windowsill, preparing to climb out, something stopped me. That pull. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there, a nagging sensation in the back of my mind, tugging at me, urging me to turn around. My eyes flicked back to the door at the far end of the room. It was still locked, still closed, but the feeling. It wasn't going away. I swallowed, stepping back from the window, my heart thudding in my chest. I could leave, climb out and run as far as I could from this house. But would that be enough? Would the wrongness follow me? Or was the only way to fix this, to go back through that door? I took a deep breath and stood, my legs still shaky but steady enough to carry me out. I crossed the room, my hand hovering over the lock, hesitating for just a second before turning it. The hallway outside looked normal, dimly lit, quiet but normal. No sign of her. No sign of anything. I stepped out, cautiously, closing the door behind me, my pulse quickening. I just needed to get out. I'd go back through the door, and maybe I'd wake up tomorrow and this would all be some fever dream. But just as I reached the edge of the hallway, I heard her voice. Clark. I froze. My heart leapt into my throat as I slowly turned my head toward the sound. She was there, standing at the far end of the hallway, her head tilted at that same unnatural angle, her eyes wide and vacant, her smile stretched all the way across her face. Clark, she said again, her voice almost a whisper, as if she were trying to coax me closer. I took a step, stepped back, my legs trembling. Stay. Stay away from me. Her smile somehow widened, and she began to move, slow at first, her jerky puppet like motions making my skin crawl. But then, without warning, she broke into a sprint, her arms reaching out toward me, her fingers twitching, ready to grab hold. I turned and ran. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the floor creaking beneath my feet as I raced toward the door. I could hear her behind me, her footsteps growing louder, faster. Every nerve in my body screamed for me to run faster, but my legs felt heavy, sluggish, like I was moving through water. I reached the door and fumbled with the handle, my hands slick with sweat. Behind me, I could hear her getting closer, the sound of her breath ragged, almost animalistic. With a desperate cross cry, I threw the door open and drove through. The flip hit me like a punch to the gut. The world spun violently, twisting and warping in ways that made me feel like I was being torn apart. My stomach lurched, my vision blurred, and for a second I thought I was going to pass out. But I forced myself to keep moving, stumbling forward into the blackness.

[Narrator]

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[Mint Mobile Representative]

Dot hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two year contracts, they said, what the are you talking about, you insane Hollywood? So to recap, we're cutting the price of mint unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a [e-mail] Switch $45 upfront.

[Clark]

Payment equivalent to $15 per month new.

[Clark's Wife]

Customers on first three month plan only.

[Ryan Reynolds]

Taxes and fees.

[Clark]

Extra Speed slower above 40 gigabytes.

[Darkness Prevails]

Details hey there, darkness prevails here. Founder of Eeriecast, my little network of scary shows. I appreciate you listening to our scary content, but did you know you can support us? Get ad free feeds of your favorite shows, get a 20% discount code to the Eeriecast store, and unlock access to members only audiobooks all at the same time. Just go to eeriecast.com/plus and become a member today. It's cheap and really helps us out. That's eriecast.com/thank you.

[Clark]

Then I landed. The disorientation was worse this time. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings, my head swimming with that same sickening dizziness. But as my vision cleared, I realized I wasn't in the hallway anymore. At least not how it was. The walls seemed to ripple and bend as though they were made of some pliable material, stretching and contracting with each breath I took. The floor beneath me was cold, slick, and when I glanced down. I saw that it wasn't wood or tile, but something organic, like skin stretched taut over a pulsing surface. I took a hesitant step forward, and the floor shifted beneath my weight, as if I were walking on the surface of a giant, breathing creature. What the hell was this place? I glanced around, trying to make sense of the room. But there were no doors, no windows. Just endless stretches of that strange, fleshy wall. The shadows pressed in from every direction, suffocating, their shapes shifting and swirling like smoke. And then I saw them fall. Figures. Tall, distorted shapes standing just at the edge of the darkness. Their limbs were long and sharp, their bodies twisted and contorted in ways that made my stomach turn. Their faces were blank, featureless, just inky black stretched skin where eyes and mouths should have been. They didn't move. They just stood there, facing me. I backed away, my pulse pounding in my ear. Years. My mind raced, telling me to leave, trying to make sense of where I was. But there was no way out. No door, no window. Just those figures staring at me from the shadows. I took another step back. And that's when I felt it. The loss. A sharp, cold sensation shot through my chest, like something had ripped out of me. I gasped, clutching at my shirt, but there was nothing there. No wound, no blood. Just an emptiness. A hollow space where something important should have been. It was the same feeling I'd had before, but worse. Deeper. Something inside me was missing. Something vital. I didn't want to stay here. I couldn't. Everything about this place, the breathing floor, the shifting walls, those blank, staring figures set every nerve in my body on fire. It wasn't just wrong, it was alive. And the thought of staying here, even for a second longer, made my stomach twist in knots. I had to get out. My mind raced, trying to find a solution, but the only thing I could think of was the door. I turned back, my heart pounding in my chest. The door was still there, standing out like a jagged tear in the world. The darkness beyond it was no more inviting than the nightmare I found myself in now. But it was familiar. And right now, familiar was all I had. My mind screamed at me not to do it. I knew what would happen if I crossed through. Again. That dizzying flip, the gut, wrenching sense of dislocation. And worse, the loss. Every time I stepped through, I left a piece of myself behind. But what choice did I have? I couldn't stay here. Not in this twisted, fleshy hell. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. Each step felt heavier than the last, like the room itself was trying to hold me back. The figures in the shadows didn't move, but I felt their presence pressing in on me, their eyeless faces fixed on my every motion. Finally, I reached the door. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. But there was no going back. The only way out was through. With a deep breath, I turned the handle and stepped into the blackness. The flip hit me again. My body twisted and spun in that sickening way every sense turned upside down, inside out. The air felt like it was being pulled from my lungs, my skin crawling as the world inverted and contorted around me. I stumbled, clutching at the nothingness, and felt the floor drop out from under me. Then I landed. The world settled, but not my stomach. I staggered, fighting back the nausea, gasping for air as the dizziness slowly faded. It took a few seconds before I dared open my eyes. This time, the hallway was gone. I was standing in a room, but not one I recognized. The walls were cracked and crumbling, pieces of crumbling sheetrock hanging from what was left of the ceiling like rotting skin. A heavy stench filled the air. Mold, decay. And something else, something metallic and sharp that I couldn't place. The floor beneath my feet was uneven, jagged like broken concrete, and patches of dark liquid pooled in the cracks. I didn't want to think about what it might be. The windows, what few there were, had been shattered long ago, leaving only jagged shards of glass clinging to the frames. A faint breeze stirred through the room, carrying with it the sounds of distant whispers, low and distinct. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a step forward. The ground squelched under my feet, and I winced, trying not to imagine what I was walking through. Every instinct told me to turn back, but I wasn't ready to go back through the door yet. As I made my way through the room, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I glanced around, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing. Still, the sensation lingered, like something was lurking just beyond the edges of my vision, waiting for the right moment to strike. I turned in circles, searching the room for the exit, but it was nowhere to be found. Just walls cracked, decaying and endless. The faint whispers grew louder, closer, filling the room with a constant hum of voices that I couldn't understand. I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling for my heartbeat. It was there, rapid and uneven. A hollow emptiness gnawed at me, deeper than any physical pain. I didn't know what it was, but I felt it like a hole in my very being. I stepped forward. Something crunched under my shoe. I looked down. Bones. Not just one or two, but a whole scattering of them strewn across the floor like discarded debris. Some were small, others larger. Human, animal? I couldn't tell. They were old, brittle, crumbling at the edges, but the sight of them sent a cold shiver through my spine. I looked up, and there it was. A figure standing at the far end of the room. It was tall, impossibly so, its body bent at the waist, with its torso and head resting against the ceiling. It was thin, emaciated, wrapped in what looked like decayed cloth, but its face was round and large. Two black holes for eyes, a thin black line for a mouth. It didn't move. It just stood there, its head slightly cocked to the side as if it were listening. But I could feel its attention on me, the weight of its presence pressing down on me like a vise. Squeezing my head, I took a step back as the whispers grew louder. The figure remained still, but the air around it seemed to ripple, the space between us, warping, bending like heat rising off the pitch pavement. I needed to leave. Panic gripped me as the figure shifted. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if it were unfolding itself from the shadows, its arms stretched out, fingers extending like poles. It slid toward me, soundless, gliding across the floor with terrifying grace. Its body twisted, stretching out until it blocked me from going back through the door, the only way out. Its head remained tilted, the blank mask fixed on me, watching. I froze, my mind racing to think of a way out. Any way out. The window. I glanced to my left, where the shattered window gaped open, the jagged remnants of glass lining the frame. The air outside was cold, biting at my skin, but it was a way out. My only way out. I didn't think I couldn't. My body acted on pure instinct. I ran. The figure reached for me as I darted toward the window, but I was faster. I could feel the air shift behind me, the space between us warping as it lunged. I didn't stop. I dove toward the window, my arms shielding my face as I crashed through the opening. The jagged edges of glass sliced against my skin, tearing through my clothes as I tumbled out of the window and into the cold, dark air. I hit the ground hard from the one story fall, and breath knocked from my lungs as I landed in a heap on an uneven earth below. For a moment I lay there, gasping for air, my body aching from the fall. My head spun, the world around me a blur of shadows and dim light. The whispers, those distant, indistinct voices, surrounded me again. I scrambled to my feet, my body trembling with adrenaline. I looked up at the window I had just come through. But the figure was gone. Or maybe it hadn't followed me. Maybe it didn't need to. I glanced around, trying to get my bearings, but the world I had fallen into was as bad as the one I had left. The sky above me was a dark, swirling mass of clouds. The ground beneath my feet felt soft, like walking on wet earth. But it wasn't dirt. It was something else I couldn't identify. Around me, the landscape was twisted. Deformed Buildings, or what remained of them, jutted out of the ground at odd angles, their surfaces covered in a slick, oily substance. The streets were empty, but the air buzzed with the faint sound of movement, things shifting just beyond the edge of my vision. I didn't want to be here. I couldn't stay here. But I had no choice. That thing was guarding the door, and I was trapped in whatever nightmare I had stumbled into. Time had stopped making sense. Months had passed since I first tumbled into this hellish world, though I couldn't tell how long it had been anymore. The sky above never changed. Always the same swirling mass of dark clouds. Never light, never dark. Just an endless, cruel twilight. At first I tried to keep track, try to count the days in my head, mark the passing of time by the aching in my limbs or the hunger gnawing at my stomach. But as the days bled into one another, it all became a blur. I'd been wandering, trying to find a way back to the door. Every time I got close, I was stopped. The things that lurked in the shadows, those tall, twisted figures with their expressionless faces, always seemed to be one step ahead, cutting me off, herding me deeper into the city, into the heart of whatever this place was. I'd lost count of the near death experiences. There had been times when I was sure it was over, that they'd caught me, that their limbs would finally wrap around my throat and pull me into whatever nightmare awaited. But each time, just when I thought it was the end, something pulled me back. The injuries should have killed me. One of the things had slashed my chest open with a swipe of its spindly arm. The wound so deep I could see my ribs and lungs as the blood drained out of me, my vision tunneling as I collapsed on the ground. But when I woke up gasping for breath, the wound was already half healed. The skin was pink and raw, a raised scar where the gash had been. I didn't know how it was happening, but every injury I took in this place healed faster than it should. Bruises faded in hours, cuts and Scrapes sealed themselves within a day. Once my arm had been broken, twisted at an unnatural angle after a fall. But by the time I woke up again, it had snapped back into place, the pain reduced to a dull throb. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a curse. The things here didn't kill me. They toyed with me, herding me back and forth through the twisted remains of this world like I was some animal they were training, trying to break. And each time I thought I had found my way back to the door. Each time I got close, they appeared, stretching out from the shadows, cutting off my escape. But now. Now I was almost there. The door was ahead, just across the courtyard, standing in the second story of the ruined house that only slightly resembled mine. I'd made it this far by sticking to the narrow alleys, dodging through the crumbled streets and decayed buildings, hiding in the corners where the figures couldn't find me. My body ached with the effort, every step a reminder of the injuries I had sustained and healed from again and again. But I could see it. I was almost there. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering in my chest. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest. But I couldn't stop. Not now. Not when I was so close. The courtyard stretched out before me, cracked and uneven, littered with debris and dark pools of the same slick, oily substance that seemed to coat everything in this world. I stepped carefully, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, but the courtyard was still. I hesitated, feeling the weight of the air pressing down on me. The door was right there, closer than it had ever been. But I couldn't shake the feeling that they were waiting, watching from the shadows. They seemed to spawn from warning.

[Narrator]

Signal interruption detected.

[Agent Conroy]

Signal connection restored.

[Clark]

The figures had always been there, lurking just out of sight, waiting for me to get too close. But now there was nothing. No movement, no sound. It felt like a trap. But I didn't have a choice. I couldn't stay in this place any longer. I couldn't take the near death escapes, the endless games they played, the way my body was broken and patched back together over and over again. I had to go through the door no matter what. Waited on the other side. I took a step forward, my pulse quickening. Another step. And then I heard it. A low, guttural growl, like the sound of stone grinding against stone. The shadows shifted. The growl echoed through the courtyard, low and primal, reverberating off the crumbling walls. The shadows around me began to stir. I could feel them, those figures. Moving, shifting closer, their bodies rising up from the edges of the darkness. I didn't have time. The door was just ahead. But every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, to get to the door before they tore me open and dragged me far away. I bolted. My legs burned as I sprinted toward the door, the figures converging on me from every direction. I could feel their presence behind me, the air around me warping as they reached out with their long, grasping limbs, their fingers brushing against the back of my neck. I kicked my feet off the side of the house, jumping and catching the ledge, pulling myself up with great effort as the things converged on me from all around. I fell into the room through the same window I jumped out of so long ago and rolled to my feet. I slammed into the door, throwing it open just as one of the figures lunged for me. The air rippled, the world spinning violently as I stumbled through the threshold, the flip hitting me like a different but familiar torture. The world contorted, twisted my senses, spinning out of control. I felt myself falling, pulled into that sickening blackness as reality inverted around me. My stomach lurched. The sensation of dislocation, stronger than before, more violent, like the door itself was fighting to keep me from leaving. And then, with a gut, wrenching lurch, I was through. I hit the ground hard. The wind knocked out of me as I collapsed onto the solid floor. For a few seconds, I just lay there, gasping for air, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the flip. When I finally opened my eyes, the world had shifted again. I was back in the room, but this time it was mostly destroyed. I stared up into the dark sky that almost resembled the black void of the door. But I knew I wasn't safe, not yet. I scrambled to my feet, my body aching from my time in the last place. My heart pounded in my chest, and I glanced back at the door. It stood there, silent and unmoving, as if nothing had happened. The air in this place was thicker than it had any right to be. Like breathing through wet rags soaked in something foul. Every breath tasted of mildew, of decay, of something long dead, but refusing to surrender back to the earth, to continue on or head back through the door, I had no good options. I looked up at the sky, or what passed for a sky here. Twisted streaks of black and red shifting like a storm that never broke. I had no idea how long I had been trapped in these worlds. Years, probably. It didn't matter anymore. Time had no meaning here, not in this world, not in any of them. I had been through so many hells. Too many to count. And each one had taken its pound of flesh, both literally and in ways I couldn't explain. I'd lost parts of myself, Fragments of who I used to be, little by little, with every passage through that cursed door. I flexed my fingers, what was left of them. Two were missing on my left hand now three on my right. The stubs smooth. I couldn't even feel the loss anymore. It was just gone. Like it had always been that way. But the scars weren't just physical. The door took pieces of me, ripped them away and left holes where memories and emotions used to be. I couldn't remember the sound of my own laughter. I couldn't remember what my wife's voice sounded like before it twisted into that horrible thing. I couldn't even remember what my own face looked like. Not the one I'd had before all of this. I was broken. I didn't even know what I was anymore. Was I still human? Or had the door turned me into something else? Something less the things I'd seen. Things no one should ever have to see. The first few worlds had been almost intolerable, certainly compared to the ones that followed. But the door had a way of escalating the horror. Each new reality seemingly designed to break me in ways I hadn't thought possible. There had been one world where the sky was alive, writhing with serpentine shapes that screeched and wailed, calling to something deep below. I had been stuck there for what felt like weeks, trudging through knee deep rivers of blood that never seemed to end. The ground beneath my feet soft and wet with the flesh of something enormous. The screams never stopped echoing from the clouds, from the earth itself. I could feel the madness creeping in, gnawing at the edges of my mind with every step. I still don't know how I made it through that one. Then there was the world where I had watched myself die over and over again. I'd stumbled into a house that looked almost normal. Its windows boarded up, its walls covered in dust. But the second I walked in, I saw it. My own body sprawled out on the floor, bleeding from wounds I didn't remember getting. Every few minutes the scene would reset. I would enter the house, find my corpse and feel the pain of dying again and again. Like my body was being torn apart from the inside out. I lost count of how many times I bled out in that place. Place. And then the desert. The endless burning desert. I had walked for days, maybe weeks, under a blistering sun that never set my skin Cracked and peeled. My throat dried up like a dead leaf and my lips split until I tasted my own blood. The worst part wasn't the heat, though. It was the things that followed me. Peeking out of the sand, arguing about which pieces of me they would eat. It never let me rest. Never let me stop. When I finally made it back to the door I'd been separated from, I should have felt relief. I should have been grateful to escape that hell. But there was no escape. Every time I stepped through that door, I left more of myself behind. The door had a price. It always had a price. And what I got was never worth what I paid. My body was a patchwork of injuries now. A leg that was missing a large portion of my quad. Lungs that ached. Every breath, though I was pretty sure I had only one now. The loss of fingers and toes, holes in my face that made it feel like something foreign to me. The gnawing absence in my chest where my heart used to feel human. But worse than all that was what I'd lost inside. My mind. My memories. They were being taken, slipping through my grasp like sand. I couldn't remember my parents, faces, the names of my friend, if I ever had them. They were gone. Just gone. Ripped away with every crossing. Like the door was feeding on my soul piece by piece. I didn't know what was left of me anymore. I didn't even know if there was anything left to bring back. I glanced at the trees surrounding me, their bark pulsing, breathing. The ground beneath my feet shifted and rearranged as though I was walking on the belly of something alive. This wasn't the worst place I'd been, not by far. But the worst part of it all was the realization that kept gnawing at the back of my mind. There was no way back. I saw the door. It was there, just ahead of me, standing like a gaping wound in the fabric of reality. The black void beyond its frame beckoned a promise of escape, of an end to the suffering. My body was broken, my mind shattered. But all I had left was that door. It was the only thing that had the power of change. But I wasn't alone here. The ground beneath me pulsed, the air thick with a sickening tension. And I knew something was coming. I could feel it in my bones. That deep, all too familiar, gut wrenching fear crawling up my spine. Whatever it was, it was here to end me. The door might have been a temporary escape, but not without a price. I staggered forward, my vision blurring with pain and exhaustion. My legs felt like they were made of Lead. My body a patchwork of scars, injuries, missing pieces, and the constant dull ache of things. Things long broken and poorly healed. The door was so close. Just a few more steps. But the ground behind me rippled, like something massive was moving just beneath the surface. A wet, guttural noise filled the air, and before I could react, it was on me. Something tore through the earth. A mass of writhing, sinewy limbs slick with a pink ooze, erupting from the ground with terrifying spirits, speed. Its body was an amalgamation of flesh, bone, and things I couldn't name. Twisted and deformed beyond reason. Its tendrils lashed out, wrapping around my legs, my arms, pulling me down. And in one horrifying motion, it yanked me back toward the gaping maw that had formed beneath it. I screamed, struggling against the pull, but it is so strong. Its tendrils be bit into my skin, tearing through muscle and bone as it dragged me closer to the seething pit. The pain was beyond anything I had ever felt before. Sharp, brutal, as it ripped chunks of flesh from my body, leaving blood and gore in its wake. My leg, what was left of it, was shredded, my arm hanging by threads of muscle. But the door was still there. I wouldn't die here. Not like this. With a final burst of strength, I clawed my way forward, my free hand reaching for the door. The creature's tendrils tightened around me, pulling harder, trying to rip me apart. But I was so close. My vision blurred with pain and blood loss. But I kept clawing forward, inch by inch, dragging my ruined body toward the only chance I had left. I felt the door under my fingers. With one last, desperate heave, I threw myself through it, half of my mangled body crossing the threshold just as the creature tore into me again. My legs were torn away, consumed by the horror that pulled. But I was through. The world spun violently, the now familiar flip ripping through my senses. But this time it wasn't so bad. At least not compared to the pain I was in. And then, with a deafening crack, everything went still. I hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, blood pouring from my shredded body, pooling around me. My vision was fading, blackness creeping in at the edges, darker even than the door's threshold. I was back. I could feel it. I could smell it home. But my body was broken beyond repair. I wouldn't last another minute. I looked up, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. My fingers clawed weakly at the floor. I saw her standing before me, my wife in the same place just as she had been, her face focused on the door with A mix of apprehension and curiosity.

[Clark's Wife]

Just be careful, okay?

[Clark]

Her voice was clear, so achingly familiar. It was like nothing had changed, like no time had passed at all. I tried to speak, but my throat was filled with blood. I could taste the iron, feel the wetness spilling from my lips as I opened my mouth, trying to say her name. My body convulsed, pain lancing through me as I tried to move, to crawl just a little closer, to feel her warmth one last time. She noticed me there now, my body a ruined, bloody mess, pouring the last of its contents onto the wood floor. Her scream filled my muffled hearing as she reached out to me. Her soft, warm hands were the nicest thing I'd felt in years. My vision blurred, her perfect face becoming a smear of light and shadow. I could feel my strength fading. I couldn't breathe. The pain was fading, too, replaced by a welcomed cold numbness that spread from my chest to my head. My body shook with the effort of staying conscious, of staying alive. But it was a fight I couldn't win. One last weak smile graced my lips as I felt the loving touch of. Of the one person I'd wanted to see ever since I left her. Then the dark claimed me.

[Narrator]

Redwood Bureau phenomenon 02276 repeating doors threat LEVEL Lethal the Redwood Bureau doesn't leave loose ends, especially when it comes to phenomena like this one. The moment the wife placed her panicked call to emergency services, the Bureau's monitoring systems flagged and intercepted it. As you probably know, their AI algorithm has been trained to detect certain keywords, anything that hints at anomalous occurrences. Such as descriptions of impossible injuries and sudden appearances of hidden doors that turn healthy people into ragged, bloody corpses. It didn't take long before the agents were dispatched. The local authorities were none the wiser. Bureau agents taking their place on scene. The wife was taken, relocated to one of the Bureau's secure facilities. She was questioned, and then her memory was wiped. Any knowledge of what she saw or the the final moments of her husband's life erased. They gave her a new identity, a new history, and eventually she was sent back out into the world. She'll never remember what really happened that night, and in this rare instance, maybe that's for the best. As for the house, it's as though it never existed. The section containing the door was carefully extracted, transported to a Bureau facility under heavy containment protocols. The rest of the house was demolished, wiped clean from the neighborhood's history. No one asked questions. After all, the lot had been sold to a construction company planning to rebuild for profit. A few staged documents, some heavy machinery, and within weeks, the ground was cleared and a new house was in its place. No sign remained of the horror that had unfolded there. But the door. The Bureau doesn't destroy things like. Like that. It's far too valuable. In their hidden facility, they're still running tests, trying to understand the mechanics of crossing over. To harness whatever force governs these doorways. They're working on tethering people, allowing them to step through and come back again. Something the door itself doesn't seem willing to allow. And that's not all. The Bureau wants more. They want to know if it's possible to bring something back. The research is ongoing, but as of now, I can't say for sure if they've succeeded. The experiments have been kept tightly under wraps, hidden from us for now. All I know is that whatever they're playing with, it's dangerous, unpredictable. Doors like this weren't meant to be crossed, let alone manipulated or controlled. There are some things on the other side that should stay there, Far away from. From us. But the Bureau doesn't care about the consequences. They never have. One day, they might succeed in getting someone back with something from the other side. And if that day comes, I hope we will be prepared for what follows.