The Corridor
A late-night detour in the subway leads a man into a hidden tunnel—and into a fractured dimension where his life no longer matches reality.
It started when I took a wrong turn in the subway.
Late night. No one around. The sign said "Corridor 6B – Authorized Only", but the gate was open, so I walked through. Just a shortcut, I thought.
But the tunnel didn’t lead to the platform. It led down. Long slope, flickering lights. The tiles changed from white to black the farther I went.
I should’ve turned back.
I heard footsteps behind me, but no one was there. I turned a corner and saw a door marked: "Return Point – Entry Denied." Before I could react, it opened by itself.
Inside: rows of screens showing cities from strange angles—sideways, upside-down, reversed. One showed my street, except everything moved backward. Another showed me, sitting in a chair I don’t own, talking to a version of myself with different eyes.
A voice behind me whispered, “Now you’ve seen too much.”
I turned—no one there.
I ran.
But when I got back to the surface, something was off. My building was the same but slightly older. My neighbor's dog barked in a language I’ve never heard. The sky had a second, fainter sun.
I went back the next night.
The corridor was gone.
Late night. No one around. The sign said "Corridor 6B – Authorized Only", but the gate was open, so I walked through. Just a shortcut, I thought.
But the tunnel didn’t lead to the platform. It led down. Long slope, flickering lights. The tiles changed from white to black the farther I went.
I should’ve turned back.
I heard footsteps behind me, but no one was there. I turned a corner and saw a door marked: "Return Point – Entry Denied." Before I could react, it opened by itself.
Inside: rows of screens showing cities from strange angles—sideways, upside-down, reversed. One showed my street, except everything moved backward. Another showed me, sitting in a chair I don’t own, talking to a version of myself with different eyes.
A voice behind me whispered, “Now you’ve seen too much.”
I turned—no one there.
I ran.
But when I got back to the surface, something was off. My building was the same but slightly older. My neighbor's dog barked in a language I’ve never heard. The sky had a second, fainter sun.
I went back the next night.
The corridor was gone.
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