The Transdimensional Inn

Locked Room

His head felt heavy and clouded, as though his vision was shrouded in a thick veil of fog. The distant hum of traffic from the main road drifted through the air, elusive and inconsistent, sometimes clear, sometimes faint, like a sound heard only in a dream.

In this hazy, oppressive state, he walked for an unknown stretch of time before his mind finally began to clear, allowing some semblance of thought to return. Hesitating, he stopped in his tracks and glanced back at the road he'd come from.

Night had almost fully descended, the streetlights along the way already aglow. He found himself walking along a narrow street near his home, flanked by old, low-rise apartment buildings that loomed like two rows of slumbering beasts in the night. Yet, the soft, warm glow of lights from the makeshift shops on the ground floor dispelled some of the cold that had settled deep within him.

Cold?

Suddenly, a chill, sharp as a blade, pierced his very bones. He could feel the icy rain cutting into his skin, and those two cold, slippery eyes—the gaze of a frog—boring into him.

He gasped, breathless for several seconds, before remembering how to inhale again, clutching his chest in a fit of panic.

For a fleeting moment, he had the eerie sensation that there was still a gaping hole in his chest, as though his heart had been ripped out, leaving his ribcage cold and silent like an extinguished furnace. But in the next instant, he felt his heartbeat return, heard it thudding unmistakably in his ears. Yes, the living have a heartbeat.

He was still alive. The strange, monstrous frog hadn’t taken his heart after all.

Yet those maddening flashes of memory surged through his mind like a tidal wave, impossible to ignore or banish. He remembered the rain, the door painted on the wall, and that enormous frog… He tried to convince himself it had all been an illusion, but with each recollection, the conviction wavered more and more.

He had died once. But for reasons beyond his comprehension, he was alive now, walking the path back home—just two intersections away.

Of all the strange things that had happened since he arrived in this uncanny city, this was by far the strangest.

Noticing the curious gazes from passersby, drawn by his erratic behavior, he quickly waved them off, avoiding any unnecessary interaction, and hurried away.

He had no idea what had happened to him, but standing in the street, lost in thought, certainly wasn’t going to provide any answers.

He quickened his pace, leaving the old neighborhood behind, and made his way toward what he now considered his "home" in this strange city.

Though he had only crossed two intersections, the surroundings already felt more desolate, more abandoned, as though he had wandered into some forgotten corner of the city. The number of pedestrians dwindled, until eventually, the only companions left were the cold streetlights. After walking a bit further, he saw it—the old house, standing alone in the night, slightly out of place compared to the buildings around it.

It was an unremarkable structure, a three-story old house with peeling walls and a sloped roof. The weathered door and windows, though aged, were still intact and clean. It looked like one of those self-built houses from decades ago, erected without much oversight in the city’s outskirts—now a relic, left behind by time and urban development.

Noah wasn’t familiar with the city’s construction regulations, especially in this strange "Boundary City" that was so different from the one in his memories. After all, he had only been here for two months. Discounting the initial days spent indoors out of caution, he was just starting to adapt to this new life and understand the surrounding area. But one thing he knew for certain: this house, strange as it was, was the only place in the city where he felt even remotely safe. At least inside, he had never seen the shadows of those strange, eerie happenings.

Though, admittedly, the house had its own share of oddities.

Noah took a deep breath, gripping the grocery bag from the supermarket tightly, and stepped through the cold pool of light cast by the streetlamp. He reached the front door, fumbled for his keys, and unlocked it.

The old door creaked open, and Noah stepped inside, flicking on the light. Though this house bore almost no resemblance to the "home" he remembered, the moment the light flickered on, he still felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the city's night.

Dropping the groceries by the kitchen door, he hurried through the empty living room and into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he yanked open his shirt, exposing his chest.

The memory was still too vivid, too deeply etched in his mind, compelling him to check again and again.

There were no scars, no blood. It was as though death had never touched him.

Frowning, he examined his shirt, pressed on the spot where he’d imagined the frog had torn into him. Only then did he confirm he was not, in fact, a man with a literal "open heart."

"That’s… bizarre…" he muttered under his breath, leaving the bathroom and returning to the living room.

Behind him, the mirror above the sink silently cracked, only to seal itself shut again as if nothing had happened.

Noah collapsed onto the sofa, his thoughts tangled and chaotic, unsure how much time passed before his exhausted mind finally sank into the murky depths of sleep.

He dreamed for a long, long time, drifting in and out of that numbing darkness, until a sudden *thud* jolted him awake, as though someone had struck a rock with a shovel right above his head.

He opened his eyes in the dark, momentarily disoriented. The living room light had turned off.

But he clearly remembered leaving it on before he slept.

A cold sense of foreboding crept up his spine. Noah instinctively reached for the baton beside him—a precaution he’d taken since arriving in this eerie city. Although it had yet to be of any real use, holding it at least gave him a bit of comfort. He cautiously rose, listening for any sounds in the darkness.

In a place this remote, a break-in wasn’t out of the question. In fact, Noah almost hoped it was just a thief. At least a thief could be dealt with using a baton; a frog over a meter tall could not.

But the living room remained eerily silent. No signs of forced entry, no movements from an intruder.

The good news? There were no sounds of a frog either.

Bathed in the faint glow of the streetlight outside, Noah crept toward the light switch, his body crouched low, hand on the baton. He flipped the switch, flooding the room with light.

He blinked, scanning the now-illuminated living room, but something still felt… off. He couldn’t quite place it, but something about the space seemed strange. Still, with everything now visible, he started checking the house room by room.

The ground floor—living room, kitchen, dining room, and an unused storage room—was all in order.

Hesitating for a moment at the foot of the stairs, he began his ascent to the second floor.

There were three rooms upstairs: his bedroom, a storage room, and a locked room at the end of the hall.

When Noah had first moved in, the room had already been locked. He’d searched the house thoroughly, but the key was nowhere to be found.

After checking his bedroom and the storage room, he approached the locked door.

As always, it remained firmly shut.

Not that he hadn’t tried to open it. His attempts had included everything from a power drill to a hand-held saw, but all were futile. Sparks flew and blades dulled, but the door remained unscathed.

He had also tried hiring locksmiths. The first two got lost in the old district, wandering for hours without finding Wutong Road, No. 66. The third was hit by a motorcycle before reaching the street corner and only got out of the hospital last week.

It was as if some unseen force was actively preventing him from opening this room.

Yes, even though this house was the only place where he felt safe, it too had its share of… oddities.

Noah reached out and grasped the doorknob, giving it a twist. As expected, it didn’t budge.

Nothing strange happened—no sudden surprises. The door remained locked.

But just as he turned the knob in vain, he thought he heard something—a faint, almost imperceptible giggle.

It came from the other side of the door, the soft laugh of a young woman, as though mocking his helplessness against this sealed door.

A chill ran down Noah’s spine.

In the one place he thought was safe, where he had lived for two months—inside his own home—someone was on the other side of that locked door.

How had she not starved to death?