Episode 3 Script: A Door that Grows: The Room that shouldn't be there.

Episode 3: The Room that shouldn't be there.

A Door that Grows

By Grace Antiedu 

The next day, Maleek stopped speaking.

He sat curled in the corner of his room, refusing to eat, refusing to move. He wouldn't look at his mother -not until she whispered, “Is it the man again?”

He nodded. Just once.

“He was in my bed last night,” he said.“But only I could see him”.

That evening, she took a flashlight and examined the hallway wall. Nothing. Just faded paint and a cracked photo frame.

But something felt ….wrong.

The air was colder there. The silence thicker.

She placed her ear against the wall.

Thump.

She jerked back.

A soft, deliberate knock came from inside. Once. Twice. Three times.

She screamed.

The neighbors thought she was dreaming. But Maleek wasn’t.

That night, he returned to her room at exactly 3:11 a.m.

“He says the room is ready now,” he whispered. “He made it just for me.”

His eyes weren’t his anymore.

If ignored, it grows. If you open it, it takes.

By the third night, the door began to change.

It grew taller. Wider. The keyhole, once just a tiny slit, now gaped like a wound—raw and red, weeping something sticky.

Maleek stood in front of it every night at 3:11 a.m., silent, eyes wide, waiting.

His mother tried everything. Salt. Prayers. Even poured holy oil along the hallway. But the next morning, the oil was gone—licked clean off the floor, and the door… was bigger.

Worse still, Maleek began drawing things no child should know.

A woman hanging upside down from a ceiling fan, blood dripping into an open mouth below. A crib with tiny arms reaching through its bars from beneath the mattress. A figure in chains whispering through cracked plaster.

He said the man in the room showed him.

“He’s lonely,” Maleek told the doctor. “He wants me to come live with him.”

They took Maleek to stay with his grandmother.

But that night, the door appeared in her house too.

Same wall. Same hour.

The man in the mirror smiled wider now.

“It’s not a room,” whispered Maleek, his voice now hoarse.“It’s a mouth. And I’m standing on its tongue."

When the door opens, it doesn’t close. Not for the living.