Go Straight to: What are Doorway Pages?
A blinding overhead light shifted, casting a harsh glow on the ceiling tiles.
“Alright, Sylvan, we’re ready to begin,” a voice said nearby. “Just focus on your breathing. The anesthetist will take over now.”
“Are you comfortable?” the anesthetist asked.
“Yeah… I’m okay. A little cold,” Sylvan said.
“Let me grab another blanket. You should be feeling pretty relaxed now.” They returned, draping a thin felt blanket over Sylvan. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Good. Now take a couple of deep breaths. Start counting backward from ten. You might feel warmth or a little tingling. We’ll see you when you wake up… Sweet drea—”
—
A whisper of metal in the silence. Then clinking. Jangling. Hundreds of tiny locks rattling against one another in a restless wind. Cold. Damp. A faint scent of something burning settled in the air.
Sylvan shifted their legs, then pressed their hands against the ground to push up. The surface was rough stone, grimy beneath their fingertips. They opened their eyes. Blurry light flickered ahead.
“Huh? What… is this?” Their voice barely broke the quiet.
They rubbed their eyes and waited for the fog in their mind to clear. Slowly, the details sharpened. A hallway stretched before them, lined with old sconces casting a warm glow. The stone floor was gone, replaced by a long runner of red and burgundy hues. The air was no longer cold. It was warm now.
A loud pop. Then a thud.
A young man stumbled around the corner and nearly collapsed in front of Sylvan. He did not stop. Did not speak. He pushed himself up and bolted down the hallway.
He reached a door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open. He ran through without hesitation.
His scream faded as he fell, disappearing into whatever waited below. For a brief moment, something inside that room shifted. A breath. A slow, deliberate movement. Then the door slammed shut. Sylvan, still dazed, propped themselves against the wall. “What a weird place.”
Another pop. Another thud. A second person landed nearby, gasping as they scrambled to their feet. They locked eyes with Sylvan for a brief moment, their face frozen in shock. Then they spun around, frantic. “I have to get out of here! Now!” Their eyes latched onto a door. “That’s it! That’s it! Thank God!” They ran for it, threw it open, and rushed inside.
They fell. The abyss swallowed them, their scream stretching into the dark. The door slammed shut behind them.
Sylvan found their footing and walked toward another door. It did not matter which one. Their gut pulled them forward, curiosity pushing past hesitation. What was behind these doors? What was waiting in the rooms?
They stepped closer, planting their feet on either side of the doorframe. One hand gripped the wood, the other wrapped around the knob. They turned it. The door thrust open, and a powerful gust of air rushed past them, pulled into the vast nothingness beyond. Sylvan braced against the force, gripping the frame harder. No light. No walls. No end. A stench filled the air, thick and rotting. It slammed into their stomach. Their throat tightened. “Ugh—” A sharp heave forced its way up, but they swallowed it back. The air was heavy. Smothering. Slimy.
For a moment, there was only silence. Empty space stretching forever. Then, something moved. Not close. Not small. Something unfathomably large. Sylvan could not see it, but they felt it. And it felt them. Their fingers tightened on the knob. Carefully, they pulled the door shut. It clicked into place.
Sylvan heard something approaching from behind. Fast. They turned sharply, ears straining. A rustling of metal. The same clinking and clanging from before. Their eyes darted around. Stairs. Without thinking, they ran toward them and hurried down. The steps had an ornate runner, snug against each step, leading to another floor. Sylvan slowed at the bottom, stepping carefully into the new space.
“I wonder what this room is?”
Before they could take in their surroundings, a sudden pop cut through the air. A middle-aged woman plummeted into existence and hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the wind from her chest. She gasped and coughed, struggling to catch her breath.
“It is okay. Keep breathing,” Sylvan said, crouching beside her. The woman’s eyes darted around, wild with confusion. “Where… Where is this?”
“I do not know yet. But listen. Do not walk through the doors.”
The woman froze, then shook her head. “No. No, I have to get out of here.”
“Wait! Don’t!” But she was already scrambling to her feet. It did not matter. The woman scanned the room until her eyes locked onto a single door. It stood apart from the rest, as if her name were written on it. She gasped, then sprinted toward it, threw it open and rushed inside. A look of pure relief washed over her face. She fell. She was gone.
Her scream trailed into the dark, swallowed by whatever waited below. The door slammed shut behind her. Sylvan remained crouched, staring at the place where she had disappeared. It felt as if the woman had been pulled away without effort, like a soft linen cloth slipping from someone’s palms.
A faint tinging echoed from a nearby hallway. “More doors… Get up, Sylvan. Get up.” The sound crawled along the walls, steady and rhythmic. Sylvan pushed themselves up and crept toward the edge of the hallway. They peeked around the corner and accidentally tapped the wall with their foot.
A massive figure, at least twelve feet tall, turned sharply in their direction. Its head was wide, covered in patches of black fur. Eight eyes, though a few were missing. A split mandible twitched at the center of its face. Two sets of legs. Maybe more.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The creature lingered for a moment, then turned away and resumed its work. Sylvan steadied their breath and peeked around the corner, careful not to make a sound. The thing was focused, hunched over something, its movements slow and deliberate. A thick thread oozed from its lower abdomen as it raised a spiked arm to its mouth, coating it in saliva before pressing it against the thread. It repeated the motion, stretching and layering the strands with precise care. It was building a web.
The familiar clinking and clanging started again in the distance, drifting down the stairs. It was an uneven sound, like someone fumbling through an endless chain of keys. Sylvan peeked around the corner. The spider creature was gone.
Must have spooked it.
They pressed deeper into the shadows, forcing their breath to steady. The sound was getting closer and they needed to see what it was. Carefully, they leaned out.
A towering figure stood at the same door the woman had run through. Its back was to Sylvan, but even at a glance, they could see it was searching.
Four arms moved with unnatural speed, sorting through an impossible number of keys. They clattered against one another as the figure plucked them from its heavy cloak, a tangled mass of metal and lanyards draped over its form. One key found its place. A lock turned with a sharp click. The scent of burnt air filled Sylvan’s lungs. Acrid and metallic. The figure hesitated for only a moment, then drifted down the hall and disappeared.
“I have to check this out.” Sylvan scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement. No creatures. No shifting shadows. Nothing.
“Good…”
They moved carefully toward the door and stopped short. Something was off. The door was gone. Not just the door. The entire room. The entire space had shifted. Re-formed into something different.
At that moment, another unfortunate soul popped into existence and hit the ground with a hard plop. This one did not run. They stayed where they had fallen, taking a moment to gather their senses. Before Sylvan could say anything, footsteps echoed nearby. Someone else was approaching. The newcomer hesitated, then called out, “Hello? Is somebody there? Where am I?”
Sylvan eased back, letting the shadows conceal them. Their instinct said to stay quiet, to watch, not to intervene.
“Heh. Hehehehe. Hehehehe.” A slight chuckle drifted from around the bend.
“Hi, can you help me? Do you know where I am?”
A fragile old man appeared, moving slowly toward the newcomer.
Step. Step. Step. His smile stretched wide, gums bare where teeth should have been. His eyes were closed, yet his face beamed with joy. Every so often, the dim light reflected in something dark beneath the lids. A shifting gleam. Something sat inside those sockets, small and deep, catching just enough light in smiling eyes.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” The old man lifted both hands and pointed to his stomach. There was nothing there. A gaping cavity had replaced everything that should have been inside him. Still, the old man chuckled.
“Heh. Hehehe. Hehehehe.” He took another step forward.
“Tell me, do you need help? Let’s get you out of here. You seem lost. My name is Theo. What’s yours?” No response. The old man kept moving toward him. Step. Step. Step.
Theo hesitated, then reached out. “Okay, let’s see if we can find you a—” Before he could finish, his arm was sucked into the void of the old man’s stomach. Theo gasped and yanked back, but the pull was impossibly strong. His other arm clawed at the air, straining, trying to push himself free. It did not matter. The pit had him.
His shoulder hit the old man’s chest, stopping him from being swallowed whole, until his neck twisted with a sickening crack. Sylvan clamped both hands over their mouth. Theo’s head turned too far, then his torso lurched after it, spasming in jagged, unnatural jerks as the cavity pulled him in, inch by inch. His legs kicked wildly, catching for a moment, but then they bent the wrong way with a wet snap. He vanished. A single shoe remained.
The old man chuckled. “Hehehe. Hehe. Hehehehe.” Slowly, he stepped forward. Step. Step. Step. His fingers still pointed to the empty space where his stomach should have been, over and over, his quiet laughter disappeared down the hall.
Once the old man walked out of sight, Sylvan ran. They grabbed the shoe without stopping and sprinted up another set of stairs.
Further down the hallway, just outside a grimy old bathroom, a tub sat against the wall.
Sylvan slowed their approach. Something was sloshing inside. A thick, gurgling and bubbling sound echoed from within. In between the noise, there were wet, strained gags that had a vague resemblance of a voice. “UGH. UHH. Ugh. ACK.” It was followed by burps and the slick slither of something moving, like skin rubbing against porcelain.
Sylvan inched closer. The sound quieted. Something was in there. Watching. Waiting. Slowly, they lifted Theo’s shoe and held it out. A fleshy tendril snapped from the water, wrapped around the shoe, and yanked it into the tub. A delighted gurgle rose from the mass beneath the surface.
“Oh. My. God!!!”
The thing in the tub was dark and bumpy, like a swollen loaf of meat with no bones to hold its shape. A flat mouth stretched across its surface, shifting as it absorbed the boot. A dead eye or maybe three floated aimlessly within the mass. Patches of thin, wiry hair clung to its skin. A flabby arm twitched. A row of mismatched teeth jutted from one side of its mouth. It settled, content for now, and Sylvan took a careful step back.
Someone grabbed their shoulder.
“Ahhhhh!” Sylvan screamed.
“Oh! I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” a voice said from behind. A middle-aged man stood there, he wore a priest’s collar.
Sylvan took a step back. “Who the hell are you now?”
“I am you. You are me. We are… them.” He pointed at the tub. “All stuck here in this place. I am The Chaplain.”
“What is this place?”
“Ahhh… Yes. That is the ultimate question, is it not? Why am I here? Who am I? Why is there so much pain and suffering?”
“How long have you been here?”
“Well… Let us see… How long have you been here?”
“Like twenty minutes. Why does that matter? How do you get out of here?”
“Well… In that case, I have been here for about a… day? A week? A month? I am not entirely sure. As for your question about how to get out of here, I do know the way.”
“You know how to get out of here? How?”
“In time, my dear. We must first make sure everything is in order. But you…” He took Sylvan’s hands and studied their palms. “Yes… you will find salvation. We all have the option to be saved. You must first walk through the door. You must trust.”
“Trust what?”
“Him, of course. We must obey him.” The Chaplain closed his eyes in reverence. “We must give ourselves as a sacrifice to him. Others…”
“Like the tub guy?”
“Ohh hahaha. Him? That? He is a survivor. A particularly unique luring presence, don’t you think? Quite ingenious. Not much different from the likes of, say, Dr. Scalpels.”
“Dr. Scalpels?”
“Dear me! You have not had the pleasure yet. Ohh, you are in for a treat! She is… eccentric, that one. And quite a talker too, if you ask me.” He snickered to himself. “She is named appropriately. The good doctor wields great power over that particularly sharp tool. Swipe. Snip.” He slashed imaginary scalpels close to Sylvan’s face.
Sylvan shoved him back. “Get out of my face!”
“Ohhh! You’re a fighter!” The Chaplain grinned. “I like watching the fighters…”
Something caught his attention. He stopped, straightened, and turned his head, listening intently.
“What is it?” Sylvan asked.
“Shh! Quiet!”
The familiar metallic clinking and clanging returned, growing closer. The tall figure in the cloak of intricately designed keys appeared once more. It paused, sifting through its endless collection. Beneath the metallic shroud, its face was hidden, but faint rays of dark light seeped from under the hood. It turned its head, scanning both directions, then drifted closer.
The Chaplain softened his stance, pressed his hands together, and bowed his head. He muttered something under his breath as he sank lower to the ground. The tall being hovered past them.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Sylvan said and ran from The Chaplain.
They sprinted past four hallways, each lined with countless doors, until they reached another wing of the building. As they stepped into the next corridor, they felt something behind them. A presence. From the corner of their eye, a woman in a blue medical uniform. A surgical mask covered her face. Her bright blue eyes locked onto Sylvan’s, framed by beautiful brownish-blonde hair.
“Shit. Dr. Scalpels…”
Dr. Scalpels snapped her arm out, and a scalpel shot into her hand as if drawn to her grip. She caught it with practiced ease, pressed the blade to the wall, and walked forward, letting it drag across the wallpaper.
“Leave me alone!” Slyvan screamed, taking off into the unknown wing.
The hallways filled with the sounds of more pops, more thuds, more gasps. Doors burst open. Distant screams trailed into nothing. Behind her, the scraping grew louder. Rougher. Closer. Dr. Scalpels was gaining on her.
Sylvan turned the corner, and the massive spider beast from before dropped from the ceiling, slamming them to the ground. Its legs locked around them as it reared back, fangs snapping inches from their face.
“They have caught wind, my dear!” The Chaplain exclaimed further down the hallway. “A morsel of reward from them. A couple of tests for you! Hahaha!”
“SHUT UP!”
The hair on the massive spider beast’s head was sparse and uneven, like patchy hair plugs. Its eyes locked onto Sylvan, venom dripping from its fangs onto their face as they struggled against it. Oddly, the eyes were not like an insect’s. Sylvan could see the whites, shifting with strain as the creature fought to hold them down and strike.
The tall, mysterious being with keys appeared again, moving methodically as it visited and altered the doors of each victim who had fallen into this ghastly place. It floated from one to the next, sifting through its endless collection, finding the right key, then moving on.
The spider reacted first, backing against the wall, its body pressed low in submission. It bowed. Sylvan’s breath caught as they turned. Dr. Scalpels was doing the same, head lowered, body still, a quiet reverence in her posture.
“So… you think that’s God. That’s just great.”
Sylvan pushed themselves up and ran. The tall being drifted past them, unbothered, continuing its work elsewhere.
Then Sylvan saw it. A door. Their door. They stopped in their tracks. Their feet moved before their mind caught up. They reached for the knob, fingers curling around it, ready to run through. But they hesitated.
“What am I doing? Snap out of it.”
Their stomach twisted. It had been so easy. Without thinking, without questioning, they had almost thrown themselves into whatever was waiting behind that door. Just like the others.
The Chaplain emerged from the shadows, chuckling softly. “Ohh hohoho. Hehehehe. You are… You are a fun one, my dear.”
Sylvan turned to face him. “You said you provide the way of salvation? Cut the shit and tell me which door takes me back. Now.”
“Oh… okay. Let me tell you the secret. Are you ready?”
“Look. Please… just get to it.”
“Mmmhmmm. You are ready, aren’t you? You are nearly there.” He stepped closer, his grin widening. “You see… The door to the smallest closet is the ticket. The way out!”
His hands clamped onto Sylvan’s shoulders. “You have received salvation. Hallelujah!” His eyes fluttered shut as he lifted a trembling hand toward the ceiling. A slow, deep breath in. A slow, reverent breath out. His teary eyes opened again, shining with something too eager.
Sylvan swiped his hand off their shoulder. “But first. You are going to help me.”
His glow faded. “What would you need my help with?”
“Come on. Grab the curtain rod in there and let’s go,” Sylvan said.
The Chaplain strolled into the nearby bathroom. “This one?”
Sylvan nodded impatiently. He yanked it down, letting the curtain rings clatter to the floor, then handed it over.
“Let’s go.”
Sylvan grabbed the Chaplain’s shirt and pulled him toward an intersection of hallways, shoving him ahead. “Okay. Where’s the tub guy?”
The Chaplain pointed up and to the right. “There.”
“You go first.”
With a smirk, he stepped forward. Sylvan followed.
The tub was exactly where The Chaplain said it would be.
“Stay here and wait for my cue,” Sylvan said.
“What cue?”
“Just stay here.”
The Chaplain nodded and stepped behind a nearby wall. “Okay. I will keep watch here then.”
People were still appearing throughout the building, plummeting onto the floors with sickening thuds. Some scrambled to their feet, running for doors that swallowed them whole. The slamming echoed through the halls.
Sylvan moved past the tub and found the Spider, hunched over fresh prey.
“Hey! Fuckface! Let’s disco.”
The Spider whipped around fast. It scuttled across the floor, shot up the wall, skittered across the ceiling, and then launched itself at Sylvan.
They raised the pole just in time, planting their feet and bracing for impact.
The Spider slammed into them, knocking them onto their back. Sylvan wedged the pole at the center of its massive body, using its own momentum to throw it over them and straight into the tub.
It immediately sprang back out, fangs bared for a final strike. But something caught it. A fleshy tendril shot up and coiled around its legs, yanking it back. The Spider thrashed, biting wildly in Sylvan’s direction as the sludgy mass pulled it in. Bit by bit. Bite by bite.
The thing in the tub tightened its grip, wrapping around the Spider’s lower abdomen and dragging it down faster. Its limbs flailed, claws scraping against the porcelain, hissing and screeching as it fought.
Then its head jerked. The life drained from its eyes. With one final crunch, it was gone. Swallowed whole.
“Preacher! Let’s go!” Sylvan shouted toward the area where he was hiding.
The Chaplain emerged and hurried toward the tub, eyes wide with amusement. “My, oh my word. You are good. This way. The closet door is this way.”
They had just started in the opposite direction when The Chaplain froze. His eyes fixed on the stairs. “Good doctor, I was not helping the child. I…” He trailed off, nodding slowly. “Yes. I did show them Meatloaf.” He paused, listening to something Sylvan could not hear.
“Is she talking to you?” Sylvan asked.
The Chaplain did not turn. His head tilted slightly, as if straining to catch every word. “…Well… I need to tell you. It is not at all what it looks like. I am—” He stopped. His expression tensed. “Oh… Okay. Yes… Well. I have to say that is not true. Carolin… We have talked about this.”
A blade shot through the air. It missed the Chaplain’s nose by a thread, embedding itself into the wall beside him. He scrambled backward, pressing himself behind a column between the doors, peering out as Dr. Scalpels reached the landing.
“Was the Spider your pet? Huh?” Sylvan asked, not expecting an answer. Dr. Scalpels moved toward them, slow and deliberate. Her right hand, missing a middle finger, curled unnaturally, more like a chameleon’s grip than a human’s. She lifted a loose scalpel blade and pressed the sharp edge against the knuckle where her missing finger should have been. Without hesitation, she drove it straight through the flesh. Then she grinned. And then she lunged.
“Preacher! Now!” Sylvan shouted.
“Now? What!?” The Chaplain balked.
“Just get her attention!”
“Me? She would devour me! You know that? She would cut me up and wear me as a suit!”
Dr. Scalpels lurched forward, slicing deep into Sylvan’s arm with the first swipe. They stumbled back and winced at the intense pain, ducking behind a narrow space between the bathroom and a section of doorways. She followed, wide-eyed, slashing wildly at their face. The blade came close, but she could not quite reach.
“Now! Preacher!”
“Dr. Scalpels!” The Chaplain shouted from across the hallway.
She froze, her head snapping toward him in confusion.
Sylvan did not waste the moment. They drove a hard kick into her stomach, sending her stumbling back just long enough for them to slip past.
The mask had torn. Dr. Scalpels lifted her head, revealing what lay beneath. Her upper lip was missing, surgically removed. Her nose was impossibly small, as if carved away. Deep slits ran across her cheeks, exposing raw tissue beneath. Her bottom lip had been fused to her chin, locking her mouth into a permanent grimace. Her breath came heavy and wet. She slurped, sucking back saliva that had nowhere else to go.
“Carolin…” The Chaplain said softly.
She hesitated, her head tilting slightly. As if trying to understand why he would even speak her name.
This sicko.
Sylvan did not wait. They threw open a door beside her, slid past, and kicked the Doctor’s legs out from under her. Dr. Scalpels barely had time to react before Sylvan shoved her through the open doorway. The door slammed shut. From the other side, laughter turned to screams. Then came the crunching.
The Chaplain pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, Carolin…”
“Hey. Hey! The exit! Where is it?” Sylvan demanded.
The Chaplain turned from the door, his expression unreadable. “It is… over here. Come, this way.”
Sylvan followed as he led them through a winding path. A hallway here, a gate there. Moving quickly, turning sharply, until they reached a small, unassuming closet door.
“Here is your exit, my dear. This is how you find salvation. Go. Now.”
Sylvan gripped the knob. Then hesitated. Their fingers loosened, and they turned back to The Chaplain. “Show me where the real door is.”
“This is it! This is it!” His voice pitched higher.
“I am not falling for your bullshit, preacher. Show me.”
The Chaplain reached past Sylvan, yanked the door open, and kicked them through.
A fierce wind howled as air was pulled from the building into the endless void beyond. Sylvan clung to the frame, struggling for footing, trapped between spaces. Their grip was slipping. The Chaplain stepped closer, silhouetted against the eerie light spilling from the labyrinth, his hair whipping wildly in the wind.
He kicked them again. Sylvan’s fingers scraped against the wood, barely holding on. Their feet dangled over the abyss. They caught the frame again. The Chaplain kicked harder. Again. And again.
“You’re.”
Kick
“Not.”
Kick
“Deserving.”
Kick
“Of sal—”
Kick
“Vation!”
The Chaplain drove his foot into Sylvan with all his might, trying to dislodge their hold. Their fingers dug into the wood of the frame until a split plank gave way, making the Chaplain stumble. Sylvan reached back in and grabbed him, using the momentum to pull themselves back inside while throwing him out through the frame.
The Chaplain caught the doorknob, clinging desperately. “It is time to be one with him now. I do not want to die!” The wind howled around him, his hair whipping back as he squinted against the pull of the abyss. Sylvan crawled down onto the trembling door. They reared back and drove a kick straight into his head.
He lost his grip. He fell. His body disappeared into the pit, the impact below sending a faint ripple through the darkness. No light. No sound but the Chaplain’s distant screams. The door slammed shut, throwing Sylvan back into the hallway.
Floating before them, unnoticed until now, was the Doorwardian. It was no longer searching for a key in its cloak of keys. Instead, it stared at Sylvan with an unsettling intensity.
They started to crawl back. “Please… don’t hurt me. I am not supposed to be here.”
The Doorwardian turned its gaze to the damaged frame of the closet door where the Chaplain had fallen. It seemed… displeased. But rather than act on it, the being reached into its tangled mass of keys and pulled out a gold medallion. The surface was covered in intricate designs, etched with the same strange patterns as the keys.
It placed the coin in Sylvan’s hand, then drifted toward the broken door. Sorting through its collection, it found the right key and inserted it into the lock. The scent of burnt metal filled the air once more.
Without another glance at Sylvan, the being moved on to another freshly used door.
“What do I do with this?” Sylvan asked no one in particular. They glanced around and noticed a cigarette machine standing against the wall in a nearby lobby. It was close to the small closet door the Chaplain had led them to. Sylvan got up and walked toward it. A bright white light glowed from the coin slot. The machine, a Rowe vending model, sat unassuming. Yet the medallion in their hand was glowing too. Instinct took over. Sylvan slid the coin into the slot and pulled the knob for “Wing Cigarettes.” A pack dropped into the collection tray below. They picked it up.
The smell of burnt metal returned. Everything went black. The scent of the old building vanished. The distant thuds of people appearing and falling through doors faded. Cold stone pressed against Sylvan’s back. A deep, frigid chill surged through their veins. They felt both frozen and burning, as if their blood had turned to liquid metal. The scent of burnt metal clung to the back of their throat.
Something gripped their face, pulling tight. A mask? No, a tube…
Another rush of liquid flooded their veins through the IV. Voices drifted in, muffled and distorted.
Huh… what’s going on?
The burning cold began to fade. A doctor spoke, but Sylvan barely registered the words. They responded, though they had no idea what they were saying. The light blurred. The voices sharpened.
“See? It seems like no time at all. Just like I said. Now, let’s get you into recovery, and we’ll have you on your way in about an hour.”
They rolled Sylvan toward the door.
“Wait! Hold on!” Sylvan sat up.
The bed stopped.
“What do you need? Are you feeling bad?”
“No… I’m… Could you open the door slowly?”
The nurse hesitated. “Umm… sure.”
“I know… Just do me a favor and open it slowly.”
The nurse walked to the door, placed a hand on the handle, then turned back.
“Are you ready, my dear?”
The voice was wrong.
The door creaked open. At first, there was only a shadow.
Then something moved. Something stirred in the dark. Then it rose.
What are Doorway Pages?
In the story The Doorwardian, lost souls step through doors they think will lead to safety, only to find themselves trapped in an endless cycle of deception and doom. The same thing happens online with doorway pages.
Doorway pages are a deceptive SEO tactic where nearly identical pages target slightly different keyword variations, all leading to the same final destination. Instead of providing useful, unique content, they act as false exits, tricking users into thinking they’ve found exactly what they’re searching for, only to be funneled back into the same frustrating loop.
Analogy
Imagine walking into a grand, dimly lit mansion with dozens of doors lining the hallway. Each door has a different sign:
- Authentic Sicilian Truffle Pasta – Handmade Daily
- 24/7 Late-Night Eats – Open Right Now
- Candlelit Rooftop Dining – Best Romantic Views in Town
- $5 Unlimited Pizza for Families – Today Only
Each seems to promise something highly specific and exclusive, an experience tailored exactly to what you were searching for. But the moment you step through, reality sets in.
The menu isn’t quite what was described. The rooftop view is just a stock photo. The “handmade pasta” is the same mass-produced dish from every other listing. No matter which door you choose, you’re funneled down the same hallway, leading to the same destination. The same menu. The same offer. The same realization that nothing here was truly different.
(Like Sylvan in The Doorwardian, you’re trapped in a system designed to mislead.)
Why it is sold
Doorway pages were marketed as a shortcut to ranking dominance. Instead of earning visibility with valuable content, businesses could flood search results with pages designed for specific keyword variations, creating the impression of authority. More pages meant more clicks, and more clicks meant more potential conversions, or so the pitch went.
Why it persists
Even after Google cracked down, remnants of doorway tactics still linger. Some believe that slight tweaks to wording make each page unique enough to slip past the filters. Others assume sheer volume still has an advantage, despite repeated algorithm updates proving otherwise. The dream of easy rankings dies hard.
The reality
Today, doorway pages are more of a liability than a shortcut. Google’s algorithms can detect when multiple pages exist just to target variations of the same keyword. Instead of boosting visibility, these pages often get buried or even penalized. Beyond search rankings, the real damage is to trust. When visitors realize they have been funneled into the same destination despite different promises, frustration sets in. And in an online world where credibility is everything, a site that misleads users only erodes its own authority.
RIP: 2015
Google made its stance clear. Doorway pages were a violation, and enforcement followed. Algorithm updates and manual reviews targeted sites using them, leading to sudden ranking drops and even outright removals from search results. Businesses that relied on these tactics saw their visibility disappear overnight. While some competitors fell, others focused on building sites with real value, avoiding tactics that put them at risk. The mansion of false doors collapsed, leaving only those who created meaningful user experiences standing.