The spinning Knob and the brick Wall

"I was standing at the end of the long, carpeted hallway from my grandparents' old house, facing this heavy wooden door that definitely shouldn't have been there. It was painted a dull navy blue, and I had this overwhelming, urgent sense that I needed to get inside to turn off a sink that was running. But every time I turned the brass knob, it would just spin completely freely in my hand without latching onto anything. Then all of a sudden, I was standing on the other side, inside a cramped, sunlit laundry room that smelled like fresh pine. The door was behind me now, but when I opened it to look back, it didn't lead to the hallway anymore—it just opened up into a blank brick wall. I stood there staring at the solid red bricks, trying to remember why I was holding an old copper key in my pocket if there wasn't even a keyhole on the handle."