closed door

Emily repeated the words in her head as she sat on the old, dusty couch, the flickering candle casting ghostly shadows around the room. It was her first night in the house her uncle had left her, a crumbling Victorian on the outskirts of town. She’d been instructed by the lawyer: stay in the house for one night, fulfill the stipulation, and the property would be hers. Simple enough—until the lawyer had added the rule.

“Under no circumstances should you open the door at the end of the hall,” he’d warned, his voice so grave she almost laughed, thinking he was making fun of her.

The door stood at the far end of the upstairs hallway. Emily had seen it on her initial exploration, a heavy oak door with brass fittings, but she’d found it locked. Now, it seemed to loom larger in her mind, more oppressive with every passing minute. She brushed off her unease. There was no reason to open it; whatever lay behind it, she’d find out in the morning. For now, she needed to focus on staying the night.

She wandered through the dimly lit rooms, brushing her fingers along cracked walls and peeling wallpaper. The whole house felt like it was holding its breath, waiting. She could feel the weight of history here, a creeping presence that seemed to press in from all sides.

The candle flickered, sputtering. Emily glanced down at it, startled. Hadn’t she just lit it? She quickly found a match and relit the wick. In the brief darkness, she thought she heard something—a faint, almost imperceptible rustling, as if something was moving through the walls. She dismissed it, telling herself it was an old house; of course, it made noises.

But the sound grew louder, a scratching that seemed to come from the hallway. She felt her heart rate pick up, her breath coming faster. The hallway stretched out before her, and at the end of it was the door.

There was no light in the hall now, only the pale moonlight filtering in through a high window. Shadows pooled in every corner, and as she stepped closer, she could swear she saw movement behind the door. A soft shuffling, the sound of something—or someone—pacing.

She took a step back, heart pounding. Don’t open the door. The lawyer’s words echoed in her mind, stern and insistent. But curiosity clawed at her. What was in there? What was so important that she’d been warned so earnestly?

She turned away, determined to honor the rule, but as she moved down the stairs, she felt something pull at her, like an invisible hand reaching for her mind, luring her back. It was more than curiosity now. It was a compulsion, a relentless need to know what lay beyond that door.

Unable to resist, she found herself climbing the stairs again, candle in hand. She stood in front of the door, staring at it, watching the way the brass handle seemed to glow in the flickering light. Her hand drifted toward it, fingers hovering over the cold metal.

She was shaking, her pulse pounding in her ears. Don’t open it, she thought. But her hand moved anyway, as if guided by some unseen force. Her fingers closed around the handle, and she twisted, slowly, feeling the weight of the door pull against her.

The door creaked open, revealing a darkness so deep it seemed to swallow the light of her candle. She peered inside, her heart racing, and took a step forward.

The air was cold, heavy with the scent of decay. She raised the candle, its feeble glow illuminating a narrow room with walls that appeared to be lined with blackened wood. At first, it seemed empty. Then, she noticed something huddled in the far corner.

A shape—human but not quite right. It crouched there, long, emaciated limbs folded at unnatural angles, its skin pale and stretched tight over its bones. It had no eyes, only hollow, black sockets that seemed to stare straight through her. It grinned, a grotesque smile that revealed rows of sharp, jagged teeth.

Emily gasped, stumbling back, nearly dropping the candle. The creature’s mouth opened, wider than any human mouth could, and from it came a sound—a low, guttural whisper that echoed through her mind, filling her with a dread so profound she felt as if she were being swallowed whole.

“Why… have you… opened the door?” it hissed, each word a rasp that scraped against her nerves. She could feel its breath, cold and fetid, rolling over her as it spoke. She wanted to scream, to run, but her feet felt glued to the floor, her body frozen in terror.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “I was just curious…”

The creature laughed, a hollow, mocking sound that echoed through the room. “Curiosity… always such a tempting flaw…”

It unfurled itself, rising to a terrible height, its limbs too long, too thin. Emily watched, paralyzed, as it moved toward her, each step slow and deliberate, its eyeless sockets fixed on her.

“You have released me,” it murmured, reaching out one skeletal hand. “Now, you must take my place.”

She felt its fingers brush against her skin, a sensation of ice and rot seeping into her bones. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls darkening, twisting, as if they were alive. She tried to pull away, but her body wouldn’t respond. She could only watch as the creature leaned closer, its mouth opening wider, wider, until she thought it would swallow her whole.

Suddenly, everything went black.

Emily awoke to find herself crouched in the corner, her body contorted, her skin stretched taut over her bones. She tried to scream, but no sound came. She was trapped, bound by invisible chains, her limbs locked in place.

And then she heard it—the soft creak of the door opening. She watched, helpless, as a man stepped into the room, candle in hand, his eyes wide with curiosity.

She wanted to warn him, to tell him to leave, but the words wouldn’t come. She could only watch as he took a step forward, his face pale in the dim light.

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

And now, she was part of the warning.