Darkness.

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

I had been told this rule so many times by the neighbors who lived in my apartment block, though I thought it was just a myth; rumors always fly around among neighbors who live in old apartments. I gazed at the door wondering whether I should go in there.

"You mustn't open that door!" a man told me. He grabbed my hand to stop me.

"Why?" I asked.

"You just mustn't," he replied before disappearing into thin air.

I sighed and tugged at the old lock.

I didn't know what scared people away from entering that room.

I gave the door one last push, and the lock finally broke. I was shaking, though I still entered the room.

I had to know what was in there.

The room was pitch black and silent. There was nothing in here. I looked for a light switch, but there wasn't one.

The last thing I heard was the swing of an axe and an angry voice that said,

"I told you not to open the door. This is not your room!"

That was the last voice I heard before I hit the floor.