Don't Do It

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. It was the only message scrawled on the yellowed paper Moriah found in the attic. What door? Why? No other clues lay in the pinewood steamer trunk.

When the realtor showed Moriah the Victorian-style house three months ago, there was a hint that something bad had happened to the prior owners. The house had been vacant for a few years, but no one in the area mentioned anything to her. She decided to conduct a more thorough search of the house.

In the basement were the washer and dryer, water heater, and fuse box. She checked the walls, looking for any changes in the walls to indicate a hidden door. A search of the floor yielded nothing. She was checking the appliances when something caught her eye. Behind the washer was a short access door.

She wriggled the washer away from the wall and inspected the door. Its frame was seamless, and the door had a simple knob on the front but no lock. She repeated the warning to herself, “Don’t open the door.” Her curiosity was too strong, and she decided she would open it. She had her cell phone ready to snap a photo if something interesting were behind it. Maybe a safe filled with money.

Slowly she kneeled to open it. With her cell phone in one hand, she put her other hand on the handle. Something skittered within, and she pulled her hand back in fear. Moriah regained her resolve and tried again. This time she opened the door. A giant rat was feasting on a human arm, and a dark tunnel lay beyond. The mutant rat turned toward her, its red eyes glaring. Moriah screamed and dropped the phone, the last thing she’d ever do.