House Sitting

There was only one rule: don't open the door. That was a small ask for $3,000 a week to house-sit a beautiful mansion for the next three months. "Just one forbidden door, at the top of the stairs down a long hallway — Easy peasy," she thought.

The first week was pretty uneventful, and the forbidden door was the last thing on her mind because she was too distracted by little things going missing: her phone, the TV remote, even the bracelet she'd left on the table before relaxing in the jacuzzi.

Odd, but she dismissed it as part of adjusting to a new space.

By the second week, she began to doubt her own memory. The wine glasses had shifted to a different cabinet, and the snack shelf now had bottled water. "Maybe I'm remembering wrong," she said to herself. Each small change gnawed at her, and it started to feel like the walls were watching her every move.

As the third week approached, she began waking up in unfamiliar places. Tuesday, it was a guest room—she was sure she'd fallen asleep on the couch the night before. Wednesday, she found herself lying on the cold floor in front of the forbidden door.

Her heart raced as she looked through the crack between the door and the floor. Light spilled through, revealing shapes she couldn't quite make out, while a shadow shifted out of view, sending a chill down her spine.

A wave of panic struck her as she realized that she was awake but unable to move. Just then, the forbidden door opened, and a deep voice whispered, "You've been such a good guest. Don't you want to see what's behind the door?"