Mischief behind the Door

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

My new roommate didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press the issue. He was weird enough, and I just needed a room for the next 6 months while I finished my degree.

I spent most of my time studying, working, or sleeping. I walked past the door several times a day and didn't think twice about it.

Until I was in bed.

Scuttling. Screeching. Scampering. Squealing.

All through the night.

I asked my roommate about the noises, but he pretended not to hear them. "What noises? The traffic? The neighbors?"

Once I started paying attention, I noticed him standing at the threshold whispering quietly. I could never make out any distinct words. Sometimes he'd be there for hours.

At night, I would catch glimpses of movement under the door and convince myself I was seeing things.

By day, I saw the edges of scratch marks. The grooves even appeared to get deeper as weeks passed.

One evening, while studying for finals, I heard a series of loud thumps intermixed with high-pitched squabbling. The noise levels were louder than ever.

When they didn't stop, I knocked on my roommate's door. No answer.

I peeked in—his bed was empty.

I hesitated at the forbidden door, then twisted the knob before I could stop myself.

Silence.

I peered into the darkness, dozens of piercing scintillant eyes glared back at me. For one moment, we were still. The only sound—my heart pounding.

Suddenly, they attacked. Rats the size of cats swarmed over each other. My scream was lost among the mischief as their teeth ripped into my flesh.

Hot, searing pain permeated my body, blood streaming. I fell to my knees, vision blurred.

Everything went black.