One Simple Rule

There was only one rule: don't open the door. Jack was always warned about it, ever since he turned eight. Until then, it never came across his mind about what was behind that mysterious door. It was old, pale, and rotting, its surface crumbling from age, or perhaps something inside trying to escape. Every time he walked past it, he felt its dark energy, thick and suffocating. The screams behind were loud and almost always present, and every time he walked by, chills ran down his spine, as if the door itself was announcing its dark presence and warning him to stay clear. It was as if the door held a demonic curse, a gateway to hell perchance, and the screams were those of sinners trapped inside.

One night during his usual trip for water, he walked down the hallway and as he returned he passed the door, his body froze and he felt an irresistible urge to look down. A thick stream of blood was gushing from beneath it, staining the floor as it created a scarlet puddle. His parents' voices were heard behind the door, accompanying the screams. Panic gripped him. He turned to run but every step sent a creak through the hallway, announcing his presence.

The screams vanished. He heard footsteps approaching from behind the door. Slowly, they moved toward him. As the door knob turned, he made a desperate last sprint for his room. Breathless and shaking, scared of what the future may hold, he set up the camera he’d gotten for his birthday, positioning it in the closet. Just as he dove under the covers, his bedroom door creaked open. Footsteps entered the room—two sets. They hovered by his bed, silent, before retreating down the hall. Jack released his breath slowly, afraid of the return of whatever had approached his bedside. He closed his eyes, trying to forget and cover this nightmare with a dream. Sleepless, he listened attentively to every creak of the old house.

An hour later, Jack finally gathered the courage to check the recording. What he saw almost made him scream. His parents entered with a knife dripping with blood. He looked over at the crimson stains on his carpet. Overcome by horror, he stood searching every shelf for something reliable enough to ensure his survival. As the rain pours outside and the wind blows the trees violently across his window he decides he must escape tonight.

Unsure of a plan, Jack stumbles back into the hallway carefully watching his every step ensuring no trail of sound follows him. When he approached the daunting door, he held his breath questioning where his parents might be-fearing the events that could happen next. Inside his hand, he held tightly his camera still rolling and inside the other an old Swiss army knife his grandfather gave him. Fear tracing his every motion, he forces his body forward.

With blood still staining the floor, he looks down and sees puddles forming further and further down the hallway. He listens carefully and hears no voices. He reaches cautiously for the doorknob, and to his surprise it's unlocked, slowly he turns the knob. He looked inside and saw tens if not hundreds of withered, decayed bodies. Some were in pieces, some intact, some old, and some fresh but all completely deceased. Horror pierced his soul, his body thrown back into the hallway revolted by the stench. His fear almost paralyzed him until he heard movement in the kitchen. Finding no time, he jumped into the room closing the door as quietly as possible. On the other side of the door, his knees gave way and he burst into silent tears. Uncomfortable with his position, but terrified of looking up, Jack moved his leg, accidentally knocking a glass vase off the shelf shattering into his knee.

A scream gave way from his lips and alerted the imposters in the kitchen who for so long he had trusted with his life. Understanding the unescapable position he had now pushed himself into his only means of shelter was under decayed carcasses. With a fresh trail of blood on the floor he shuffled his way toward the side of the room. Forced to open his eyes he trembled as his fingers powerfully moved the carcasses atop of himself, fueled by adrenaline.

Footsteps rush down the hall, and the only thing rushing through Jack's mind is how could they do this to me. How could I live in a house for so long, unaware of the people being tortured inside this very room in this very house? Stripped of their life, stripped of their families. Looking over and seeing a carcass supposedly the same age as himself, he felt his soul shatter, his blood run cold, his lungs lose their air, and his body now numb, as if it were deceased itself.

He threw the camera to the corner trying to capture the presence of the new guests entering the room. His parents rush inside only to see nothing but the bodies arranged in a different order than they had left them. Not finding an intruder, they start to exit and head for Jacks bedroom. Just as the father starts to open the door to exit, he glances over and sees Jack's sparkly blue camera sitting in the corner. Understanding that his son remains in the room he motioned his wife forward closing the door and locking the three of them inside. Jack feeling something on his leg reached down and cut himself with a blade that had penetrated a deceased soul, flinching, he draws unwanted attention as his parents see the carcasses move. In a quick motion, Jack jumps away from the body, stealing the knife, he raises the knife high in the air ready to defend himself. His mouth releases a whimper, as his knee reminds himself of the glass shards remaining in his leg.

Not standing a chance between two psychopaths disguised as his parents, his mind races for a plan. Seeing the panic in their son's eyes Micheal and Kim step forward to pursue their natural longing for blood. Terrified to become another carcass in the room Jack decides this is it—at the age of eight, Jack had to make a decision no kid should have to make. Realizing there was no escape, he surrendered his Swiss army knife, throwing it to the ground. As his father steps forward, he lowers his weapon to embrace his son, Jack in one desperate motion, plunges the rusty knife into his father's heart.

His mother watching the blood puddle from her husband, could only smile at the thought of their bloodline continuing. Laughing profusely his mother bent down and closed Micheal's eyes with her cold hands. Taking the blade out, she watched as the blood filled the floor. Jack standing horrified by his action and the blood now adding an additional layer of crimson to the room, fell to the ground. His dinner finally giving way, adding an additional stench to the room.

Kim, now ending her laughing fit, offered her hand to guide the young one out of the room and back to bed. The air feeling too thick to breathe and his eyes too weak to look at anything more Jack stumbled to his feet, almost puking again at the realization of his father's blood now staining every piece of his pajamas. Picking up the Swiss army knife, he pushed his mother's hand aside and plunging atop her, he stabbed her till he couldn't feel any life left in her soul. Limping over to the door, he opened it, gave a sigh and shut the door for good.

Five minutes later, the police arrived and knocked on the door, after being called by a concerned neighbor. When the cops saw the young boy, with blood everywhere and glass still inside his knee, they unholstered their guns. Jack raised his hand, and spoke in a lifeless voice,the last words he would speak for eight years, "Don't worry, I already took care of that."

When the police came to the malefic door, and found Jack’s parent's bodies, or what was left of them, the camera was still rolling, capturing every horrific moment.