Open says me...

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

Still drunk from a night of raging parties, the landlord’s voice had seemed muddled. This wasn't the first time I'd rented a room here, but something felt different... off. Every night, the floorboards creaked. The sound of an old building settling was nothing new, but tonight, I swore something moved. I ignored it at first, but the scratching—soft at first, like fingernails barely brushing the wood—grew louder, grating at my eardrums.

Eventually, I rose. I stumbled down the hall, pressing my ear to the door. Nothing. All in my head.

As I turned to leave, a thud rattled the wood. My heart leapt into my throat, and I tripped, crashing to the floor. I lay there, frozen. Then, a whisper slid through the keyhole. I couldn’t make out the words, but it was there, unmistakable.

I had to know. I pulled myself up, reaching for the knob. Cold. Before I could turn it, an icy scalpel of air cut into my skin. Blood trickled down as I tried to pull my hand away, frost cracking against my skin.

Back in bed, I couldn’t sleep. My eyes flicked toward the door. Something was behind it. I could feel it waiting.

Breath shaking, I reached for my frostbitten hand, and everything stopped. The house was too quiet, as if the air was holding its breath. My hand felt warm, too warm, as if something else was guiding it. My fingers curled on their own. I tried to scream, but no sound came.

THUMP! I stared at the door. A shadow shifted behind it—too tall, too thin. My vision faded as the cold drained the last of my breath.

This morning, the door was open.