Spooky Micro

Don't open the door was the only rule. But the knocking became louder and more urgent as the hours passed like candle wax. It was a faint tap at first, easily missed. By midnight, however, it was resonating through the decaying walls of the old house like a heartbeat.

Holding the letter she had discovered that morning, Eva cuddled up in her grandmother's old recliner. In her grandmother's quivering script, it said, "The house will test you one night a year." It will threaten to take what you value most, whisper secrets, and make promises. Don't pay attention. Refrain from opening the door.

The shutters clattered in the howling wind outside. Then a familiar, pleasant voice spoke from behind the door. "Eva?" It was the incredibly soft voice of her mother. It was the same voice that had calmed her childhood nightmares. Ten years ago, her mother passed away. "Eva, please, honey. This place is quite frigid.

Eva's heart ached from longing, and she gasped for air. She closed her eyes and mumbled, "It's not real." Her voice cracked, sounded weak, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please, sweetheart... doesn't abandon me here by myself.

The beating ceased. With a sense of dread Eva could taste, the house fell silent. She twitched her fingers. However, she remained motionless, recalling the one rule.

The door was shattered and battered, hanging open in the morning. Inside, muddy footprints led to Eva's vacant armchair. One more phrase, written in new ink, was written on the letter that was lying on the floor: This time, you opened it.