The Door

The red slipper never left my desk. No matter how many times I tried to throw it away, burn it, or bury it, I’d find it back in my room—dusty, worn, and cold. That note haunted me more than the knocking.

“Tell nani I’m free now. She owes me nothing.”

But nani was gone. Who could’ve sent it?

I began losing sleep. Every creak in the house sounded like footsteps. Every shadow stretched just a bit too long. And then, the letters started coming. No address. No postage. Just tucked under my pillow each morning. All written in a shaky hand.

“Do you remember what you did?”

“You opened it.”

“Now you must finish what you started.”

I stopped leaving the house. I even stopped answering phone calls. I just… waited. Something was coming, and I knew it.

Then, one night—at exactly 3:00 AM—I got a video call from a hidden number. I picked it up out of impulse. The screen showed a live feed of nani’s old backyard. The neem tree. The door.

It was wide open.

And someone—or something—was crawling out of it.

I screamed, dropped the phone, and ran to the bathroom to puke. But as I lifted my head to look in the mirror—

I wasn’t there.

My reflection… wasn’t mine.

A boy stood there. Same red slipper. Same dead eyes.

I slammed the mirror, breaking it into a hundred shards. But every single piece still showed him, staring at me, whispering in unison—

“He’s here.”

I ran to my room. The air was thick. I couldn’t breathe. The red slipper was glowing faintly now, like embers from a dying fire.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Pitch black.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Not at the front door.

At my closet.

I froze.

My body wouldn’t respond, like I was trapped in someone else’s skin. I tried to scream but no sound came. Slowly, unwillingly, my feet moved toward the closet.

The knocks got louder. Faster.

My hand reached the knob.

I didn’t want to.

But something inside me—something older—forced it open.

Inside stood a man with no face.

No eyes. No mouth. Just skin stretched tight like a drum. And in his hand?

A letter. Burnt at the edges.

He pressed it into my hand without a word.

And then he vanished.

The letter read:

“I was never your brother. You were mine.”

“You gave me freedom. Now give me form.”

I dropped the note, but my skin began to blister—like it was burning from the inside. My arms twisted, bones cracking. My mouth stretched open in a silent scream.

The slipper—now on my foot.

The mirror cracked again.

This time, it was me on the inside, screaming to get out.

But outside?

He was smiling with my face.

I woke up the next morning.

In the tree.

Inside the door.

The silence was deafening.

No one’s come to find me.

But I can still knock.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll be curious enough to open it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.