The House That Watched

When Daniel Mercer inherited his great-uncle’s estate, he expected dust, creaking floorboards, and the typical eerie charm of an old house. What he didn’t expect was the feeling of being watched.

The Blackwood Manor stood alone on the edge of Ravenshire, a looming Victorian mansion with ivy-choked walls and windows that stared like hollow eyes. Daniel had never met his great-uncle Richard, but he knew the man had lived a reclusive life, locked away in this house for decades.

The letter that accompanied the deed was brief:

Do not open the Red Door.

There was no explanation, no warning—just that one, unsettling sentence.

A House with Secrets

The first few nights passed uneventfully, aside from the occasional groan of shifting wood and the distant tapping of unseen branches against glass. But then, the whispers began.

At first, Daniel thought it was the wind. But the sounds were rhythmic, almost… deliberate. As if someone, or something, was speaking through the walls.

He followed the voices down winding corridors, past forgotten portraits of stern-faced ancestors, until he stood before it.

The Red Door.

It was different from the others—taller, its crimson paint peeling like withered skin. A heavy iron keyhole sat beneath an ornate brass handle, rusted with time.

His great-uncle’s words echoed in his mind.

Do not open the Red Door.

Daniel turned away.

That night, sleep evaded him. He dreamt of shadowed figures moving behind the door, whispering his name in voices both familiar and strange. When he awoke, he was standing in front of it, his hand resting on the knob.

The next morning, he searched the house for answers. The library was filled with brittle books, their spines cracked with age. In one, a faded journal, he found his great-uncle’s final entry.

"The house watches. The door is the only thing keeping it in. I made a mistake once. I will not make it again."

Daniel slammed the journal shut, his pulse hammering in his throat.

That night, the whispers turned into knocks.

Soft, insistent.

Then, a voice.

"Let me out, Daniel."

He froze. It knew his name.

Something was inside.

Or worse—someone.

The Choice

Daniel considered fleeing, but the house had other plans. Doors that were once open refused to budge. Windows that overlooked the foggy estate now showed only darkness. The air grew heavy, thick with something unseen but suffocating.

And the knocking grew louder.

Compelled by an unseen force, Daniel reached for the key he had found in his great-uncle’s desk earlier that day. His fingers trembled as he slid it into the lock.

A deep breath. A turn of the key.

The door swung open.

A blast of icy wind knocked him backward. The walls shuddered, the floor groaned as if the house itself was exhaling. Shadows slithered from the darkness beyond the threshold, writhing like living ink.

A figure stepped forward.

It looked like him.

No—it was him.

A perfect reflection, but its eyes were hollow voids, filled with nothing but hunger. It smiled.

"Finally," it whispered.

The last thing Daniel saw before darkness consumed him was his own doppelgänger stepping into the light, stretching as if waking from a long slumber. It turned to the mirror in the hallway, adjusted its collar, and smirked.

Then, it walked away—out of the house, into the world.

And behind the Red Door, Daniel screamed.

But no one would ever hear him.