The Living Doorway

When Marta’s father passed away, he left her the family’s old summer house on the outskirts of a forgotten town. She remembered it vaguely from her childhood—a sprawling, weathered mansion set against an endless forest. Her father had often warned her never to visit alone. As an adult, she thought little of his caution, chalking it up to superstition. But there was something compelling her to return. The house had always held mysteries, memories she couldn’t quite piece together.

The mansion had stood abandoned for years, and the weight of silence pressed upon her as she unlocked the door. The air smelled stale, tinged with a sour scent that made her pause, wondering if perhaps something had died within those walls long ago. The rooms were filled with dusty relics: family portraits that seemed to stare just a little too long, chairs draped in yellowing sheets, and a grand, ancient mirror above the fireplace.

Marta had only just entered the main hall when she felt it—a faint vibration underfoot, as though the floor itself was… breathing. She laughed at herself. It had been a long drive; she was just tired, unsettled by the sight of a forgotten home.

Her laughter echoed down the empty halls, and as it faded, a different sound rose—a soft, dragging noise. She turned, heart pounding, but saw nothing. The room was as empty and silent as before.

Shaking her head, she made her way to her father’s study, where she knew he kept an old family journal. She found it easily, bound in leather and covered in strange, faded symbols. Curious, she opened it to the first page. The handwriting was her father’s, but the ink was smeared, the words almost illegible.

Yet one phrase stood out, etched as if burned into the paper: Do not open the Red Door.

Marta’s gaze flickered to the hallway across from the study. There it was—the only door in the house painted in a rich, dark red. She hadn’t noticed it before, though it had always been there, and something about it made her skin crawl. The air around it felt different, heavier, as though it was holding something back.

Ignoring her instinct to leave, she walked towards it, the floorboards creaking under her weight. As she reached out, her fingers tingled, feeling the faint hum of something alive beneath the wood. Her hand hovered over the handle. A whisper echoed in her mind, a warning, or perhaps a memory.

“Some doors… lead to things that should remain hidden.”

She pulled her hand back, shaken. But just as she turned to leave, the door creaked open on its own. A soft light flickered within, inviting, yet sickly. Against every better instinct, she stepped inside.

The room was empty, but it didn’t feel that way. The walls seemed to pulse, shifting as if alive. Shadows curled in the corners, stretching slowly towards her. On the floor was a small, cracked mirror, its frame tarnished black.

When she bent down to pick it up, she froze. Her reflection stared back, but it was wrong. The eyes were hollow, darkened with something that wasn’t hers. And then, it blinked.

A shiver ran down her spine as she dropped the mirror, the glass shattering across the floor. As the pieces scattered, the reflection multiplied, each shard showing fragments of faces that weren’t hers. They were trapped there, twisted, frozen in expressions of terror.

Her breath came in short gasps as she backed towards the door, but it had closed, sealing her inside. The walls seemed to lean in, whispering words she couldn’t understand, their voices like static, filling her mind with dread.

The light in the room flickered, and she could feel something behind her. She turned slowly, and there it was—a figure, barely visible, like a distortion in the air, watching her.

“Why did you come here?” it whispered, its voice resonating within her skull.

Marta stumbled, her back hitting the wall as the thing crept closer, its form warping and shifting. It reached out a hand—or what seemed like one—and her skin crawled as it touched her shoulder, cold and heavy, pressing down.

“I didn’t…” she choked, her voice barely a whisper.

The creature’s grip tightened, and the walls seemed to close in even more. She struggled, feeling her vision dimming as its presence consumed her. Just before she lost consciousness, it whispered in her ear, “You’re one of us now.”

When Marta awoke, she was standing outside the mansion, her hand still on the handle of the front door. Had it all been a dream? She glanced down and noticed a shard of the mirror, its surface smeared with something dark.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. As she turned to walk away, she caught sight of her reflection in the window, and her blood ran cold.

The face staring back at her… wasn’t her own.

Thank you for joining me on this journey into the unknown. If this story chilled you, don’t forget to hit the like button and share it with those who love a spine-tingling tale.