The Locked Door

When Emily moved into the old house at the edge of town, she was excited to finally have her own space. The house was big, with tall windows that let in plenty of sunlight, and a large yard full of overgrown flowers and vines. It wasn’t perfect—the floors creaked, the walls were a little chipped, and the paint was fading—but it had character. Plus, the rent was cheap, which was perfect for someone just starting her first job after college.

The landlord, Mr. Howard, was an older man with a serious face and a quiet voice. When he handed Emily the keys, he gave her a long, stern look.

“There’s one thing you need to know about this house,” Mr. Howard said. “There’s a room on the second floor, at the end of the hallway, with a locked door. You are not to go inside that room. Ever.”

Emily was taken aback. “Why? What’s in there?”

Mr. Howard’s eyes seemed to darken. “It’s not your concern. Just stay away, and you’ll be fine.”

A chill ran down Emily’s spine, but she didn’t push the matter. She nodded and promised to follow his instructions, then watched as Mr. Howard left, driving off in his old car.

At first, Emily didn’t think much about the locked door. The house was big enough that she had plenty of space without it. She set up her bedroom, arranged her living room furniture, and began unpacking her boxes. Life was normal. Quiet. Peaceful.

But as the days went by, she couldn’t help but notice the door at the end of the upstairs hallway. It was an old, heavy wooden door with a brass doorknob that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Every time she passed it, she felt a strange unease, like the door was watching her.

One evening, about a week after she moved in, Emily heard something strange. It was a faint noise, like scratching, coming from upstairs. At first, she thought it was just the house settling or maybe a mouse in the walls. But the sound didn’t stop. It was coming from behind the locked door.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening. The scratching was soft but persistent, like something was trying to get out. Her heart raced as she crept up the stairs, her footsteps barely making a sound on the creaky wood. She stopped in front of the door, pressing her ear against it.

The scratching continued, followed by a low, almost human-like groan.

Emily jumped back, her heart pounding in her chest. She raced back downstairs, telling herself it was just her imagination. Old houses made strange noises, didn’t they? She decided to ignore it and went to bed.

But that night, sleep didn’t come easily. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the scratching and that strange, low groaning sound. It was as if whatever was behind the door was begging to be let out.

The next day, she called Mr. Howard. “I heard something last night. From the locked room.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Mr. Howard spoke. His voice was calm but firm. “I told you not to concern yourself with that room. Stay away from it, and everything will be fine.”

Emily wanted to argue, to ask what exactly was behind the door, but something in Mr. Howard’s tone stopped her. She agreed and hung up, feeling even more unsettled than before.

Days passed, and the noises from the locked room grew louder. Scratching. Groaning. Sometimes, it sounded like whispers—soft, unintelligible words that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She started avoiding the second floor altogether, refusing to go near the door, but no matter where she was in the house, she could still hear the sounds.

One night, the noises were louder than ever. The scratching was frantic, like claws digging into the wood. The groaning had turned into low, agonized wails. Emily sat on her couch, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to drown out the noise by covering her ears.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered to herself. Something was in that room, something unnatural, and she had to know what it was.

Ignoring the fear bubbling up inside her, she grabbed a flashlight and headed upstairs. The house was eerily quiet, except for the sounds behind the door. Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch the brass doorknob. It was cold to the touch.

To her surprise, the door wasn’t locked anymore.

The knob turned easily, and the door creaked open, revealing a dark, musty room. The air inside was heavy, as if it hadn’t been disturbed in years. Dust floated in the air, and old furniture sat shrouded in cobwebs.

But there was something else. In the corner of the room, crouched low to the ground, was a figure. At first, it looked like a person—hunched over, with long, tangled hair. But as Emily stepped closer, her flashlight trembling in her hand, she realized it wasn’t human.

The figure was pale, its skin stretched tight over its bony frame. Its fingers were long, ending in sharp, claw-like nails. And its face—its face was a twisted, grotesque version of something once human, with hollow eyes and a mouth that hung open in a silent scream.

Emily froze, her breath catching in her throat. The creature turned its head toward her, its empty eyes locking onto hers. Slowly, it began to rise, its movements jerky and unnatural, as if it hadn’t moved in years.

Panic surged through her, and she backed away, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the creature’s low, raspy breaths. She turned and ran, slamming the door behind her and bolting down the stairs. The creature let out a long, agonized wail, a sound so filled with pain and despair that it echoed in her ears long after she’d escaped the room.

She grabbed her phone and frantically dialed Mr. Howard’s number. He picked up after the first ring.

“I opened the door,” Emily gasped, her voice shaking. “There’s something in there—something horrible!”

Mr. Howard let out a long, tired sigh. “I warned you,” he said quietly. “I told you not to open it.”

“What is it?” Emily cried. “What is that thing?”

“It was my daughter,” Mr. Howard said after a long pause. His voice was heavy with sorrow. “Many years ago, she became ill. A sickness that no doctor could cure. She changed—became something else. I locked her away to protect her and everyone else. She’s been in that room ever since.”

Emily couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You kept her locked up? Why didn’t you get help?”

“I tried,” Mr. Howard said. “But no one could help her. No one believed me. The thing in that room—it’s not my daughter anymore. Not really.”

Emily felt tears sting her eyes. The creature’s wail still echoed in her mind. “What do I do now?”

“Leave,” Mr. Howard said. “Leave the house and never come back. You’ve seen her, and now she knows you’re there. She won’t stop until she gets out.”

Without another word, Emily hung up the phone, grabbed her keys, and ran out of the house. She didn’t look back, not even when she heard the door upstairs creak open again and the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps on the floor.

She never returned to that house.

And the door? It stayed locked, waiting for the next curious soul to ignore the warning.

Disclaimer: This story has been generated by an AI. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The content is for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect any real-world situations or entities.