The Only Way Out

There was only one rule: Don’t open the door. The aged brown and black sign hung above the door in a threatening pose. I disregarded its warning and strolled past the ornate jack-o'lanterns and the black and orange streamers hanging in the kitchen. The lights dim, the house silent. My gait felt uneven as I left the kitchen and entered the living room. I gradually pulled out my phone in anticipation of a missed notification. Nothing. Puzzled, I called my friend. No answer. I texted them and left the house.

After I shut the front door, I detected a bright light through the kitchen window. I opened the door; the kitchen was still dark. I closed the door. Same light, same window. I heard laughter…footsteps…music.

I knocked on the door. It flew open. No one was there. I stood frozen in disbelief. I looked around. My eyes landed on the tattered old sign with the warning and then on the door, ajar, leading into the dimly lit house with no one in it. I took a few short, deep breaths. I got up the courage to walk into the house. I hurried past the kitchen into the living room. I stood in the middle of the room and took a deep breath. I lingered, wanting someone, anyone to appear. The house remained quiet and still. I cautiously made my way back through the kitchen. I stopped abruptly. My eyes fixated on the back of the front door. That sign that greeted me moments earlier had appeared inside the house. I cautiously approached the door. I put my hand on the knob. I turned it slowly and slightly pulled the door away from its frame, ready to confront whatever would meet me on the other side.