The Price of Knowing.

Nina stared at the thick, weathered wood, heart thudding in her chest. The door looked ancient, with scratches deep enough to suggest desperate attempts—something clawing to get out, or in.

Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her mind, a warning that had been passed down through generations. “If you ever find yourself in this house alone, child, never open the door. No matter what you hear, no matter what it promises.”

Nina never understood why she’d been given such a cryptic rule. Not until tonight.

She was drawn here after the funeral, to her family’s ancestral home, trying to make sense of the cryptic messages her grandmother had whispered in her last moments. The letters, the secrets. Something dark lay buried in the family’s past, something that had twisted their lives, threading their lineage with tragedy.

Behind the door, a low hum began to resonate. It was almost soothing, pulling her closer.

You were never meant to know…

The voice whispered from the other side, soft, almost familiar. A chill crept up her spine.

Open the door, and all the answers will be yours.

Her hand hovered over the brass handle. The promise was intoxicating. She had lived her entire life under the weight of unspoken grief, generations of pain passed down like a curse.

But then she remembered: the wrong choices had already been made. Some doors were meant to stay closed.

With one last breath, Nina stepped back. She turned away from the door, but the hum grew louder.

It would never stop calling.

The next morning, Nina found herself drawn to the door again, as if in a trance. She couldn’t recall falling asleep, but the pull was stronger now.

It doesn’t matter anymore. The damage is done. Open it. End it.

The voice had changed. No longer soft, it was more insistent, desperate. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the handle. She knew it was wrong, but the temptation to end the mystery, to see, was overwhelming.

In one swift motion, she turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing only darkness—cold, suffocating, endless. And in that darkness, she saw it. Her reflection. But it wasn’t just her; it was all the women who came before her, trapped in an endless loop, their lives consumed by the same choice. Each had opened the door. Each had regretted it.

A sharp wind gusted through, and suddenly, Nina was no longer standing outside the threshold. She was on the other side.

Trapped.

The door slammed shut.

The door will remain, waiting for the next curious soul.

Too curious way too curious,

too curious to sit a while first, to truly understand.