There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Yet, as Mia stood in the flickering candlelight, that single command seemed impossible to follow. The soft knock on the other side had been barely a whisper, but it carried an unsettling familiarity. Her heart pounded in her chest, drowning out the warning she’d been given.
The house was old, forgotten by time, and the door in question hidden behind a heavy curtain had been locked for as long as anyone in town could remember. It was the one thing her grandmother always warned her about. “Never open it, no matter what you hear.” But tonight, there was something different. The voice calling her name, so gently, so sweetly, was unmistakable it was her mother’s.
Mia’s mother had died three years ago.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the handle, her breath shallow. The sound of the wind outside grew louder, howling like a warning, but the voice on the other side turned from a soft plea to a desperate cry. “Mia, please. I’m so cold. Let me in.”
Tears welled in her eyes. It can’t be her. But the voice... “I miss you, Mia.”
She couldn’t resist any longer. With a sharp twist, she threw open the door.
A gust of icy wind slammed into her, knocking her back, and there, in the dark threshold, was no one. Just the whisper of a promise I’m coming for you before the door shut itself with a final, chilling click.
About the Creator
OJ
Hey, I’m OJ! Writing has always been my passion there’s something about putting thoughts into words that makes every idea come to life. I believe in the power of storytelling and how it can connect people, and spark conversations
you are enough
There was a time when I didn’t believe it. Not even close. No matter how much effort I put in or how hard I tried to meet everyone's expectations, it never felt like enough. The word “enough” became a constant shadow that followed me around looming over every conversation, every interaction, and every goal I chased. It seemed as though I was always just shy of it, like the bar was always set just beyond my reach.
By OJabout a year ago in Motivation
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmasabout 19 hours ago in Horror
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