"There was only one rule: don’t open the door."

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door."

But curiosity had a way of seeping into the cracks of reason. Mia had lived in the creaky old house for a week, and the door at the end of the hall called to her like a siren's song. The locals had warned her—tales of lost souls and shadows that whispered dark secrets. Yet, every night, she could hear the faint scratching and soft murmurs echoing from within.

On a stormy evening, as lightning illuminated her room, she found herself standing before it. The air crackled with energy, thick with a dread she couldn’t shake. “Just a peek,” she thought, as her hand reached for the handle. It was ice cold against her palm, sending shivers up her spine.

With a deep breath, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The air rushed out, pulling her in. She stumbled into a swirling void, a portal that twisted and coiled like a serpent. Flames flickered in the distance, and she could see grotesque figures clawing their way towards her, their mouths stretching into unnatural grins.

“Welcome,” they hissed, their voices a chorus of agony and delight. Mia’s heart raced as she realized the truth—this wasn’t just a room; it was a gateway to hell itself. The door behind her slammed shut, sealing her fate.

In that moment, she understood the warning. Some doors should remain locked, for once opened, they could never be closed again. As the darkness closed around her, Mia felt the weight of eternity creeping in, a haunting reminder of her choice.