There was only one rule: don’t open the door, and yet for decades, this plagued the curious boy.
On the day of his parents passing, he was alone, scared, and frightened. Nobody had prepared him for this. He asked his parents why they aged while he didn’t, and the answer was always the same, some things are better kept a secret.
He was not allowed to venture outside. He was trapped within the dark walls of the old barn. Opening the door would do no good, he was told time and time again, the world is a nasty place, full of evil and corruption.
However, on this night, as the boy gazed upon the lifeless eyes of his parents, lying on the floor, he begged for answers. Now they were gone, nothing could stop him. The boy, with his weak frame, creeped towards the door, never opened. Every day for thirty years he had tiptoed around it, yet now he was finally going to turn the knob.
The wood had decayed, the metal doorknob rusted, never touched. The boy placed his fist around it, brushing a thick layer of dust from the orb. With one final look at the people who raised him, he whispered “Sorry” before blowing a kiss in their direction.
Turning the knob fully, the mechanism clicked into place. The creaking door edged open.
The boy gingerly peered around. Nothing, just darkness. There was no indication of the world outside this barn, nothing suggesting anything untoward.
“Sink or swim”, the boy thought and took one massive step into the unknown.
Surrounded by smog, he began to lose his way, dazed, and confused. The boy headed towards a patch of light in the distance, someone was calling out...
There was only one rule: don’t open the door!
About the Creator
Elizabeth Butler
Elizabeth Butler has a masters in Creative Writing University .She has published anthology, Turning the Tide was a collaboration. She has published a short children's story and published a book of poetry through Bookleaf Publishing.
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THE TALE OF A CLASSIC INVASION
Long golden locks, tied into neatly braided plaits. The face of an angel, with a pale complexion, Goldilocks’ bright blue eyes sparkled. The day was just warming up, the sun shining high above the clouds, over the pleasant little cottage she called home.
By Elizabeth Butler2 years ago in Horror
The Voice That Waited
Seen (1) At the edge of a quiet town stood an abandoned radio station, forgotten by time and avoided by locals. The building had been shut down for over twenty years, yet people claimed that at exactly 2:17 a.m., a faint broadcast could still be heard on an old frequency. No music. No news. Just a voice. Daniel was a small content creator who specialized in audio storytelling. He didn’t believe in rumors, but he believed in stories. When he heard about the mysterious broadcast, he decided to investigate—not for views, but for curiosity. One cold night, Daniel entered the radio station with his recorder and headphones. Dust covered the equipment, and spider webs hung from the ceiling. Everything looked dead. Silent. At exactly 2:17 a.m., the old transmitter crackled. A voice broke through the static. “Hello… is anyone listening?” Daniel froze. The voice was calm but tired, like someone who had been waiting for a long time. “My name is Arthur,” the voice continued. “I used to work here. If you can hear me, please don’t turn this off.” Daniel whispered into his microphone, “I’m listening.” The voice seemed relieved. “For years, I spoke into this microphone, hoping someone would hear me. When the station shut down, everyone left. Everyone except me.” Daniel’s heart raced. “Are you… alive?” There was a pause. Then a soft laugh. “That depends on what you mean by alive,” Arthur said. “I passed away in this building many years ago. But my voice stayed. This place remembers me.” Arthur explained that he had been a late-night radio host, speaking to lonely people, travelers, and insomniacs. The night the station closed, he stayed behind to record one final message—something meaningful. But no one ever aired it. He died alone, with his words unheard. “So I kept talking,” Arthur said. “Night after night. Waiting for someone to listen.” Daniel felt a heavy silence fill the room. “What do you want from me?” Daniel asked. Arthur answered gently, “I don’t need fear. I don’t need fame. I just want my message to reach someone. Anyone.” Daniel nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see him. “I’ll share your story.” For the first time, the static disappeared. Arthur’s voice became clear. “Tell them this,” he said. “You are not invisible. Someone, somewhere, needs your voice—even if you don’t know it yet.” The broadcast ended. The room fell silent. Daniel left the station before sunrise and spent the next day editing the audio. He uploaded the recording as a simple podcast episode titled *The Voice That Waited*. He didn’t add music. He didn’t add effects. Just the truth. Within days, thousands of messages poured in. People said the voice helped them through loneliness, grief, and dark nights. Some cried. Some found comfort. Some found hope. Daniel returned to the radio station one last time. At 2:17 a.m., there was no broadcast. The transmitter stayed silent. But Daniel smiled. Because he understood something important: Some voices don’t fade because they are loud. They survive because someone finally listens.
By Do bol ho jaaye 5 days ago in Horror
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