What’s that they say about curiosity?

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. To Suleika, this was a challenge, a provocation. The moment the elders stepped away, leaving her alone to her chores, she melted into the shadows and tiptoed to the ominous corridor—mischievous intent making light every step.

The old oak door stood a foot taller than all others in the house. Its deep brown was inviting; its golden knob titillating. She knocked, to appease her conscience. A whisper replied on the other side—or perhaps the wind.

She held her breath, turned the knob and pushed with considerable care, as if the massive door was made of eggshells.

“What the!”

The room was emptier than a library next-door to an arcade on a Saturday afternoon. Why would they forbid her to open it?

A cool, gentle breeze brushed by then Suleika heard all windows and doors shut—all except this one. Within seconds, darkness fell inside the house and all she could do was feel her way around. The walls were sweating a putrid sap. Over her head, a noise was growing louder. It was the sound she imagined snake hatchlings would make, if trapped in a bucket of snot. She ran towards the stairs to leave this cursed place but slipped on the mucus oozing abundantly from the walls.

“Gods! Please!”

Someone… something snickered. Suleika screamed! A slippery blob flew into her mouth, gagging her. The girl choked and writhed, groaning on the gooey floor as bumps mushroomed on her skin—burning like hot coals. They swelled to pea size and burst, releasing slime and all the girl’s fluids until she desiccated from inside—her skin like an abandoned wasp nest.

Later, the elders returned, bottled Suleika’s pool of juices and grew a tad less old over the weeks.