Where it Leads

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

It stood, majestic at the end of the hallway, covered in ornate but strange carvings. It had been an untouched part of Ella’s ancestral home for as long as she could recall. All the members of her family knew it like it was a religious chant. No one dared to disobey it, not out of obedience, but out of fear.

That night, as the house retired, a strange sound came from it. A soft hum, a whispered gust, seemed to rise from its untravelled recesses. Ella’s pulse raced. Her grandmother’s warning rang in her head, but she couldn’t heed it. She reached for the handle, her hand quaking.

It turned with unexpected ease.

The door swung open, revealing not a typical attic or room, but a vast, misty expanse. An icy blast came, and soft voices resounded in the distance, chanting a haunting mantra. Shapes moved within the mist, eerie, yet familiar figures.

One of them approached Ella.

It was her younger brother, the prodigy and pride of the family, who had died when she was a toddler. His features were familiar, unaltered; but his eyes were hollow.

“Ella,” he said, his voice dissonant. “Join us. We’re family.”

Ella jerked backward, her heart almost stopping. She glanced behind her, but the hallway had vanished. In its place were the figures, offering eerie comfort.

She stared at her brother. “What do you want from me?” She questioned, feeling her throat tighten.

“Either side of this door leads to home,” he said, “Which do you want? Choose carefully.”

The figures stared at Ella, their faces empty. The door abruptly fell off its rusty hinges.

Then darkness. Where Ella was, she didn’t know.