Who’s Behind the Door?

On a stormy night, deep in the heart of a village that barely appeared on any map, stood an old house. This house, abandoned for years, held an unsettling reputation among the villagers.

No one had the courage to look into the weird happenings and eerie tales that had been passed down through the generations—that is, until Sarah moved in.

Sarah had always been fascinated by old buildings, and the price of the house was irresistible. She dismissed the rumors as just that—rumors.

What harm could a little history possibly cause?

Her only companion over the first few evenings was the sound of the wind brushing against the windowpanes and the sporadic creak of the hardwood floors. But on the fourth night, everything was different.

Sarah was startled out of sleep at exactly midnight by a gentle, steady knocking noise. Tick, tick, tick. Her heart thumping, she sat up in bed. The sound came from the hallway and reverberated throughout the house.

"Who's there?" she said in a scarcely discernible whisper. The tapping ceased. The silence was overwhelming, even though she was holding her breath and trying to hear other sounds.

Sarah shook her head, telling herself it was simply the breeze coming through the window, or maybe a branch rubbing against it. Attempting to go back to sleep, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed her eyes.

The next night, at the same time, the knocking returned—louder this time. Knock. Knock. Knock. It seemed deliberate, as though someone—or something—was on the other side of a door.

A chill ran down her spine. She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. Grabbing a flashlight, she stepped out of bed and into the dimly lit hallway. The knocking continued. Knock. Knock. Knock.

The source of the sound was the ancient wooden door at the end of the hallway. Sarah walked up to it, her hands shaking. It was a door she had never noticed before. How is that possible? Even though she had gone through the entire house when she initially moved in, this door looked... fresh.

Her hand brush across the doorknob. chilly. freezing cold. She shuddered. Her voice faltered as she questioned, "Who's behind the door?"

No response.

Her heart raced, but she couldn’t stop herself. She slowly turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness. Her flashlight flickered as if it sensed something malevolent, but it refused to go out.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing in the void. The air felt different on the other side—heavier, almost suffocating. She took a step inside, her foot sinking into what felt like thick, damp earth.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her! Sarah jumped, whipping around to face the door, but it had disappeared. There was no door—no way out. Panic set in. She was trapped.

"Who's there?!" she shouted, her voice shaky. Her flashlight flickered again, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As the light danced, she saw something in the corner—a figure. Faint, almost transparent.

"Who's there?" she whispered, backing away slowly.

The figure didn’t move. It stood still, watching her, as if waiting. Sarah felt her throat tighten, her mind racing with fear and confusion. The figure stepped forward, its form becoming clearer—a woman. Pale, with hollow eyes that seemed to pierce through Sarah's very soul.

"What do you want?" Sarah asked, her voice barely a whisper now.

The figure raised a hand, pointing toward the ground. Sarah looked down and gasped. At her feet was an old, leather-bound book. She knelt down, picking it up with trembling hands. The moment she touched it, the figure vanished, leaving her alone in the cold, dark room.

Flipping through the pages, Sarah realized this was no ordinary book. It was a diary—a journal belonging to the previous owner of the house. The entries spoke of strange noises, haunting visions, and a mysterious door that appeared out of nowhere.

"The door," Sarah whispered, her breath shallow. The last entry was dated the night before the owner disappeared—just like the door had disappeared for her.

Suddenly, a new knock echoed through the room. Knock. Knock. Knock. But this time, it came from behind her.

With the book falling out of her hands, Sarah froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she slowly turned. The door she had passed through was standing there in the shadows; it was closed at the moment.

She then heard a quiet, whispering voice ask, "Who's behind the door?" coming from behind it.

Sarah’s blood ran cold. She backed away slowly, her heartbeat deafening in her ears. The knocking continued. Knock. Knock. Knock.

With a final gasp, Sarah ran—ran toward the door, toward the unknown, hoping it would lead her back to reality. But the truth was, once you stepped through that door, there was no turning back.

The door was always watching… always waiting.