The Monster Behind the Door

I used to believe monsters lived in closets or under the bed.

As a child, I’d leap from the hallway light straight into my mattress, avoiding the space below my bed like it was lava. My heart raced at creaks in the night, convinced some dark figure was watching. My parents laughed gently and reminded me, “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

They were wrong.

The monster didn’t hide under my bed.

It lived behind a door — a very real one.

Chapter 1: The Quiet House

It was the summer I turned thirteen, the age where you begin to see the world as it really is — not the magical one filled with bedtime stories, but one that sometimes whispers hard truths.

My mother and I had just moved into a small rental house on the edge of town after she left my father. We didn’t talk much about why. All I knew was she cried less now, and we didn’t have to tiptoe around silence anymore. The house was small but warm. I liked it, mostly — except for the back room.

It had a plain wooden door, old and scratched. For some reason, it was always locked. My mom said it was just a storage space, filled with “things the landlord hadn’t moved yet.” But something about it felt wrong. It was the only part of the house that stayed cold, even on hot afternoons. Sometimes I’d stand near it and feel... watched.

But I told myself I was too old for that. I was growing up. Monsters weren’t real.

Until the noises started.

Chapter 2: Scratches and Whispers

At first, it was faint. A soft tapping behind the door, like someone trying gently to get out. I’d hear it late at night, when the house was still. Then whispers — too soft to understand, but loud enough to stir panic in my chest.

One night, I crept out of bed and leaned my ear against the door.

Silence.

Then — a breath. Not mine.

I ran back to my room and buried my head under the pillow.

The next morning, I asked my mom again about the room. She paused, her smile too forced. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just old pipes.”

But I knew better. Something was behind that door.

Chapter 3: The Day It Opened

It was raining that day. My mom had left early for work, and school had been canceled due to a power outage. I stayed home, reading, pretending not to hear the occasional thud from the back room.

Then, around noon, I walked past it — and stopped.

The door was open.

Not wide, just cracked. Just enough to see darkness beyond it.

I don’t remember deciding to push it, but I did. Slowly. The hinges creaked. The room smelled like damp paper and forgotten things. I stepped inside.

There were boxes. Dust. Old furniture.

And a mirror.

Tall, cracked slightly at the corner, covered in a film of dust.

I walked closer, and as I wiped the glass, I saw it. Not a shadow. Not a ghost.

A version of me.

But not quite me.

This version looked tired. Sunken. Dark circles under the eyes. A strange, twisted expression on his face. And as I stared, he whispered:

“You can’t hide from me forever.”

I stumbled back, falling into the boxes. When I looked again, it was just my reflection.

But something had shifted.

The monster wasn’t behind the door.

It was me.

Chapter 4: Facing the Monster

That night, I barely slept. I kept thinking about what I saw. About how I felt every time I doubted myself. Every time I told myself I wasn’t good enough. Every time I kept my pain inside.

It all made sense.

The monster wasn’t some creature with claws. It was the voice in my head. The one that told me I was a burden. That I wasn’t smart enough. That people left because of me.

It had been growing, fed by silence, fear, and shame.

And that back room — it was never about a ghost. It was a symbol. A place I locked away everything I didn’t want to face.

I had to confront it.

So the next morning, I returned to the room. This time, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at that reflection.

I said it out loud:

“You are not stronger than me.”

And for the first time, the monster didn’t speak back.

Chapter 5: What I Learned

Years passed. We moved again. The room stayed behind, but the lesson didn’t.

As I grew older, I began to recognize how often people carry monsters behind their own doors — hidden behind smiles, behind silence, behind a desire to seem “fine.”

We all have that voice inside us at some point. The one that tells us we’re not enough. The one that whispers our worst fears back to us.

But here’s the truth:

The monster only grows in the dark.

The more we avoid it, the more power it gains.

But when we face it — truly face it — it starts to shrink.

And that’s how healing begins.

🧠 Moral of the Story:

The scariest monsters are often the ones we create within ourselves.

Fear, shame, self-doubt — they thrive in silence and secrecy. But when we open the door, acknowledge our pain, and speak our truth, we take back control.

Facing your inner monsters doesn’t make you weak. It makes you braver than most.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi