The Last Door Left Open

The storm hit Greenwood at 11:07 p.m.—not that anyone had expected it. No warnings, no thunderclouds on the horizon. Just a sudden clap of thunder, a downpour like crashing glass, and then the lights went out. All of them.

Mara held her breath as the blackout swallowed her neighborhood. The candles on her windowsill barely cast shadows in the room, flickering against old wallpaper that seemed to breathe with the wind.

She had never liked the rain.

It reminded her of that night, fifteen years ago, when her older brother Ethan vanished without a trace. She was only nine. He was sixteen. One moment they were laughing at an old horror movie—next, he was gone. No note. No struggle. Just an open back door and an unnatural silence.

The police searched for months. Her parents eventually moved away. Mara stayed.

Because she never believed Ethan had just "disappeared."

And because she knew the house was hiding something.

Tonight, she was certain it was ready to speak.

The house had belonged to the Wren family for four generations. A creaking, crooked Victorian on the edge of the woods, with too many rooms and too many secrets. Since Mara inherited it at twenty-one, she’d become used to its moods: the shiver of its pipes, the groan of its stairs, the whispers it made late at night when no one else was around.

But tonight was different.

It was the door.

The one she swore had never been there before.

It sat at the end of the third-floor hallway—black, warped with age, and etched with a strange spiral symbol at eye level. A symbol she'd seen before. In Ethan’s journal. The one she wasn’t supposed to find.

She didn’t remember falling asleep earlier, but she woke up to the sound: a slow, hollow creaking, like someone opening a heavy chest—or a very old door.

Candle in hand, she climbed the stairs. The hallway was colder than the rest of the house. A chill licked her spine. The walls were tight here, the ceiling lower.

The door was ajar.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

Mara swallowed hard. “Ethan?” she whispered, not sure why she said it, or why she expected an answer.

None came.

She pushed the door open.

It didn’t lead to a room.

It led to a staircase.

Descending, impossibly, into darkness.

There was no part of the house blueprint with a basement below the third floor. She’d checked. Many times. But here it was: a narrow stone staircase disappearing into the earth.

She lit a second candle and stepped inside.

The air smelled old—older than dust. Like forgotten time. The flame wavered violently with every step, but Mara kept going.

The stairs went down for much longer than seemed possible.

Then, suddenly, they ended.

She stood in a circular stone chamber. The walls were lined with shelves. Books. Bottles. Bones.

In the center: a pedestal.

On it lay a leather-bound book—Ethan’s journal.

No dust on it. Fresh.

Mara reached out slowly, hands trembling. As her fingers brushed the cover, a sound stirred behind her—like fabric shifting over stone. She spun around.

There he was.

Ethan.

Or something that looked like Ethan.

His face was thinner, gaunter, and his eyes were too wide, too dark. But it was him.

“Hello, Mara,” he said.

She dropped the candle. It rolled and sputtered but didn’t go out.

“Ethan? What... how are you here?”

He smiled. “I never left.”

“What is this place?”

“A door,” he said simply. “One that should have stayed closed.”

He stepped closer. His movements were slow, deliberate, and his feet didn’t quite touch the ground.

“I went looking,” he said. “I heard the whispers. I followed them. I thought it was just the house. But it was more than that. It called to me.”

Mara shook her head, stepping back. “You disappeared. We thought—”

“I did disappear,” he said. “This place... it doesn’t follow our time. It kept me. Showed me things. Things humans weren’t meant to see.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Because the door opened again. You opened it.”

“No. It was already—”

He raised a hand, silencing her.

“The door chooses when to open. And to whom. Just like it chose me. Now, it’s chosen you.”

Mara backed toward the stairs. “I’m not staying.”

Ethan’s smile faded. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Suddenly, a loud grinding sound filled the chamber. The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut.

Mara ran, heart hammering, but when she reached the top, the door was gone.

Not closed.

Gone.

Just stone wall where the exit had been.

She turned and screamed.

Ethan stood inches away.

But his face was different now—melting, warping. One eye slid too low. His voice was a chorus when he spoke, a sound that didn’t belong in this world.

“Welcome home, sister.”


Three Days Later

The storm cleared. Sunlight touched Greenwood again.

The neighbors thought it odd when Mara's lights never came back on.

Eventually, the police were called. They searched the house.

Everything seemed normal—until they reached the third floor.

At the end of the hallway, a door stood slightly open.

None of them remembered it being there before.

One officer, a young man fresh out of academy, peered inside.

He saw only darkness. Heard only whispers.

The kind that say your name.

And behind him, the last door slowly creaked... closed.