don’t open the door.

Sara had been warned by her grandmother a thousand times. The heavy wooden door at the end of the long hallway had been locked for as long as anyone could remember. Its black iron key was hidden, and no one ever spoke of what lay beyond it. But tonight, as the wind howled and the house creaked with the weight of the storm, Sara found herself drawn to it.

A whispering sound, almost like someone calling her name, came from behind the door. She stopped in front of it, heart racing. The whispering grew louder, more urgent, as if pleading with her to let it out. Her hand trembled as it reached for the handle.

Don’t open it, her mind screamed. But the voice from the other side was so familiar now, like a long-lost friend begging for help. The brass knob was cold under her fingers. Slowly, against all sense, she turned it.

The door creaked open.

At first, there was nothing but darkness. Then, a foul stench filled the air, thick and suffocating. From the shadows, something shifted—something ancient, with eyes that glowed like embers in the night. A raspy voice slithered out, wrapping around her like a cold embrace.

“You’ve let me out,” it whispered, as the air grew colder. “Now, you can’t escape.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

Sara was never seen again.