The storm outside hadn't stopped since last night. The rain slapped against the cracked windows of Aarav's room, the thunder rolling like some ancient beast crawling closer with every hour. He couldn't sleep—his mind still replaying the whispers he had heard in the forest, and the way the diary's words seemed to change every time he opened it.
Tonight, something was different.
Aarav sat on his bed, staring at the diary lying on the table. Its pages fluttered even though the windows were closed. He forced himself to get closer. When his hand hovered above it, the whispers grew louder—this time, not just calling his name, but forming words.
"The door awaits… the door you must not open."
A chill ran down his spine. Door? What door?
The page flipped on its own, and a rough sketch appeared—lines drawn in black ink, forming the outline of a tall, crooked door with strange symbols etched all around its frame. Aarav didn't recognize the symbols, but he could feel them burning into his mind, almost alive. His pulse quickened.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his room. Slow. Heavy. Dragging.
But no one else was supposed to be home.
He froze. The handle of his door rattled once… then stopped.
Heart pounding, Aarav snatched the diary and shoved it under his pillow. He waited, every nerve stretched, but the footsteps faded away into silence. After a long moment, he dared to breathe again.
That's when he saw it.
On the far side of his room, where the wall should've been solid, a faint outline began to appear. A tall frame, crooked, just like the sketch. The wall pulsed, bending as though it was alive, and within seconds, a door materialized out of nothing—its wood rotten, symbols glowing faintly, the same ones from the diary.
Aarav staggered back, nearly knocking over his chair. This wasn't possible. He blinked hard, hoping it was some hallucination, but the door stayed. Worse, it was breathing. Its surface expanded and contracted like lungs sucking in air.
The whispers returned, louder, clearer:
"Do not enter. Do not enter."
And yet, the door's handle trembled, as if something inside was trying to get out.
Aarav's throat went dry. He wanted to run, but his legs felt rooted. The atmosphere grew heavier; even the storm outside seemed to hush, as though waiting.
Suddenly—
BANG!
The door rattled violently, the symbols flaring with a sickly red light. The air reeked of iron and ash. Something slammed against it from within, again and again, shaking the floorboards.
Aarav grabbed his head, whispers stabbing his brain like needles. He wanted to scream, but his voice was gone. And then, he heard it: not whispers this time, but a girl's voice, soft and desperate.
"Aarav… don't leave me here…"
His eyes widened. That voice. The same girl he had seen in his visions—the one clutching the diary.
Another bang, louder, almost splitting the wood apart. Cracks spread across the rotten surface, and through them, Aarav saw an eye. Not human. Too large. The pupil stretched, vertical, reptilian, glowing like molten gold. It blinked once, slowly, fixing on him.
The voice returned, but now twisted, layered, broken:
"Let… me… out."
Aarav stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the bed. He knew one thing—whatever was inside that door wasn't just waiting. It wanted him.
The door shuddered violently, the handle twisting, the wood groaning as though it would burst any second. Aarav's heart hammered so loudly it drowned out the storm.
Then, everything stopped.
The banging ceased. The symbols dimmed. The air grew eerily still. For a heartbeat, Aarav thought it was over.
But then… slowly, impossibly…
The door handle turned on its own.
The last thing Aarav heard before the lights went out was a whisper, right behind his ear:
"You shouldn't have found me."