Rain hammered against the old wooden house as Ayesha stepped inside, shaking off the cold evening breeze. She had inherited the place from her late uncle—a quiet, lonely man who rarely visited family and kept to himself. The villagers often whispered strange tales about him, but Ayesha had never believed them… until the first night she stayed there.
The house was silent, yet something about the silence felt alive, like it was listening.
After unpacking, she walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom. That was when she noticed it—the door at the end of the corridor, a pale blue door that didn’t match the rest of the house. It looked older, cracked around the edges, as if someone had once tried to force it open.
Her uncle’s will had mentioned every room except this one.
Curious, she reached for the doorknob, but the moment her fingers touched the cold metal, a sudden chill surged through her arm. She pulled back instinctively. Something didn’t want her opening that door. Or maybe something didn’t want to come out.
Ayesha forced a nervous laugh at her own thoughts. “It’s an old house,” she whispered. “Just creaks and shadows.”
Trying to ignore the unsettling feeling, she went to bed.
But sleep didn’t come easily.
Around midnight, she woke to a faint sound—a slow, dragging noise that echoed through the hallway. At first she thought it was the wind, but then she heard it again… closer this time.
Shhhhhk… shhhhhhkk…
Her heart pounded as she sat up. The sound was coming from the direction of the blue door.
She listened, barely breathing. Just when she thought it had stopped, there came a soft but clear click—
the unmistakable click of a door unlocking.
Ayesha froze.
“No,” she whispered. “It can’t be…”
She grabbed her phone, using the dim flashlight as she stepped into the hallway. The air felt heavier, colder. The floor creaked under her feet.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she gasped.
The blue door… was open. Only slightly, just a few inches—but wide enough for darkness to spill out like ink.
Ayesha’s voice trembled. “Hello? Is someone there?”
No answer.
Just the dripping sound of rain outside—and a slow, soft exhale from inside the room.
Not hers.
Her mind screamed to run, but her feet carried her forward. She pushed the door open wider.
The room inside was small and empty except for an old wooden chair facing the wall. On the chair lay a stack of her uncle’s journals, tied together with rope.
The air smelled of dust and something else… something metallic.
A cold gust swept past her, brushing her hair as though someone had slipped behind her.
She spun around—but the hallway was empty.
Her hands shook as she untied the journals. The first page contained a single line in her uncle’s handwriting:
“If you ever hear the door open by itself, don’t look inside. It means I failed.”
Ayesha’s stomach tightened.
Failed at what?
The next page was scribbled with frantic words:
“It knows when someone enters the house. It watches through the cracks. Don’t make a sound. Don’t open the door. Don’t…”
The sentence ended abruptly, the ink smeared.
Suddenly, the chair behind her creaked, shifting as if someone had just sat down.
Ayesha didn’t want to turn around.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she lifted her eyes to the wall in front of her—where a long, dark shadow was beginning to stretch across the paint… growing longer… rising higher…
As though something was standing right behind her.
And breathing.