Title: The Door I Did Not Open
Chapter 1: The House on Elderberry Lane
When I was twelve years old, my family moved into the old Montgomery house on Elderberry Lane. It stood tall and quiet, its shutters crooked and paint faded like an old photograph. The townspeople called it the "House of Whispers." They said it was cursed. They said things moved on their own and voices echoed through the halls when no one was home.
But my parents didn’t believe in such nonsense. My father, an ambitious professor of architecture, saw it as a historical gem. My mother, a writer, fell in love with its mystery. And me? I was just a scared kid with a vivid imagination.
It was during our second week there that I discovered the door.
Chapter 2: The Hidden Passage
I had been exploring the house, getting familiar with the creaky floors and dusty nooks, when I found a narrow hallway tucked behind a linen closet on the second floor. At the end of that hallway stood a door. It was unlike the others in the house. This one was made of dark, almost black wood, with a brass handle that seemed colder than ice.
It had no keyhole. No number. No sign of its purpose.
I reached for the handle, curious. But just as my fingers grazed it, a sharp chill ran down my spine. Something—a whisper, a breath, a presence—made me freeze. I pulled my hand away.
That was the first time I didn’t open the door.
Chapter 3: The Whispers Begin
That night, I heard the whispers. Soft, like the rustle of leaves, but unmistakably words.
"Come closer..."
"Open it..."
"Let us out..."
I pressed my pillow over my head, trying to drown them out. In the morning, I asked my parents if they heard anything. They laughed.
"This house just needs some getting used to," my mother said.
"Old wood contracts and expands at night," my father added.
But I knew what I heard. And I started to notice other things. My toys moved places. My books opened to strange pages. My dreams turned into nightmares of shadowy figures behind doors.
Still, I didn’t open it.
Chapter 4: Letters from the Past
In the attic, among old trunks and yellowed newspapers, I found a box of letters. They were dated back to the early 1900s and written by a girl named Eleanor Montgomery. She had lived in the house with her parents.
Her last letter chilled me.
"They told me not to open the door. But the whispers were so loud. I thought I could help them. Now the house is angry. It won't let me leave."
Eleanor had disappeared, the townspeople said. Run away or kidnapped. But I knew. She had opened the door.
Chapter 5: The Door Beckons
As weeks passed, the door became a weight in my mind. I dreamed of it nightly. The whispers became voices. Sometimes pleading, sometimes angry.
"Coward."
"Don’t you want to know?"
"You’re just like Eleanor."
I began to sleepwalk, waking up near the hallway, always just a few feet from the door. My parents grew worried, but I didn’t tell them. I couldn’t. The door was mine now.
Chapter 6: The Day I Almost Did
It was a stormy evening, thunder rumbling like the growl of a beast. The lights flickered and died. I walked the halls with a flashlight, checking on my parents, when I felt it again—the pull.
The hidden hallway.
The black door.
This time, I touched the handle and turned it.
It didn’t budge. But the air changed. It grew thick, like molasses. And then I heard her.
"Help me."
A girl’s voice. Eleanor?
I stepped back, terrified. The door shook violently. Then it stopped.
I ran.
Chapter 7: The Warning
The next day, I returned to the attic, hoping the letters could guide me. I found an old journal belonging to Eleanor’s father. One entry stood out:
"The door is a gateway. It feeds on curiosity and fear. Once opened, it cannot be closed. Eleanor is gone. I hear her crying, but I cannot help. May no one else make the same mistake."
That night, I nailed the linen closet shut. I told my parents it was unsafe. They believed me.
Chapter 8: Growing Up
Years passed. We stayed in the house. The whispers faded. The door remained shut. I never forgot it.
I moved out when I turned eighteen. Went to college. Got a job. Traveled. Fell in love. But sometimes, in the dead of night, I would hear it again.
A whisper. A plea.
"You left me."
Chapter 9: The Return
When my parents passed, I inherited the house. I returned alone, older now, braver perhaps.
I reopened the linen closet. The hallway was still there. So was the door. Dustier. But unchanged.
I stood before it, remembering all those nights, all those dreams. I placed my hand on the handle. It was warm this time.
I heard a heartbeat. My own? Or the door’s?
I let go.
Chapter 10: The Choice
I could open it now. No one would stop me. No one would know.
But I remembered Eleanor. I remembered the journal.
The door feeds on curiosity.
I took a hammer and nails and sealed the hallway again. Not with fear, but with wisdom.
Some doors are meant to stay closed.
On the other side:
But what happens is the nails wear off.The door opened it self.
Now there is screaming insideout. Something extraordinary is around every corner and surrounding as well.
There's now some party going on unknown unseen. The door is open for every one now to enter. The door open itself and now the whole city is never seen again. No one knows all are gone where. Who used to live all around!
Epilogue: The Door I Did Not Open
I wrote this story so others might understand. Might resist. Might remember.
The door still stands behind the wall. Waiting. Whispering.
But I am no longer afraid.
Because I did not open it.
