Rohan's breath caught in his throat.
The pale hand slowly stretched out from the darkness, its long fingers curling slightly as if feeling the air.
He stumbled backward.
For a moment, he couldn't move. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs felt frozen to the floor.
"Rohan…" the whisper came again, soft and cold.
The voice echoed unnaturally from inside the room.
Rohan forced himself to take another step back.
"No…" he whispered.
The hand slowly withdrew into the darkness, as if the thing inside the room was waiting.
Waiting for him to come closer.
Rohan's heart pounded harder. The hallway suddenly felt colder, the air thick and heavy.
He turned and ran.
His feet slammed against the wooden floor as he rushed downstairs.
"Dad! Mom!" he shouted.
His parents were already in the kitchen, drinking tea. Morning sunlight filled the room, making everything look normal again.
Too normal.
"Why are you shouting?" his father asked, frowning.
"The door… the locked door!" Rohan said, struggling to breathe. "The chain is broken. Something is inside that room!"
His mother looked confused.
"What room?"
"The small wooden door at the end of the hallway!" Rohan said quickly.
His father and mother exchanged a strange glance.
"There's no door there," his father said calmly.
Rohan stared at him.
"What?"
"There's never been a door there," his mother added gently. "Maybe you had a bad dream."
"No!" Rohan said, shaking his head. "I saw it! The chain was broken, and—"
He stopped.
His grandmother slowly walked into the kitchen.
Her eyes rested on Rohan for a long moment.
"You went near that hallway, didn't you?" she asked quietly.
The room fell silent.
Rohan nodded slowly.
His parents looked confused.
But his grandmother didn't.
Her face had suddenly become very serious.
"You should not go there," she said.
"But there is a door!" Rohan insisted.
His grandmother sighed and pulled a chair closer.
"Many years ago," she began softly, "that door did exist."
Rohan leaned forward.
"What happened to it?"
"It was sealed," she said.
"Why?"
His grandmother's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because something lived in that room."
A chill ran down Rohan's spine.
"What… kind of something?" he asked.
But his grandmother didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she slowly looked toward the staircase leading upstairs.
Toward the hallway.
Her expression darkened.
"It started with whispers," she said.
Rohan felt his stomach twist.
"Just like you heard last night."
His father laughed nervously. "Ma, please don't scare him with old stories."
But his grandmother ignored him.
"That thing," she continued, "can copy voices. It can sound like someone you trust."
Rohan remembered the voice outside his door.
His grandmother's voice.
His hands began to tremble.
"And if you open the door…" she said quietly.
"What happens?" Rohan asked.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then his grandmother finally looked back at him.
Her eyes were filled with fear.
"It doesn't come out," she said.
Rohan blinked.
"Then what does it do?"
His grandmother leaned closer.
Her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"It waits…"
Rohan felt a cold shiver run down his back.
"Waits for what?"
The old woman's eyes slowly widened.
"For someone… to come inside."
At that exact moment—
A loud bang echoed from upstairs.
From the hallway.
And slowly…
very slowly…
someone knocked on the kitchen door.
Three times.
Knock.Knock.Knock.