The Door in the Wall

Ever since we moved into the old farmhouse on the edge of the marsh, I’d felt a wrongness in the spare bedroom. It was a small room, mostly used for storage, with a single window that looked out onto the water. But there was something about the closet door. It was an old, wooden door with a brass knob that didn’t match the rest of the house. I couldn’t stand to be in that room, let alone touch the knob.

My husband, Daniel, thought I was being dramatic. ‘It’s just a closet, Lena. Old houses have weird quirks.’ But I knew better. There was a cold spot that seemed to emanate from behind that door, and sometimes, late at night, I’d hear a faint scratching, like something trying to get out.

Last week, I decided to face it. I was tired of being afraid in my own home. I opened the closet door and found it was empty, just a few boxes and dusty shelves. But as I stood there, I felt a presence behind me. I turned, and there was nothing. But the feeling of being watched was overwhelming.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the bedroom door, which was ajar. I saw a shadow shift in the hallway. I thought it was Daniel, but he was fast asleep beside me. My heart pounded. The shadow moved closer, and I realized it was coming from the spare room. It slid through the doorway and into our room, taking the form of a tall, gaunt figure. It stopped at the foot of our bed, and I could see its face, if it could be called a face—a pale, featureless mask.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The figure leaned over me, its breath like decay. I closed my eyes, praying it would go away. When I opened them, it was gone. But the closet door in our bedroom was wide open.

I’ve tried to tell Daniel, but he dismisses it as a nightmare. He says I’ve been reading too many ghost stories. But I know what I saw. And last night, I woke to find the closet door in the spare room open, and a faint whisper coming from inside. It said my name. ‘Lena.’ And then, ‘Come in.’

I haven’t been able to sleep since. I’ve put a heavy dresser against the door, but I can still hear the scratching at night. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. Something in that closet is waiting for me to break.