The Locked Door

February 20, 2024

by Joy

4 min read

Story Premise 4 min read (650 words)

"In the summer of 2016, just after my final exams, my friends and I decided to escape the city for a weekend. We booked a cottage at a hillside resort, far from the usual tourist spots. The place was quiet, almost too quiet, with only a few other guests scattered around. Our cottage was at […]"

In the summer of 2016, just after my final exams, my friends and I decided to escape the city for a weekend. We booked a cottage at a hillside resort, far from the usual tourist spots. The place was quiet, almost too quiet, with only a few other guests scattered around. Our cottage was at the edge of the property, a ten-minute walk from the main building, nestled against a dense forest. The room itself was cozy, with two beds and a small porch, but what caught our attention was the adjoining door. It was sealed shut, with a heavy bolt on our side and an old-fashioned lock on the other, covered in dust.

After dumping our bags, we headed to the resort’s restaurant for lunch. The food was decent, but we were eager to explore. By mid-afternoon, we found the pool, a sparkling blue rectangle surrounded by loungers. We swam for hours, the warm sun drying our skin as we joked and splashed. As the afternoon wore on, a strange tiredness crept over us. We decided to head back to the cottage to rest before dinner.

Back in the room, we noticed something odd: the adjoining door was slightly ajar. We exchanged nervous glances. I was sure we had locked it, but maybe the wind had pushed it open. We approached cautiously and pushed it fully open to reveal a dark, musty room beyond. The furniture was covered in white sheets, and the air smelled of decay. In the corner, an old rocking chair creaked gently as if someone had just stood up. We quickly shut the door and bolted it again, brushing off our fear as imagination.

That night, we returned to the room after dinner. We played cards, but our attention kept drifting to the door. We decided to explore the forest behind the cottage, hoping to shake off the unease. The trees were tall and gnarled, and the path wound deeper into the darkness. We found an old well, its mouth covered with mossy stones. As we peered in, a cold draft rose, carrying a faint whisper that sounded like a name. We hurried back, laughing nervously.

As we settled in for the night, a soft scratching came from the adjoining door. We froze, listening. The scratching grew louder, becoming a rhythmic tapping. Alex, the boldest of us, shouted, ‘Who’s there?’ The noise stopped. Then a low, guttural voice came from the other side: ‘Let me in.’ We all stumbled backward, hearts racing. We tried to call the front desk, but the phone was dead. We grabbed our bags and ran to the main building, but the reception was empty. The night manager was nowhere to be found.

We spent the night huddled in the lobby, too frightened to return. At dawn, we mustered the courage to go back and retrieve our belongings. When we entered, the adjoining door was closed, but the bolt was thrown open our side. The door was slightly ajar. We approached, and through the gap we saw a shadowy figure standing in the center of the dark room. It turned its head, and though we couldn’t see its face, we felt its gaze. We grabbed our things and ran, not stopping until we reached the parking lot and sped away.

Later, we learned that the resort had been closed for years, and the cottage we stayed in was not even on the official property list. The staff we encountered were, in fact, the former owners, long deceased. The adjoining room had been sealed after a tragic accident there decades ago. We never spoke of it again, but to this day, I can’t close a door without checking that it’s truly locked, and I always feel a cold draft on my neck, as if someone is standing right behind me, waiting for me to open the door and let them in.

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