The Other Door

     Lina wearily wandered through the winding halls of her grandmother’s house. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet, ancient wood creaking like a sleeping giant. She’d explore every room, every dusty nook, except for the small door hidden in the far corner of the attic. It was a faded blue—the paint peeling like old skin.  A slight crack running down its center, as though it begged to be opened. 

         Curiosity called her, curling around her heart, in a whisper of stillness. She turned the knob, the door groaning open with an unsettling howl. The world beyond was a mirror of the house somehow wrong. Vibrant colors glowed unnaturally, casting shifting shadows against velvet curtains. The dim light caught on gold threads woven into the carpet. Lina stepped inside, her breath shallow, feet faltering with uncertainty. She then saw her—with eyes like black buttons, cold and empty. The woman smiled, lips too wide, teeth too sharp. 

“Welcome, my dear,” she cooed, but the words dripped with something darker. 

   “Stay.” 

         Lina’s pulse quickened, a cold ripple creeping down her spine. The warmth of the room, the beauty of it all, became a trap. She turned to leave but the door slammed shut. The sound heavy and hollow. A voice, her grandmother's, flowed through the silence—gentle yet heavy with an unshakable command—

 “Stay with me, forever.”