The Door of Whispers

I always thought this house was empty. Just me and the creeping shadows

of the past. But last night, the walls whispered a secret I was never meant

to hear. A door had appeared where only solid stone stood for a century.

My hand trembled as I reached for the brass handle, cold as graveyard

ice. Beyond the threshold, there was no room, only an endless,

starving darkness. That is when the scratching started, from deep within the silence.