The Forbidden Door

When Marla moved into the old farmhouse, she was told never to open the door at the end of the

upstairs hall. The landlord’s warning was simple: “It doesn’t lead anywhere you want to go.”

For the first few nights, the house was quiet—too quiet. But on the fourth

night, she woke to a soft tap… tap… tap coming from the hallway. Half-asleep,

she opened her bedroom door. The tapping stopped. The hall was empty—except the forbidden door,

which now stood slightly open. She shut it as quickly as she could. The next night,

the tapping came again. Closer. More insistent. When she stepped

into the hall, she saw something that froze her breath: thin, pale fingers curling