The Door to darkness

Where am I?

Why is it so dark? Why can’t I see anything?

In the endless void of darkness, a single glitter of light appears. My fragile legs begin to move on their own, drawn to the white beam ahead. It feels like something is controlling me. Before I even realize it, I’m walking—then running—towards the light, as if something unseen is chasing me. My footsteps pound against the obsidian-like ground beneath me, echoing in the silence.

It takes less than a minute to reach the light. A perfect white circle glows on the ground, with a radiant beam descending from a ceiling so high it could touch the edge of the universe.

As I step into the light, a wave of relief washes over me. I feel… saved. The oppressive darkness that clung to me, corrupted me, watched me—it retreats. Inside the light, my breathing calms. My body stops shaking. I relax, even if just a little.

Knock. Knock.

A sound—behind me.

I turn slowly.

There, at the center of the circle, I see concrete slabs arranged in a loose oval. In their center stands a door.

A wooden door.

Ordinary in shape and size, yet deeply out of place. It stands unsupported, connected to nothing, balanced in defiance of logic. Its handle glints with golden detail, carved with symbols: the Moon. Water. An Eye.

I don’t dare approach. Even within the light, the door radiates an aura darker than the void I came from. I observe it from a distance. Nothing unusual… yet something feels horribly wrong. The back of the door is just a flat, brown wall. Only one side has a handle.

Knock. Knock.

Again.

The door shudders, as if someone—something—is knocking from the other side. But how?

I’m left with no other choice. Hunger claws at me. Fear tugs me in all directions. With trembling resolve, I step forward.

Just before I touch the handle, I shout:

"Who is it?"

Silence.

Then—a hiss.

Low. Serpentine. It slithers from the door’s frame, whispering into my ears like venom. I dart behind the door to check—but nothing’s there. The sound grows louder, closer, then suddenly—stops.

I hold my breath, heart pounding.

And then, a voice. Soft. Innocent. Playful.

“Trick or treat.”

It’s the voice of a child—a girl, no older than seven. Gentle and warm, but laced with something... wrong. Her words crawl into my head like a drug. My thoughts fog. My will slips.

My hand lifts.

Left hand. To the knob.

I fight it. I resist. I scream silently inside myself.

But the door—clicks open