The House of Horror

Chapter 30 _ The Doors Finally Stop Screaming?!

Mohammed's eyes narrowed. He pointed toward the door. "Send them in."

The soldier turned, his voice trembling. "Come in."

The door swung open. Mina entered first, followed by Shadi and Ashraf. They lined up in front of the desk, their faces tight with anxiety, their hesitant steps reflected in the gleam of the cold tiled floor.

The interrogator gestured. "Sit down."

Mina and Shadi sat in the chairs opposite the desk, while Ashraf, agitated, went to the side sofa and sat stiffly, his nervousness palpable.

With unsettling calm, Mohammed rose from his chair, fixing Mina with a piercing gaze. His voice carried an odd weight. "Mr. Mina... please, take my seat."

Mina froze. He exchanged a quick glance with his colleagues, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. His legs trembled as he stood, hesitatingly walking toward the interrogator's chair. He sat down slowly, his palms brushing the edges of the desk as if the seat itself pulsed with a hidden electric current.

The investigator turned to Ashraf and pointed firmly.

"And you, Mr. Ashraf... you're sitting in Mina's chair."

Ashraf complied immediately, shifting nervously before settling down.

Now he stood before them, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Muhammad's voice broke the silence, firm and commanding:

"The CCTV footage of the incident... shows only the four of us, plus a few insignificant bystanders. The moment Mira fell from the tower was never recorded. The videos were manipulated, meticulously edited. They reveal your skill in deception and forgery. Tell me, Mina... what do you think of this?"

Mina's face twitched. He raised his head with difficulty, speaking in a hoarse voice, struggling to sound calm. "You've interrogated me repeatedly, Your Honor... I have nothing to say. These accusations you're making—I know nothing about them." The cameras have been there for years, operating automatically. No one dares tamper with them. And... what's our motive? We have no connection to the tower's residents. You claim the victim was thrown from the building? How? We were constantly watching. We didn't see anything. Even passersby outside would have noticed. What you're saying... doesn't make sense.

A heavy silence fell, broken only by the detective's sharp voice as he approached Shadi:

And you, Shadi... do you have anything to say in your defense? You're already implicated.

Shadi's head snapped up, his voice trembling, but charged with a strange determination:

"I'd like to say... there's something unnatural about this tower. It's as if a demon is manipulating us all."

A mocking smile played on the detective's lips. Then he moved closer, his voice dripping with contempt:

"A demon? What exactly do you mean by 'demon'?" Shady swallowed hard, his words slurred: “Once… a tenant went up to his apartment, but the cameras didn’t capture him. It was like he was out of thin air. I thought it was a technical glitch, but… it happened again a few days later—with the same man.”

Mohamed stopped being sarcastic. His expression hardened as he slowly turned to Shady. He moved closer, gripped his shoulder tightly, and pressed down: “Who was this man? What exactly happened? Tell me everything.”

Shady sat down again, his voice hesitant but clear: “I was sitting with Mina and Ashraf. There were visitors outside Mr. Nasser’s apartment, the man on death row. They kept ringing his doorbell. We didn’t see anyone go in. Suddenly, the owner opened the door for them. We were shocked—he’d never been inside the tower! I checked the recordings day after day, for a whole week. He wasn’t there. No going in, no going out. And yet… he was there, opening the door, welcoming them. That’s when I realized something was going far beyond technology.” A demonic force that distorts reality itself.

The carpenter has arrived. Will the doors finally stop creaking?

Hussein's sleek black car pulled up in front of the villa's gate, and the engine fell silent. He opened the front door and stepped out with confident strides, then turned to the other side. Hossam the carpenter, dressed in his simple work clothes, his face etched with weariness, opened the door. Moments later, he opened the back door, and Ayman, the caretaker's son, emerged, his expression a mixture of nervousness and curiosity.

Hussein walked straight to the villa's massive front door. He grasped the heavy brass handle and pushed it open. A long, irritating creak echoed, like a moan rising from the depths of an ancient forest. Hussein froze, then looked up, casting a longing glance at Hossam.

What a nuisance! Every door in this villa makes that damned noise.

Hossam bent down slightly, shifting his gaze between the door and Hussein, and replied matter-of-factly, "I thought you only wanted me to fix this one. I didn't realize you meant all the doors. It'll take a lot of time and effort." Hussein raised his eyebrows and waved his hand dismissively.

Time and effort don't matter. What matters is that this chaos ends. I want these doors to be silenced forever.

Slowly, Hossam turned to Ayman, who stood firmly in the doorway, watching with anxious eyes. His voice grew firmer.

"Ayman... can you help me?"

Ayman took a small step forward and nodded shyly.

"Of course... I'll help."

Hossam gave a slight smile.

"Good. That will make things much easier."

He walked slowly back to Hussein's car, opened the trunk with a metal click, and took out a large toolbox, heavy with iron and wood. He lifted it with effort and carried it back to the front door. Ayman remained in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the toolbox, while Hussein confidently ascended the marble steps, his back to the scene as if completely detached from it. At that moment, a side door leading to the villa's grand hall opened, and Miranda emerged, dressed in an elegant house dress. She paused on the threshold. First, she watched Hussein slowly ascend the stairs to the upper floor. Then her gaze shifted to Hossam, who was placing his bag down and preparing for work. Finally, she glanced at Ayman, who stood motionless in the doorway. A faint smile touched her lips as she greeted him gently:

"Hello, Ayman."

Ayman was startled and lowered his gaze before shyly raising his head again.

"Hello... hello, Miranda."

Miranda said nothing more, pausing for a moment to observe the scene before quietly returning to her room.

Meanwhile, Hossam the carpenter began his work. He grasped the rusty hinges with both hands and pulled the heavy wooden door open. Ayman quickly rushed to help, seizing the opposite edge and pushing against it with all their might. A loud crack echoed as the door finally swung open—like an antique piece torn from ancient walls that seemed to hold secrets too heavy to reveal.

Hussein opened Amal's door and entered quietly, accompanied by the rhythmic clang of the carpenter's hammer echoing from the hall and reverberating throughout the villa.

Amal looked up, her eyes questioning.

"Has the carpenter arrived?"

"Yes," Hussein replied wearily. "He's working now."

He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his hand before making his way to the bed and sitting on the edge. Exhaustion was etched into his features, as if his body had borne the weight of the entire day.

Amal looked at him anxiously, her expression reflecting her own concern. "Does the wound still hurt?" Hussein sighed shortly, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched his head. “The pain is getting worse… every hammer blow gives me a headache.” From outside, sounds mingled with the heavy silence inside the room, adding a layer of pressure and tension that weighed them both down. That night, Hossam the carpenter finally finished repairing the door, carefully replacing it while Ayman helped secure and align it precisely. Hussein sighed wearily as he watched the process. “I spent all day fixing one door,” he said tiredly. Hossam smiled, though his tone remained serious. “This door is quite grand… it requires meticulous care. Its size alone was quite demanding.” Hussein nodded. “Well… what are you going to do now?” Hossam replied without hesitation. “Nothing… I’m going to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, I’ll finish my work right away so I can accomplish more.” Hussein approached, his tone more friendly:

"Shall I drive you home?"

Hossam shook his head:

"There's no time to go back and forth... I'll stay here tomorrow. Anywhere I can sleep will do."

Hussein smiled:

"Very well. Thank you for your dedication. You can sleep in the guard's room by the garden. As for you, Ayman, you'll stay at the gate and take your father's place as guard. Do you mind?"

Ayman replied confidently:

"Not at all."

Hussein nodded slightly:

"Alright, then go. This is your job from now on."

Hossam and Ayman moved toward the small room by the gate, laughing and chatting together, while Hussein watched them until the villa door closed—now silently, slamming shut smoothly and easily.