The Eye Behind the Door
397 Words
Anya didn’t scream.
She couldn’t.
Her throat locked as that single eye — wide, bloodshot, unblinking — stared through the gap in the door. It wasn’t human. There was no reflection in it, no moisture, just endless black. Then, slowly, the door creaked shut by itself… and the cross that had fallen to the floor slid across the wooden planks, returning to its place — as if someone, or something, didn’t want to be seen.
She backed away, legs shaking, slammed the bedroom door, and bolted it shut. Her phone was still in her hand, screen cracked slightly from when it dropped. The message was still there.
“You opened it, didn’t you?”
She hadn’t.
At least… she didn’t think she had.
The next day, she skipped class. She needed answers. She returned to the library, but the librarian was gone. A replacement was at the desk — young, new, and visibly uncomfortable when Anya mentioned the building.
“Oh… that place?” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re not the first to come asking.”
He typed something on the old computer and turned the screen to her. A scanned newspaper article from 2002.
“Mysterious Disappearances Linked to Apartment 309”
Three residents. All vanished. No signs of forced entry. All lived in the same unit — 309. All reported the same thing before they went missing: strange messages. Unknown numbers. Scratching at night. Whispers.
The article mentioned a fourth person — a priest. Father Elijah Varghese. He entered the apartment in 2003 for a blessing ritual… and was never seen again. Only his crucifix was found, burnt black, lying in front of that same door.
Anya returned to the apartment that evening, determined to pack her things and leave. She called her friend Priya and told her everything. Priya didn’t believe a word, but agreed to come over the next day.
That night, at exactly 2:17 a.m., her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
“309 wasn’t supposed to open.”
Then another.
“He’s not inside the room. He’s behind you.”
She dropped the phone. Turned.
Nothing.
But the mirror in the corner — the dusty old mirror leaning against the wall — began to fog, slowly, as if someone were breathing against it.
Then a single word appeared on the glass.
“STAY.”
Her reflection didn’t move.
She did.
- Writer
