The Three Doors

CHAPTER TWO

For a long moment, I can’t move.

My room feels wrong,too quiet, too cold. The kind of cold that doesn’t come from weather, but from something unseen moving through the air. My breath trembles out in shallow bursts as my eyes stay fixed on the window.

It’s wide open.

The curtain flaps gently, pushed by a breeze that carries the faint smell of rain. But the weather report said nothing about rain. The sky was clear when I went to bed.

I force myself to stand even though my legs feel like they’re made of wet sand. My hand reaches toward the window frame, stopping halfway when I notice something else, something worse.

Scratches.

Not on the desk this time.

On the window sill itself.

Thin, sharp lines, three of them, dragged diagonally like claws had scraped across the wood.

My throat closes.

Someone or something opened this window.

I swallow hard and step back. My heel hits the leg of my table, and my notebook shifts on the surface. The page with the message, CHOOSE A DOOR, stares up at me in uneven, jagged lettering.

I didn’t write it.

I know I didn’t write it.

And the handwriting… it’s not fully human. The letters bend in odd ways, sharp corners where curves should be, like whoever wrote it didn’t understand how hands work.

A voice flickers through my mind, deep, distorted, the same one from the dream.

You’re running out of time, Zina.

I shake my head, backing away until my spine hits the wall. My hands are trembling. Even the shadows in the corners of my room feel thicker, waiting.

I grab my phone quickly and check the time.

2:41 a.m.

Too late to wake my mom. Too early to call Jide or Kelechi. Even if I tried, what would I say?

“Hi, good morning, I think someone broke into my dream and into my room”?

No one would believe that except the two people who already know how strange my life is.

I close the window, lock it, and draw the curtains tight. Then I sit on the edge of my bed, gripping the blanket as though it could protect me from something supernatural.

But sleep doesn’t come.

I stay awake until the sky starts to lighten, replaying every detail of the dream, the bleeding door, the shadow man, the hand reaching toward me, the stranger who whispered in my ear and the open window that shouldn’t have been open.

By the time my mom knocks gently on my door, my eyes burn like I’ve spent the entire night crying.

Which is partly true.

“Zina, you’re going to be late,” she says through the door.

I manage a weak, “I’m coming.”

I stand up slowly, feeling older than sixteen. Much older.

And much more afraid.

Morning light makes everything look normal again.

Except nothing is normal.

The scratches on the window sill remain. The notebook page sits exactly where I left it. The heaviness from the night has faded a little, but a tight, restless pressure still hangs in the back of my chest.

I get ready for school slowly, my fingers fumbling over buttons they’ve closed thousands of times. I avoid my own reflection, I look tired, drained, haunted.

At breakfast, Mom eyes me suspiciously.

“You didn’t sleep well,” she observes.

I force a smile. “Just nightmares again.”

She sighs. “Zina, maybe you’re reading too many horror stories before bed. Or watching those creepy t****k videos. Dreams don’t have power over you unless you let them.”

If only she knew.

I nod silently.

She places a hand on my shoulder. “Tell me if it gets worse.”

I almost do.

But what comes out would sound insane.

Instead, I mumble, “I will,” grab my bag, and leave quickly so she won’t notice how my hands are still shaking.

Outside, the air is humid and warm, typical for a morning after a near-rain. The streets are busy with students and workers hurrying to catch buses. Everything feels too bright, too alive, too loud, contrasting sharply with the quiet fear growing inside me.

I walk faster.

I need to find Jide and Kelechi.

They’re already waiting near the school gate when I arrive.

Jide spots me first.

“Omo, you look like you fought part two of yesterday’s demon,” he says, but the joking tone doesn’t hide his concern.

Kelechi steps closer. “You didn’t sleep.”

“Not much,” I admit.

Kelechi nods, as if he expected that. “Tell us what happened.”

So I do.

All of it.

The dream, the stranger whispering in my ear, waking up to the open window, the scratches, the message in my notebook. I speak quietly, but every word feels heavy. By the time I finish, both boys look shaken.

Jide rubs both hands over his face. “No, no, no. This is not regular dream stuff. This is… this is spiritual. Paranormal. Something.”

Kelechi’s voice is calmer, but more serious. “They crossed over.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

He looks directly at me. “The Watchers. They crossed from your dream into reality. That’s what the open window means.”

My stomach drops.

“You’re saying they were in my room?”

“I’m saying one of them was close enough to open your window.”

Jide shivers visibly. “Nah. This is too much.”

Students walk past us, laughing and chatting, completely unaware of the danger lingering around me like a storm cloud.

I take a shaky breath. “What do we do?”

Kelechi folds his arms. “We need to understand why the dreams are changing. Why they want you to choose a door now. Why they’re getting bolder.”

Jide nods slowly. “And we need to keep you safe.”

“From what?” I whisper.

Jide’s answer is soft but honest.

“From whatever is trying to reach you.”

The first half of the school day drags by painfully. Every sound feels sharper. Every shadow feels suspicious. I keep checking windows, doors, reflections, anything that could hide something unusual.

I don’t see the man from yesterday, but that doesn’t make me feel better. It makes everything worse. Hidden threats are always worse.

During break, we slip into an empty classroom to talk privately. The door creaks softly as Kelechi closes it behind us.

“I did some reading,” he says as he sets his bag down. “There’s a pattern with people like you, dreamers. When the visions start becoming physical, it means the barrier is weakening.”

“Barrier?” I ask.

“The one between your mind and theirs.”

Jide frowns. “Meaning they can reach her any time?”

Kelechi nods grimly. “Meaning they already have.”

I hug my arms around myself. “Why me?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t know yet. But you’re connected to the doors somehow. Your dreams react to them. The Watchers react to them. And now, they need you to choose one.”

Jide mutters, “Choose fire or choose fire. Either way, na problem.”

I try to smile at that, but it doesn’t stick.

The truth is, choosing a door feels like stepping into a trap.

“What happens if I choose wrong?” I whisper.

Kelechi looks away. That tells me enough.

Before any of us can continue, a gust of wind slams the classroom door shut. Hard.

We all jump.

“There’s no wind,” Jide says quietly.

We stare at the door.

The handle begins to turn.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

I feel my heartbeat climbing into my throat. Jide grabs my wrist. Kelechi steps in front of us like a shield, though he’s just as scared.

The door creaks open.

But it’s only a teacher.

We release a breath we didn’t realize we were holding. Jide mutters under his breath, “See? See wetin this girl don drag us into?”

We follow the teacher out, acting normal, but our nerves are shattered.

Something is wrong. Deeply wrong.

And it’s only getting worse.

By the time school ends, the sky is darkening with clouds. I walk home with Jide and Kelechi, staying close even though we try to act casual.

When we reach my street, they hesitate.

“You want us to follow you inside?” Jide asks.

Part of me wants to say yes. To not be alone. But my mom will ask questions, and I can’t explain any of this yet.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie. “Really.”

Kelechi studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Call us if anything happens.”

“Anything,” Jide adds.

I watch them leave, feeling suddenly exposed. The houses look normal, but the air feels thick again, like the night is waiting for something.

I reach my front door, exhale, and step inside.

But the moment I close the door behind me, the lights flicker.

Once.

Twice.

I stand completely still.

A cold draft brushes the back of my neck.

And then, from somewhere inside the house, maybe the living room, maybe the hallway,I hear it.

A soft, drawn-out whisper.

“Zina…”

My blood turns to ice.

I’m not dreaming.

This time, I’m wide awake.