The Seventh Door
Some houses are abandoned. Others are simply waiting.
Every village hides one story that no one dares to prove. This is the story of a house where everyone agrees on one thing...
There are only six doors.
The old manor stood where the village ended and the forest began.
Every spring, wild jasmine climbed its weathered walls, covering the cracks with tiny white flowers that filled the air with a sweet fragrance. Golden sunlight rested on its broken windows each afternoon, and birds nested peacefully beneath its sinking roof.
From a distance, it looked forgotten.
Up close...
It looked patient.
Children often wandered into its overgrown garden, chasing butterflies between the weeds. They played hide-and-seek beneath ancient trees whose roots had pushed apart the stone path years ago.
Their favourite game was always the same.
Counting the doors.
“One...”
A small wooden door beneath the staircase.
“Two...”
A faded green door leading into an empty dining room.
“Three...”
A narrow door that groaned whenever the wind touched it.
“Four...”
A heavy oak door with a rusted iron handle.
“Five...”
A crooked door almost hidden behind climbing vines.
“Six.”
The tallest door of all.
Every child counted six.
Every traveller counted six.
Even the men who came from the city years ago counted six.
No one had ever found another.
Yet every elder in the village ended every warning with the same quiet sentence.
“If you ever count seven... don’t finish counting.”
No one laughed at that part.
Not anymore.
Nadia arrived in the village on the first day of autumn.
She had spent years travelling from one forgotten town to another, collecting old legends for the book she dreamed of writing.
The villagers welcomed her warmly.
They shared stories of floods...
of vanished wells...
of a bell that rang by itself every winter.
But whenever she mentioned the manor...
The room grew silent.
Someone changed the subject.
Someone else stood to leave.
Even the children stopped smiling.
Only one old woman remained.
Her hands trembled around a cup of tea.
“I lost my brother there,” she whispered.
Nadia looked up.
“He went inside?”
The old woman slowly shook her head.
“He came back.”
The answer made no sense.
“What happened to him?”
The woman stared through the window toward the distant manor.
“He remembered all of us.”
A long silence followed.
“...but none of us remembered him.”
That night, curiosity pulled harder than fear.
The moon hung low above the trees as Nadia reached the abandoned house.
The gate opened with barely a touch.
No chains.
No locks.
Only a long path silvered by moonlight.
The air smelt of jasmine.
Fresh.
Sweet.
Almost welcoming.
She stepped inside.
Dust floated through pale beams of light spilling from holes in the ceiling.
The house was silent.
Not empty.
Silent.
As though something inside had learned not to breathe.
She found the first door.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth.
The fifth.
The sixth.
Exactly as everyone had described.
Nadia smiled to herself.
“Stories grow larger than truth.”
She turned to leave.
Then she heard it.
A soft click.
Behind her.
She frowned.
The wall beside the staircase...
was moving.
Stone slid slowly across stone.
Dust drifted through the air.
Where there had been nothing only seconds before...
A narrow black doorway slowly appeared.
No frame.
No handle.
Only darkness.
Nadia felt every hair on her arms rise.
She looked back toward the entrance.
The front door...
had disappeared.
Only the seventh door remained.
And from somewhere beyond it...
Someone spoke in a calm, familiar voice.
The voice came again.
“You’re late.”
Nadia had never been inside the manor before.
So who... had been waiting for her?
To be continued...
Safia, this is fantastic! Please tag me when you post the next chapter! Can't wait!
1,2,3,4,5,6,….,,,,,7 ?????
A very interwar read yaar
Waiting for the next part
💜☮️💜☮️