24 Jan The Pale Green Door

Part I

Elliot Carter leaned against the wall of the attic, brushing a layer of dust from his jeans. “Looks like whoever lived here before left in a hurry,” he muttered, surveying the piles of forgotten belongings. A cracked mirror leaned against the far wall, surrounded by boxes that seemed to slump under the weight of decades.

“Or they were hoarders,” Lydia replied from across the room, her voice strained as she dragged a heavy box closer to the dim light from the attic window. Her dark curls were pulled into a messy bun, and her face was flushed with exertion.

Their new home, a century-old farmhouse tucked into the wooded outskirts of town, was supposed to be their fresh start. After a year of financial setbacks, dashed hopes, and fraying tempers, the low price and secluded location had seemed like a miracle. But less than a week after moving in, the miracle was beginning to feel like a burden.

“This box is just full of magazines,” Lydia said, prying open the lid and coughing as a puff of dust escaped. “What is it about old houses and ancient garbage?”

“Maybe they thought the ads would be worth something someday,” Elliot joked, examining a stack of yellowed newspapers.

Lydia didn’t laugh. She stood abruptly, brushing off her hands and gazing around the attic as if noticing something for the first time. “Doesn’t it feel… cramped up here? Like the walls are leaning in?”

“It’s just the low ceiling,” Elliot said, waving off her concern. “Attics are supposed to feel like this. Come on, let’s just get this stuff sorted so we can figure out what to keep and what to toss.”

Lydia hesitated, her gaze lingering on a patch of floorboards near the center of the room. “That part of the floor,” she said slowly. “It looks different.”

Elliot followed her gaze. She was right—the boards there were a lighter shade, as if they’d been replaced more recently than the rest. He crossed the room, crouching down to run his fingers over the uneven surface.

“It’s like a patch job,” he said. “Maybe they had water damage or something.” He tapped the boards lightly. The sound was hollow.

Lydia stepped closer, folding her arms tightly. “That’s not normal. Why would they replace just this one part?”

“Could be storage,” Elliot said. “You know, like one of those hidden compartments for valuables.”

“Or skeletons,” Lydia muttered.

Elliot gave her a look. “Do you want me to check it out or not?”

She didn’t answer, but the furrow in her brow deepened. Taking her silence as permission, Elliot grabbed a crowbar from the pile of tools they’d left at the attic entrance and began prying at the edges of the lighter boards.

The first piece came loose with surprising ease, revealing a recessed square frame. Beneath it was a small green door, its paint chipped and faded. It was no more than three feet tall, its brass handle tarnished and rusted.

“What the hell is that?” Lydia whispered, taking an involuntary step back.

Elliot stared at the door, his curiosity outweighing his unease. “Must’ve been some kind of access point. Maybe to wiring or plumbing.”

“Then why is it painted like that? And why is it locked?” Lydia pointed to the small brass keyhole just below the handle.

Elliot shrugged. “Could be decorative. Old houses have weird stuff like this all the time. Probably leads to a crawlspace or something.”

Before Lydia could stop him, he grabbed the handle and turned it. The door opened smoothly, its hinges emitting only the faintest creak.

Beyond the door was nothing. A yawning black void stretched downward, utterly silent and lightless. The sight made Lydia’s stomach lurch.

“That’s not a crawlspace,” she said, her voice tight.

Elliot leaned closer, squinting into the darkness. “Looks like a hole. Pretty deep, too.” He dropped a loose nail into the void and waited. No sound came back.

“Close it,” Lydia said abruptly.

“What?”

“Close it, Elliot. I don’t like it.”

Elliot hesitated but nodded, shutting the door with a soft click. “It’s weird,” he admitted. “But it’s not dangerous. I’ll seal it up later if it makes you feel better.”

Lydia didn’t respond. She watched as Elliot replaced the floorboards, her arms still folded tightly. Her unease didn’t fade, even after the boards were nailed back into place and the green door was hidden once again.

* * * * * *

That night, the door found them again.

Elliot woke to the sound of creaking wood, the noise sharp in the stillness of the house. He rolled over, expecting to find Lydia tossing and turning beside him, but her side of the bed was empty.

“Lydia?” he called softly, sitting up.

A faint green glow filtered through the crack beneath their bedroom closet door.

Elliot frowned, his pulse quickening as he slid out of bed and padded across the room. He opened the closet door and froze.

The green door was there, nestled between the hanging clothes and shoe racks. It looked exactly as it had in the attic, except now it seemed slightly larger.

“What the hell…”

“Elliot?” Lydia’s voice startled him, and he turned to see her standing in the bedroom doorway, her expression pale and wide-eyed. “Why are you up?”

He gestured toward the closet. “It’s back.”

Lydia’s gaze followed his hand, and when she saw the door, she gasped. “That’s impossible.”

“Clearly not,” Elliot said, stepping back from the closet. “It’s the same door. I swear.”

Lydia approached slowly, as if the door might spring to life and lunge at her. She reached out a trembling hand, but Elliot grabbed her wrist before she could touch it.

“Don’t,” he said. “We don’t know what’s behind it.”

“What do you mean?” Lydia whispered.

“I mean, we don’t know what it is,” Elliot said. “It wasn’t there before. It shouldn’t even fit in this space.”

Lydia shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “We need to call someone. A contractor or an inspector or—”

“And say what?” Elliot interrupted. “That a magic door is following us around our house? Do you know how insane that sounds?”

Lydia glared at him. “I don’t care how it sounds, Elliot. Something is wrong with this place, and I’m not just going to ignore it.”

Elliot sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. We’ll figure something out in the morning. Just… let’s get some sleep, okay?”

Lydia hesitated, but eventually nodded. They shut the closet door and climbed back into bed, though neither of them slept much that night.

By the next afternoon, the door was gone.

Elliot opened the closet cautiously, half-expecting to see the green paint staring back at him, but the space was empty. He called Lydia to show her, hoping it might ease her mind.

“It’s gone,” he said. “See? Probably just some trick of the light.”

Lydia didn’t look convinced. “Tricks don’t leave hinges behind.” She pointed to the faint impressions in the wood where the door had been.

Elliot opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He knew Lydia was right. No matter how much he tried to rationalize the door’s appearance, he couldn’t explain the marks it left behind—or the void that seemed to stretch endlessly on the other side.

As they stood in the closet, an unspoken agreement passed between them. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

Part II

The green door returned three days later, but this time, it wasn’t content to hide in a closet or attic.

Elliot first noticed it while fixing a dripping faucet in the bathroom. He glanced up from his work, and there it was—its faded paint almost glowing in the dim light, embedded in the wall just above the bathtub. The sight made him drop his wrench, which clattered loudly against the porcelain.

“Lydia!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the tiled room.

Her footsteps pounded down the hall before she appeared in the doorway. “What? What is it?”

He pointed to the wall. “It’s back.”

Her eyes followed his gesture, and her face paled. The door looked even larger than before, its frame warped as though it was struggling to contain something inside.

“This isn’t normal,” she said, her voice shaking.

“You think I don’t know that?” Elliot snapped, the strain of the last few days making his tone harsher than he intended.

Lydia flinched, and Elliot softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it,” she interrupted. “What do we do now?”

He didn’t have an answer.

* * * * * *

That night, the whispers began.

Elliot woke in the early hours to the sound of faint murmurs drifting through the house. They were low and unintelligible, like the voice of someone speaking underwater. He sat up in bed, straining to hear, but the sound vanished as soon as he focused on it.

Beside him, Lydia stirred. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

She blinked at him, confused. “Hear what?”

“The… voices,” Elliot said, feeling ridiculous even as the words left his mouth.

Lydia stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “You’re just tired. Come back to bed.”

He wanted to believe her, but the unease in his chest lingered long after she fell back asleep.

By the next morning, the green door had moved again. This time, it appeared in the dining room wall, replacing a section of faded wallpaper.

“What do you want from us?” Lydia muttered as she stared at it, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Elliot watched her from the kitchen, his unease growing. Lydia had always been calm and rational, but in the past few days, she’d become restless and short-tempered, her patience fraying with each new appearance of the door.

“You’re acting like it’s alive,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“Maybe it is,” she shot back, her voice sharp. “Can you honestly tell me you don’t think it’s… aware of us?”

Elliot didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

That evening, Lydia broke her own rule.

Elliot was in the garage, tinkering with the lawnmower, when he heard her scream. He dropped the wrench and ran inside.

“Lydia!” he called, skidding to a stop in the living room.

She was kneeling in front of the green door, her face pale and her hands trembling. The door was open, revealing a narrow corridor lined with walls that pulsed faintly, as though they were alive. Green veins crisscrossed the surface, glowing softly in the dim light.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “It just… opened.”

Elliot crouched beside her, his eyes fixed on the corridor. A faint breeze wafted through the opening, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and decay.

“Did you go inside?” he asked, his voice tight.

She shook her head. “No. But something… touched me.”

He grabbed her hands, examining them for any signs of injury. “What do you mean, ‘touched you’?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, her voice rising. “It was like… like fingers, but they weren’t solid. They felt cold, and now…”

She held up her wrist, and Elliot’s stomach dropped. A faint green vein snaked its way beneath her skin, glowing softly in the dim light.

* * * * * *

The following days were a blur of tension and fear.

Elliot avoided the green door as much as possible, but Lydia couldn’t seem to stay away from it. She spent hours standing in front of it, her gaze fixed on the faintly glowing surface.

“It’s calling to me,” she said one night, her voice distant.

Elliot stared at her, his chest tightening. “Lydia, you need to stop. Whatever this thing is, it’s not safe.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide and glassy. “What if it’s trying to tell us something? What if it’s not dangerous at all?”

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “You don’t know that. For all we know, it could be… I don’t know, feeding on us or something.”

“Feeding on us?” she repeated, laughing humorlessly. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“Lydia, I’m serious,” Elliot said, his voice firm. “You need to stay away from that door.”

She didn’t respond.

Desperate for answers, Elliot turned to the town’s library.

The librarian, an older woman named Margaret, raised an eyebrow when he described the strange occurrences in the house.

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a piece of local history,” she said, pulling a dusty volume from the shelf.

The book detailed the town’s founding families, including the Braddocks—the original owners of Elliot and Lydia’s farmhouse. According to the text, the Braddocks had been notorious for their eccentric behavior and rumored involvement in the occult.

Margaret leaned closer, lowering her voice. “They say old man Braddock built that house as a sanctuary. A place where he could ‘communicate with the beyond.’”

“What does that mean?” Elliot asked, frowning.

Margaret shrugged. “Could mean anything. But if I were you, I’d start looking for a new place to live.”

When Elliot returned home, he found Lydia sitting cross-legged in the living room, her gaze fixed on the green door.

“What are you doing?” he asked, setting his bag down.

She didn’t look at him. “I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“The door,” Lydia said. “It’s not random. It’s… guiding us.”

Elliot crouched beside her, his heart sinking. “Lydia, listen to me. This isn’t normal. Whatever’s happening, we need to get out of here. We need to leave.”

She finally turned to him, her expression unreadable. “And go where? Do you really think it’ll let us leave?”

Her words sent a chill down his spine.

That night, Elliot woke to the sound of the door creaking open.

He bolted upright, his eyes darting around the room. The green glow was brighter than ever, spilling into the bedroom like liquid light.

“Lydia,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder.

She didn’t stir.

Elliot slid out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He approached the door, his breath hitching as he peered inside.

The corridor was no longer empty. A low hum vibrated through the air, setting his teeth on edge–nearby, amorphous shadows moved along the walls.

As he stepped closer, one of the figures turned toward him. For a brief moment, it had a face—a face he recognized.

His own.

Elliot stumbled back, slamming the door shut. The whispers ceased instantly, leaving the house in heavy silence.

Part III

When the green door appeared again, it was no longer just a haunting presence; it was a prison.

Elliot awoke to find that every exit in the house had vanished, replaced by copies of the same pale green door. The front door, the windows, even the sliding door to the back porch—all gone. The walls were lined with the warped, cracking wood of the green doors, each one identical, their brass knobs tarnished and faintly glowing.

“Lydia!” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

She rushed into the living room, her face pale and drawn. “Elliot, what’s happening? I can’t get out of the bedroom. The windows are gone. Everything’s—”

She stopped when she saw the room. Dozens of green doors stretched across the walls, stacked in unnatural rows that defied the house’s geometry.

“We’re trapped,” Elliot said grimly.

Lydia’s hands trembled as she approached one of the doors. “This isn’t real,” she whispered. “This can’t be real.”

“Don’t touch it,” Elliot warned, grabbing her wrist.

“What choice do we have?” she snapped, pulling away. “We can’t just sit here and wait for… whatever this is to get worse.”

Her words echoed in the silent room, as if the house were mocking them.

The couple tried every door, but no matter which one they opened, they all led back to the living room. Some revealed identical copies of the room, while others opened onto a dark, featureless void.

By mid-afternoon, they were exhausted. Lydia sat cross-legged on the floor, her head resting in her hands. Elliot paced the room, his jaw clenched as he studied the doors.

“There has to be a way out,” he muttered.

“What if there isn’t?” Lydia said softly.

He froze, turning to her. “Don’t say that.”

She lifted her head, her eyes glassy. “What if this is it, Elliot? What if the house… the door… it’s never going to let us leave?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “We just need to think.”

He glanced at the largest door, which had appeared in the center of the far wall. It was taller than the others, its paint darker, and its frame seemed to shimmer faintly, as though it were vibrating.

“That one,” he said, pointing. “That’s the one we haven’t tried.”

Lydia hesitated. “What if it’s worse than the others?”

“Or what if it’s the way out?” Elliot countered.

They stared at the door in silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken fear.

Finally, Lydia stood. “Okay,” she said. “But we go together.”

The door swung open smoothly, revealing a forest bathed in a sickly green light. The trees were impossibly tall, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out the sky. The ground was soft and uneven, covered in a thick layer of moss that squelched underfoot.

Elliot and Lydia stepped through cautiously, the air around them thick and humid. The forest hummed faintly, as if alive, and the green light seemed to emanate from the trees themselves.

“This place is wrong,” Lydia said.

Elliot nodded, his eyes scanning their surroundings. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, the twisted trunks of the trees disappearing into the distance.

“We need to keep moving,” he said. “Maybe there’s a path or… something that can lead us out.”

They walked in silence, the only sounds the crunch of moss beneath their shoes and the faint hum of the forest.

After what felt like hours, they stumbled upon a group of unusual figures standing in a small clearing.

At first, Elliot thought they were statues. They were motionless, their translucent skin glowing faintly in the green light. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow, and their clothes hung in tatters.

“Hello?” Lydia called hesitantly.

The nearest figure turned its head slowly, its movements jerky and unnatural. Its mouth opened, but the voice that came out was soft and echoing, as though it were speaking from a great distance.

“You shouldn’t be here,” it said.

Elliot stepped in front of Lydia, his hands clenched into fists. “We didn’t mean to come here. We’re just trying to get back home.”

The figure tilted its head, its hollow eyes fixed on him. “The door only opens for those who are willing to give. You have already given, whether you meant to or not.”

“What does that mean?” Lydia asked, her voice trembling.

Another figure stepped forward, its movements as jerky as the first. “It means you cannot leave without paying the price.”

Elliot’s chest tightened. “What price?”

The figures didn’t answer. Instead, they turned and began to walk away, their glowing forms disappearing into the shadows.

The couple continued deeper into the forest, their unease growing with each step. The green light seemed to grow brighter, and the hum of the forest grew louder, vibrating through their bones.

Eventually, they came to another clearing. In the center stood a tree unlike any they had seen before. Its trunk was smooth and glowing, its branches reaching upward like skeletal fingers. The light it emitted was brighter than the rest of the forest, almost blinding.

Lydia took a step toward it, her breath hitching. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

Elliot grabbed her arm. “Lydia, no. We don’t know what it is.”

“It’s the way out,” she said, her voice distant. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what?” he demanded.

She turned to him, her eyes wide and glassy. “It’s speaking to me, Elliot. It’s telling me we can go home. We just have to… accept its offer.”

Elliot’s stomach churned. “What offer? Lydia, listen to me—this thing isn’t trying to help us. It’s trying to trap us.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “You don’t understand. It’s showing me the way. We can be free, Elliot. We just have to let it take us.”

Before he could stop her, she stepped forward and placed her hand on the tree.

The moment Lydia touched the tree, the light intensified, and the forest erupted in a deafening hum. Green veins spread from the tree’s trunk, crawling up Lydia’s arm and sinking into her skin.

“Lydia!” Elliot shouted, rushing to pull her away.

She turned to him, her face twisted in a mixture of pain and ecstasy. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I can see it now. The door… the other side… it’s so close.”

Elliot grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “You don’t know what you’re saying! This thing is killing you!”

“It’s not killing me,” she whispered. “It’s freeing me.”

The veins continued to spread, creeping up her neck and down her torso. Elliot let out a cry of desperation, his mind racing. He needed to act fast, or he would lose her forever.

He looked around frantically and spotted a jagged rock on the ground. Without thinking, he grabbed it and began hacking at the veins binding Lydia to the tree.

The tree let out a sound that could only be described as a scream, its branches writhing as though in agony. The veins recoiled, retreating back into the trunk.

Lydia collapsed into Elliot’s arms, her body trembling. The green veins on her skin faded, leaving faint scars behind.

“We need to go,” Elliot said, his voice shaking.

Lydia nodded weakly, leaning on him as they stumbled away from the tree.

As they fled the clearing, the forest began to collapse. The trees writhed and twisted, their branches snapping like bones. The green light dimmed, and the hum grew louder, vibrating through their bodies.

Elliot glanced back and saw indistinct figures emerging from the collapsing trees, moving with unnatural speed.

“Don’t look back!” he shouted, tightening his grip on Lydia’s arm.

The green door appeared ahead of them, flickering like a mirage. They sprinted toward it, their lungs burning and their legs trembling.

Just as the wraithlike figures closed in, they dove through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

They collapsed onto the floor of their living room, gasping for air. The house was silent, the green door gone.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“Is it over?” Lydia whispered.

Elliot stared at the spot where the door had been, his chest heaving. “I don’t know,” he said.

Part IV

The world outside the door was dim and unfamiliar. Elliot and Lydia had escaped the forest, but the house they now stood in was not the same one they had entered. The walls were warped and covered in patches of moss. The air felt damp and heavy, carrying a faint scent of decay.

Elliot helped Lydia to a chair in the living room. Her skin was pale, and faint green scars etched up her arms like veins of marble. She stared at the floor, her expression distant.

“Are you okay?” Elliot asked, crouching beside her.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers traced the faint scars on her arms, her lips trembling. “I can still feel it,” she whispered.

“Feel what?”

“The tree,” she said, her voice hollow. “It’s… inside me. It’s not gone.”

Elliot gripped her hands tightly. “You’re out now. Whatever that thing is, it can’t reach you anymore. We’re safe.”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t understand. It’s still connected to me. It’s waiting.”

“Lydia,” he said firmly, “we’re going to get through this. We just need to figure out what’s happening. But you have to fight it.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker in them—something green and alien. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

* * * * * *

Over the next few days, the tension between them grew.

The house seemed to resist their attempts to clean it. No matter how much Elliot scrubbed, the moss returned, creeping up the walls like ivy. The windows fogged over with moisture, and the floors felt soft underfoot.

Lydia spent most of her time in the living room, staring at the spot where the largest green door had been. She barely ate or slept, her energy consumed by some invisible weight.

Elliot, desperate for answers, returned to the library. Margaret, the librarian, raised an eyebrow when he walked in, his disheveled appearance betraying his fraying nerves.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, her tone half-joking.

Elliot forced a weak smile. “Something like that.”

He spent hours poring over books on local legends, occult practices, and supernatural phenomena. One passage in an old text caught his eye:

“The Green Gate: A portal said to connect the mortal world to the Beyond. Those who open the gate must sacrifice something precious to pass through, but the gate always demands more than one expects. Beware its lure, for the Beyond never lets go.”

Elliot slammed the book shut, his chest tightening.

When he returned home, he found Lydia in the kitchen, her back to him. She was humming softly, a melody he didn’t recognize.

“Lydia?” he said cautiously.

She turned slowly, and his stomach sank. Her eyes were brighter than before, the faint green glow now unmistakable.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice light and almost cheerful. “I was starting to think you’d left me.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What’s happening to you?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about. I’m fine, Elliot. Really.”

“You’re not fine,” he said, stepping closer. “Look at yourself. Look at what it’s doing to you.”

She tilted her head, her smile fading. “It’s not doing anything to me. It’s helping me.”

“Helping you?” he repeated, incredulous. “Lydia, it’s taking over. You’re not yourself anymore.”

Her expression darkened. “Maybe I’m finally becoming who I was meant to be.”

* * * * * *

That night, Elliot woke to find Lydia gone.

The bed beside him was cold, and the faint hum of the green door echoed through the house.

“Lydia?” he called, his voice breaking the silence.

There was no response. He got out of bed, anxiety welling up inside him, and followed the hum to the living room.

She was standing in the center of the room, her hand outstretched toward an invisible point in the air. The scars on her arms glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the hum.

“Lydia!” he shouted, running to her.

She didn’t turn. Her eyes were fixed on the empty space in front of her, her lips moving silently as though reciting a prayer.

“Lydia, stop!” Elliot grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes wide and glowing. “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice layered with an otherworldly resonance.

Elliot stumbled back, his blood running cold. “What’s happening to you?”

“It’s almost time,” she said, ignoring his question. “I have to go back. It’s calling me.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re staying here. With me.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she looked like herself again. “Elliot,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted, grabbing her hands. “We’ll fight this. Together.”

She pulled away, her tears spilling over. “You don’t understand. If I don’t go, it’ll take you instead.”

The next day, Elliot found her in the yard, standing beneath a twisted oak tree. She was barefoot, her hair tangled, and her arms raised toward the sky.

“Lydia, please,” he said, his voice raw.

She turned to him, her face serene. “It’s not what you think,” she said. “It’s not evil, Elliot. It’s just… different. It wants to share its world with us.”

He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “That’s not sharing. That’s taking. It’s taking you away from me.”

She stepped closer, her glowing eyes locking onto his. “You could come with me,” she said softly. “We could be together. Forever.”

“What are you talking about?” Elliot asked.

“It’s opening the door for us,” she said. “We just have to step through.”

Her hand reached for his, but he pulled away. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to let it have you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Neither of us does.”

That night, the green door returned. It was larger than ever, its frame pulsating with light. The hum was deafening, vibrating through the walls and floor.

Elliot knew what he had to do.

He found Lydia standing in front of the door, her hand resting on the handle. The green scars on her arms glowed brighter, spreading up her neck and across her chest.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded.

She turned to him, her face expressionless. “It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, stepping closer. “You can fight it. You don’t have to let it win.”

She hesitated, her hand trembling on the handle. “It’s stronger than me, Elliot. I can’t stop it.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, the green glow dimmed. “Elliot…”

Before she could finish, the door burst open, and a surge of green light flooded the room.

Elliot acted on instinct. He grabbed a jagged piece of wood from the broken doorframe and slashed at the veins binding Lydia to the door.

She screamed, her body convulsing as the veins recoiled. The door let out a deafening wail, its light flickering like a dying flame.

“Hold on!” Elliot shouted, pulling her away.

The veins snapped and withered, retreating into the door. Lydia collapsed into his arms, her body trembling violently.

The door began to shrink, its light fading until it was no more than a faint outline on the wall.

Elliot held Lydia tightly as the last remnants of the door disappeared. “It’s over,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled weakly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Part V

The house had quieted after the door disappeared, but the silence was anything but comforting. Elliot paced the living room, his eyes darting to the walls and corners, waiting for the faint green glow to return. Lydia sat on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, staring blankly ahead.

“It’s not over,” Elliot said, breaking the silence.

Lydia didn’t respond. She looked like a ghost of herself, her skin pale and her green scars faint but still visible.

“Lydia,” Elliot said, crouching in front of her. “I need you to tell me everything. What did it say to you? What did it show you?”

She blinked slowly, her gaze drifting to his. “It said we were chosen,” she whispered. “That the door wasn’t an accident. It was looking for us.”

“For us?” Elliot asked, his stomach twisting. “Why us?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It just… knew. It knew everything about me. About us. It showed me things, Elliot. Things that felt real.”

“What things?” he pressed.

She hesitated, her voice trembling. “It showed me a life where we were happy. Where nothing ever went wrong. It said it could give that to us. That all I had to do was… accept.”

Elliot clenched his jaw, anger and fear bubbling inside him. “It lied to you, Lydia. That wasn’t real. It’s manipulating you.”

“I know,” she said softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But for a moment, I wanted it to be real.”

* * * * * *

That night, the house began to change again.

Elliot woke to the sound of creaking wood and a faint, rhythmic thrum. He sat up and saw the walls shifting, the plaster cracking as green veins spread like ivy.

“Lydia!” he shouted, leaping out of bed.

She was already standing in the doorway, her face illuminated by the faint green glow. “It’s coming back,” she said, her voice hollow.

The veins pulsed, and the hum grew louder, vibrating through the floor. Elliot grabbed Lydia’s hand, pulling her into the living room.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

“Where are we supposed to go?” she asked, her tone almost resigned.

Elliot opened his mouth to respond, but a deafening crack interrupted him. The largest green door yet appeared on the far wall, its frame pulsating violently.

“No,” Elliot muttered, his grip on Lydia tightening. “I’m not letting it take you.”

“It’s not going to take me,” Lydia said, her voice strange. “It’s going to take us both.”

The door swung open, and the forest on the other side was darker than before. The twisted trees loomed impossibly high, their branches writhing like serpents. The air was heavy with the smell of decay, and figures, shrouded in darkness, moved in the distance.

Elliot stepped in front of Lydia, shielding her. “We’re not going back in there,” he said.

The hum grew louder, and the figures began to move closer.

“They won’t stop until we step through,” Lydia said.

Elliot turned to her, his face pale. “We’ll find another way.”

“There isn’t another way,” she said, her voice filled with despair.

The wraiths were almost upon them when Elliot made his decision. Grabbing Lydia’s hand, he pulled her through the door, the forest swallowing them whole.

Inside the forest, time lost meaning. The green glow was dimmer than before, but the hum persisted, vibrating through the trees. Elliot and Lydia moved quickly, their footsteps muffled by the thick moss covering the ground.

“We need to find the tree,” Lydia said suddenly.

“What?” Elliot stopped, staring at her.

“The tree,” she repeated. “It’s the only way. If we destroy it, the door won’t have power anymore.”

Elliot frowned. “And how do you know that?”

“It told me,” she said, her voice trembling. “It didn’t mean to, but I… I saw it in my mind. The tree is the source.”

He hesitated, but the determination in her eyes convinced him. “Then we find the tree,” he said.

The tree was in the clearing, just as before, its glowing trunk pulsating with a sickly green light.

Elliot and Lydia approached cautiously.

“What now?” Elliot asked.

Lydia reached into her pocket and pulled out the jagged piece of wood he had used to sever the veins before. “We destroy it,” she said simply.

Elliot nodded, gripping the wood tightly. As he stepped toward the tree, the ground beneath him trembled, and a deafening roar echoed through the forest.

The figures emerged from the trees, surrounding the clearing. Their forms were barely human, their limbs elongated and distorted.

“Hurry!” Lydia shouted.

Elliot didn’t hesitate. He drove the jagged wood into the tree’s trunk with all his strength.

The tree let out a piercing scream, and the veins on its surface writhed violently. The green light intensified, blinding them.

“Keep going!” Lydia yelled, grabbing a large branch and striking the tree alongside him.

The wraiths closed in, their shapes twisting and melting into one another. Elliot ignored them, focusing all his energy on the tree.

Finally, with a final strike, the tree cracked. Its glowing light flickered, and the hum stopped abruptly.

The shadowy figures froze, their forms dissolving into green mist.

The forest began to collapse. The trees twisted and fell, their branches disintegrating into ash. The ground beneath them cracked and shifted, threatening to swallow them whole.

“The door!” Lydia shouted, pointing to a faint green glow in the distance.

Elliot grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the light. They ran as the forest fell apart around them, the air filled with the sound of cracking wood and rushing wind.

The door loomed ahead, flickering like a mirage. They dove through it just as the forest disappeared, slamming it shut behind them.

The house was silent when they returned. The green door was gone, and the walls were bare.

Elliot collapsed onto the floor, struggling to catch her breath. Lydia sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Is it over?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the spot where the door had been.

For now, the house was quiet. But deep down, Elliot wondered if it would stay that way.

Part VI

The new apartment was unremarkable in every way—a drab, boxy building in the middle of the city, with thin walls and perpetually buzzing fluorescent lights. It wasn’t the type of place Elliot had imagined for them, but after the farmhouse, unremarkable was exactly what they needed.

Lydia sat by the window, staring out at the busy street below. She had been doing that a lot lately—watching the world but never engaging with it. Her pale skin had regained some color, but the scars on her arms remained, faint green lines etched into her flesh like a reminder of what they had escaped.

Elliot placed a steaming cup of tea on the table beside her. “Here,” he said gently.

She glanced at him, managing a small smile. “Thanks.”

He sat across from her, nursing his own cup. For a while, they sat in silence, the faint hum of the city filling the empty space between them.

“Do you think it’s really over?” Lydia asked suddenly.

Elliot hesitated, staring down at his cup. “I want to believe it is,” he said.

“But you don’t,” she said, her tone flat.

He looked up at her, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, Lydia. How can I know after everything we’ve been through?”

She nodded, her gaze returning to the window. “I can still feel it sometimes,” she admitted. “Like it’s… watching me.”

Elliot didn’t respond. He had felt it too—the faintest sensation, like a pair of eyes on the back of his neck, or a shadow in the corner of his vision that disappeared when he turned to look.

* * * * * *

The days blurred together as they tried to rebuild their lives. Elliot threw himself into work, taking on long hours to distract himself from the memories that refused to fade. Lydia stayed home, spending her days cleaning their already spotless apartment or sitting by the window.

One evening, Elliot came home to find her sitting on the floor in the bedroom, surrounded by sheets of paper. Each one was covered in intricate sketches of doors—green doors, all slightly different but unmistakably the same.

“Lydia,” he said, his voice cautious. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t look up. “I keep dreaming about them,” she said. “Every night. They’re always there, just out of reach.”

He crouched beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “They’re just dreams,” he said. “They don’t mean anything.”

She finally looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. “What if they do?”

Elliot started locking the bedroom closet at night. He told himself it was for Lydia’s sake, but deep down, he knew it was for his own peace of mind.

Despite his efforts, the unease lingered. The faint hum he thought he’d left behind seemed to follow him, vibrating at the edge of his senses. He told himself it was just his imagination, a remnant of the trauma they had endured.

But then came the night he woke to find Lydia standing by the closet.

“Lydia?” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

She didn’t respond. Her hand was on the closet door, her fingers tracing the wood as if searching for something.

He got out of bed, crossing the room cautiously. “Lydia, what are you doing?”

She turned to him slowly, her expression blank. “It’s here,” she said.

“What’s here?” he asked, his stomach twisting.

She pointed to the closet. “The door.”

“No, it’s not,” Elliot said firmly. “The door is gone, Lydia. It’s over.”

But even as he said the words, he felt the hum in the air, growing louder with each passing second.

The next morning, Lydia didn’t mention the incident, and Elliot didn’t press her. He wanted to believe it had been a dream, a trick of his exhausted mind.

But over the following days, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. He started noticing small things—a faint green glow under the bedroom door at night, the sound of creaking wood when the apartment was still.

One evening, as he sat in the living room reviewing paperwork, the lamp beside him flickered. He looked up and froze.

A faint outline of a door shimmered on the far wall, just for a moment, before disappearing.

“Lydia,” he called, his voice trembling.

She appeared in the doorway, her face pale. “What is it?”

Elliot gestured to the wall. “Did you see that?”

She frowned, stepping closer. “See what?”

He stared at the wall, his pulse racing. The door was gone, but the memory of it lingered.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “It’s nothing.”

But he knew it wasn’t.

* * * * * *

A week later, Elliot woke in the middle of the night to find the bedroom bathed in a faint green light.

He sat up–and there it was again.

The door was back.

It was smaller than before, its paint chipped and faded, but there was no mistaking it. It stood at the foot of their bed, its brass handle gleaming faintly.

Elliot’s stared at it, frozen. Beside him, Lydia stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Elliot?” she murmured sleepily.

“Don’t look,” he said quickly.

But it was too late. Her eyes widened as she saw the door, and a faint smile spread across her lips.

“It came back,” she whispered.

Elliot grabbed her hand, his grip tight. “We’re not going through it,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me? We’re not going back.”

She didn’t respond. Her gaze was fixed on the door, her expression unreadable.

The hum grew louder, vibrating through the room. The door’s frame pulsed faintly, its green light spilling onto the floor like liquid.

Elliot tightened his grip on Lydia’s hand, his voice shaking. “We’re not going back,” he repeated.

But deep down, he wasn’t sure if they had a choice.