Eli didn't want to move. His old house had been fine—creaky floors, weird neighbors, sure, but at least it felt normal. This place, though, had an emptiness to it. The halls stretched too long, the rooms felt too quiet, and the basement… The basement was wrong.
He found it on his first day, buried beneath the house like a forgotten memory. His dad had sent him down to check for any leaks. The wooden steps groaned under his weight as he descended, the air turning cool and stale. His phone flashlight flickered as if the dark itself didn't want to be disturbed.
And then, he saw it.
A door.
It stood at the far end of the basement, set deep into the stone wall. Unlike the rest of the house, which was old but well-maintained, this door looked ancient—warped wood, rusted iron handle, and strange symbols scratched into its surface. It shouldn't have been there.
Eli reached for the handle, but the moment his fingers brushed against it, a jolt ran up his arm—like a static shock, but deeper. The metal was warm. He snatched his hand away.
"Hey, Dad?" he called up the stairs. "Did you know there's a door down here?"
His father's footsteps creaked above him. "What are you talking about?"
Eli frowned. "A door. At the back wall. It looks... old."
A pause. Then—
"There's no door in the basement, Eli."
His stomach twisted. He turned back to the door. It was still there. Tall. Silent. Waiting.
"Uh… yeah, never mind," he muttered, backing away.
The basement suddenly felt much colder.