Every Halloween, a single door appeared in the middle of the old town square. No hinges, no handle — just a black wooden door standing on its own. By morning, it always vanished.
Most people avoided it. But this year, ten-year-old Elsie decided to knock. Once. Twice. The third knock made the door creak open.
A cold wind brushed past her. Inside was only darkness — and whispers. They sounded like her own voice, but older. “Come in,” they said. “You’ve been here before.”
Elsie laughed nervously. “It’s just a trick,” she said, stepping closer. The whispers grew louder — hundreds of Elsies whispering all at once. “Stay,” they pleaded. “We’re lonely.”
Her lantern flickered, revealing faint outlines in the dark — dozens of shadowy figures, all with her face, all reaching out.
Elsie screamed and stumbled back, slamming the door shut. It vanished instantly, leaving only the echo of her own terrified breath.
The next morning, townsfolk found a new door — not in the square, but in Elsie’s living room.
Her parents say it’s just part of the Halloween magic.
But every night since, they hear knocking from the other side.
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