There was only one rule: don’t open the door. If I don’t open the door, I’ll keep everyone safe. At least, that’s what they tell me. They tell me lots of things. Mostly, they tell me why I must stay inside.
The sun burns and blisters and you will melt like wax.
The wind cuts and rips and will slice you to bone.
The rain is acid it will sizzle and scald and dissolve you to nothing.
When the sun sets, you are safe but we are not.
You will let him out.
You can’t control him.
You can’t stop him.
He will hurt and cut and bleed and destroy and -
A knock on the door.
“Hello?”
That was a different voice. I've never heard that beautiful voice before.
Who is that?
What do they want?
We don’t want them here.
“Hi, sorry, it’s Lana…from down the road…I just have some of your mail.”
Don’t go out there.
Don’t let her in.
She must leave.
MAKE HER GO AWAY.
I put my hand on the doorknob. Her voice is so lovely, so inviting, so tempting.
“I, uh, guess I’ll just leave it on the porch…”
I opened the door.
Later that night, Lana’s voice joined the others – so she can remind me of my only rule: don’t open the door.
About the Creator
Tattoos & Tarot
About T&T:
I'm an aspiring writer looking to hone my craft and share my stories! I am always open to any feedback and suggestions. The name Tattoos & Tarot is inspired by two of my favorite hobbies and adds a bit of magic to my creations ✨
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More stories from Tattoos & Tarot and writers in Horror and other communities.
Reflections
The drive home is excruciatingly uncomfortable and quiet. I stare dizzyingly out the back window as greenery melts into an optical illusion and cars whoosh past in a speeding frenzy. I feel us turn down my street in an achingly nostalgic way – the same familiarity that would wake you as a child, and you pretended to still be asleep so your parents would carry you inside. That feeling now turns sour, spoiled by shame and dread. My house comes into view – a two-story, red-bricked, suburban family home, complete with a big oak tree and tire swing that has been flat since I was twelve. The car comes to a gentle stop – no one speaks, and no one moves for a moment.
By Tattoos & Tarotabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Day AI Learned to Think Like Us (And Why That Should Scare You a Little)”
There was a time when machines were predictable. You pressed a button, and they followed instructions. They calculated, processed, and obeyed. They never surprised us. They never understood us.
By Mind Meets Machineabout 14 hours ago in Horror
Comments (1)
D: good story!