THE LAST DOOR IN OROWA HOUSE 🏠

The house had no number.That was the first thing Chinedu noticed when the taxi dropped him at the end of the dusty road. Every other building along the narrow stretch had numbers painted in fading black or blue—12, 14, 16—each clinging to their walls like proof of existence. But the last house, the one his uncle had left him in the will, stood without one. Its gate leaned inward like a broken tooth, and the paint had peeled so badly it looked like the walls were shedding skin.“Are you sure this is the place?” the driver asked, glancing nervously in the rearview mirror.Chinedu checked the paper again. “Yes. This is it.”The driver hesitated. “People don’t stay here long,” he muttered. “Just… don’t open doors you didn’t close.”Chinedu almost laughed, but the man’s expression stopped him. He paid and stepped out, watching the taxi disappear in a cloud of dust that seemed to linger longer than it should have.The silence that followed felt… heavy.---Inside, the house smelled of damp wood and something else—something faintly metallic, like rust or old blood. The furniture was still there, covered in sheets that sagged like ghosts. His uncle, Emeka, had been a reclusive man, rarely visiting family, and now Chinedu understood why. This place didn’t feel abandoned. It felt paused, like something had been interrupted and was waiting to continue.He opened windows to let in light, but the brightness only made the shadows sharper.The house had three rooms downstairs: a sitting room, a kitchen, and a small study filled with old books. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a narrow hallway that ended in a door.That door.It was different from the others. Darker wood. No handle on the outside—just a smooth surface with scratches that looked almost like claw marks.Chinedu frowned. “Weird.”He tried pushing it, but it didn’t budge.“Locked,” he said to himself.He shrugged and went back downstairs, telling himself he’d deal with it later.---The first night was quiet.Too quiet.Chinedu lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening. No insects. No distant traffic. Not even the hum of electricity. Just silence so complete it felt like pressure against his ears.Then, sometime past midnight, he heard it.A soft click.Like a door opening.He sat up immediately.Another sound followed—a slow creak, drawn out, deliberate.Chinedu grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness as he stepped into the hallway.The door at the end was open.He was certain it had been closed.“Hello?” he called out.No answer.He approached slowly, each step heavier than the last. The air grew colder the closer he got, his breath turning faintly visible.Inside the room, there was… nothing.No furniture. No windows. Just bare walls and a floor coated in dust.Except—Footprints.Fresh ones.Leading from the center of the room… toward him.Chinedu stumbled back, his heart slamming against his chest.“That’s not possible,” he whispered.The footprints stopped just inches from where he stood.And then, slowly, another print appeared.Right in front of him.As if something invisible had just taken a step closer.---He slammed the door shut and didn’t sleep again that night.By morning, the door was closed again.When he opened it, the room was empty. No footprints.Nothing.Chinedu told himself it was stress. Grief. His uncle had died suddenly, after all. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.But that explanation didn’t last long.---On the second night, the sounds returned.This time, they came earlier.A dragging noise.Something heavy being pulled across the floor above him.Chinedu stood at the base of the stairs, listening.The sound came from the hallway.From the direction of the door.He swallowed hard. “This is stupid,” he muttered. “There’s nothing there.”But his feet moved anyway, carrying him upward.The air upstairs felt wrong. Thicker. Warmer, yet somehow colder at the same time.The hallway light flickered as he stepped onto the landing.The door was open again.But this time, there was light inside.A faint, pulsing glow.Chinedu approached slowly, his breath shallow.Inside, the room was no longer empty.There was a chair.Old, wooden, positioned in the center.Facing the door.And in the chair…Something was sitting.At first, it looked like a person. A thin figure, hunched forward, its head bowed.“Hello?” Chinedu said, his voice trembling.The figure didn’t respond.He took a step closer.The smell hit him first—rotting flesh, thick and suffocating.“Who are you?” he asked.The figure twitched.Then, slowly, its head lifted.Chinedu screamed.Its face wasn’t a face.It was a mess of torn skin and exposed bone, eyes sunken deep into hollow sockets, mouth stretched too wide, filled with teeth that didn’t look human.And it was smiling.“You came back,” it rasped scary Chinedu got very scared dont know what to do he pulled out a hunter gun and shot in the direction of the beast saying if you come closer I will shut you, he shot at it boom.