Liam sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, flipping through the cracked leather-bound journal he had found wedged behind a loose floorboard. The pages were yellowed with time, filled with the cramped handwriting of Ethan J.
"The knocking returned last night. 3:00 a.m. sharp. Always three knocks. Always from the red door. I don't remember opening it, but it was ajar when I woke up."
Liam's throat tightened. The entries detailed a descent into paranoia—Ethan had heard voices, seen shadows under the door, and eventually stopped leaving the apartment altogether.
But the last entry was what froze Liam's blood.
"If someone finds this… it means I've opened the door."
And then, nothing.