The old woman's apartment was dimly lit, with faded curtains that barely let in the outside light. A musty smell filled the room, like old books and something long forgotten. The girl stepped inside slowly, glancing at the old portraits on the wall — all black and white, with eyes that seemed to follow her.
"Come in, dear," the old woman said gently, her voice shaking. "I just need you to help me carry something from the other room. My back doesn't let me bend much anymore."
The girl nodded, still uneasy. She didn't sit, didn't relax. Something about the air in the room felt… wrong. Heavy. Like silence before a storm.
The old woman pointed to a door at the end of the hall.
"In there, please."
The girl walked toward it, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. As she reached for the handle, the old woman suddenly snapped, "Not that one!"
The girl froze. The old woman's voice had changed — not weak and trembling, but sharp and cold.
"That door is locked for a reason," she continued more softly now, forcing a smile. "You'll go into the room on the left."
The girl's hand trembled as she pulled away from the locked door and turned to the one on the left. It opened easily.
Inside was a small, cluttered room — stacked boxes, old furniture, and a single suitcase.
"Bring me that brown suitcase," the old woman called from behind.
As the girl bent down to pick it up, she noticed something strange.
Scratched into the floor near the wall were faint letters:
> "DON'T TRUST HER."
Her heart began to pound.
She turned, staring at the suitcase. It looked normal. But now… she wasn't sure if anything about this place was.
She picked it up and walked slowly back to the old woman — who was now standing completely still… and smiling.
> "The door remained firmly shut, sealed with rusted chains... yet from behind it, a whisper slipped through—soft, broken, and calling her name."