Evan had driven past that empty field his whole life, but today something was different. A door stood upright in the middle of the grass—no frame, no hinges, just a single wooden door facing the road. Curious and tired from a long shift, he pulled over. The moment he stepped closer, the wind stopped. The world went quiet.
The door wasn’t old; it looked newly painted, bright red, the color of fresh blood. There was a brass knob, polished so clean he could see his reflection—only it wasn’t just him staring back. A pale child stood behind his reflection, watching him with wide, black eyes.
Evan stumbled back, but the knob began to turn on its own. The door creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness so deep it looked like it swallowed light. A voice whispered from inside, soft and eager: “Finally. Someone answered.”
The darkness surged forward, pulling at Evan’s feet like hands hidden in the soil. As he fell, the last thing he saw was the door slowly closing behind him, the child’s face smiling in the reflection.
The next morning, the field was empty again—no door, no footprints, no Evan. But if you drive past at night, you might see a red door glowing faintly, waiting for someone else to stop.
