The village of Eldermere had stood for centuries, nestled between the jagged peaks of the Blackspine Mountains and the whispering pines of the Hollow Wood. Its people lived simple lives -- farmers, shepherds, woodcutters -- bound by traditions older than memory. And of all their laws, one stood above the rest, carved into the very stones of the elders’ hall:
“Never open the black door.”
Carl had heard the warnings since he was old enough to understand words. The black door was forbidden. It was not a door meant for mortals. It was a seal. A boundary. A lock.
And locks existed for a reason.
The Temptation
Carl was nineteen, restless, and tired of the village’s endless rules. He had spent his life listening to the elders drone on about tradition, about obedience, about *respecting the old ways.* But what did they know? They were content to live in fear of a slab of stone.
His best friend, Alan, was less reckless. "You’re mad," Alan hissed one evening as they sat by the firepit outside Carl’s home. "No one touches the door. No one even goes near it."
"That’s exactly why I have to," Carl said, grinning. "Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what’s behind it."
Alan’s face darkened. "Of course I have. But some things aren’t meant to be known."
Carl scoffed. "Spoken like a true elder."
Alan didn’t laugh.
-- The Breaking --
The black door stood at the base of the mountain, a smooth, featureless slab of dark stone that never warmed, never weathered, never changed. No hinges, no handle -- just an unbroken surface, cold as death to the touch.
Carl had stolen an iron pry bar from the blacksmith’s forge. He waited until the dead of night, when the village slept and even the owls had gone quiet. Alan came with him, though he protested the entire way.
"You’re going to get us both killed," Alan muttered as they approached the door.
Carl ignored him. He wedged the pry bar into the seam where the door met the rock and leaned his full weight against it.
Nothing.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
A sound like distant thunder rolled through the earth. The door shifted -- just a fraction, just enough for a sliver of darkness to spill out.
Cold air rushed through the gap, smelling of damp stone and something else -- something metallic, like old blood.
Alan grabbed his shoulder. "Carl, stop."
Carl pushed again.
The door groaned open.
-- The Descent --
Beyond the threshold lay a staircase, smooth and steep, descending into the earth. The air that rose from it was unnaturally cold, prickling Carl’s skin like static.
Alan’s voice trembled. "We shouldn’t be here."
Carl lifted his lantern. The light barely pierced the gloom, but it was enough to see the steps. "We’ve come this far."
Alan hesitated, then followed.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, thick with a presence that made the hairs on Carl’s neck stand on end. The walls were unnaturally smooth, carved with symbols that twisted and writhed when he looked at them too long.
Then, the passage opened into a vast chamber.
-- The Chamber --
The cavern was enormous, its ceiling lost in shadow. The walls were covered in those same strange carvings, pulsing faintly, as if reacting to their presence.
At the center of the room stood a pedestal.
And on the pedestal -- a key.
Silver, ancient, gleaming in the lantern light.
Carl stepped forward, drawn to it.
"Don’t touch it," Alan whispered.
But Carl’s fingers closed around the key.
-- The Awakening --
The moment he lifted it, the ground trembled.
A deep, resonant “crack” echoed through the chamber. The carvings on the walls flared with a sickly green light. The air itself seemed to “writhe.”
And then -- from the darkness beyond the pedestal -- something “stirred.”
Alan screamed.
Carl turned just in time to see the shadows *move,* twisting like living smoke, forming into something vast and shapeless. Eyes flickered in the dark -- too many eyes, glowing like embers.
"Run!" Alan grabbed Carl’s arm and yanked him backward.
They fled, stumbling up the stairs, the thing behind them “unfolding” from the dark, its presence like a weight pressing against their skulls.
Carl didn’t look back.
-- The Return --
They burst out of the door, gasping, the key still clutched in Carl’s hand.
Alan slammed the door shut—but it didn’t *stay* shut.
It trembled.
Something was pushing from the other side.
"Carl," Alan panted, his face white with terror. "*What did you do?*"
-- The Reckoning --
The village woke to screams.
By dawn, half the homes were empty—doors left open, beds unmade, as if the occupants had simply vanished mid-step. The elders gathered in the square, their faces grim.
Carl stumbled into the village, alone, his clothes torn, his eyes wild.
Elder Veera seized him. "You fool," she hissed. "You broke the one unbreakable rule."
Carl’s voice was raw. "I didn’t know -- "
"You knew."
The ground shook.
From the mountain, a sound like a thousand whispers rose into the air, twisting into a chorus of voices that were not -- and had never been -- human.
The black door had been opened.
And now, something was coming out.
-- The End of Eldermere --
They say the village fell in a single night.
Those who survived fled into the woods, never to return. The houses still stand, empty, the fields overgrown.
If you go there -- though none dare -- you might hear things. Whispers in a language that hurts your ears. The sound of something moving in the dark.
And if you listen closely, just before you flee, you might hear the faint, echoing *click* of a silver key turning in a lock.
Waiting for the next fool brave -- or foolish -- enough to use it.
React
