The Basement Door

The house was old, but it was a steal. Two stories, a big backyard, and plenty of space for Mark and his wife, Julia, to start fresh. The only thing that unsettled Mark was the basement door.

It was strange—unlike the rest of the house, which had been renovated, the basement door was old, almost ancient. Heavy wood, deep scratches along the bottom, and five deadbolts running down the side. Five.

“Seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?” Mark had joked when they moved in.

Julia had only shrugged. “Maybe the last owner was just paranoid.”

That night, Mark woke up at 2:47 a.m.

At first, he didn’t know why. The house was silent. Then—

Click.

A soft, metallic sound from downstairs.

Mark’s stomach twisted. It was one of the deadbolts.

He nudged Julia. “Did you hear that?”

She groaned, half-asleep. “Go check, babe.”

Mark grabbed the baseball bat he kept beside the bed and crept downstairs. The living room was still, the kitchen dark. Then he turned toward the basement door.

One of the deadbolts was unlocked.

His breath caught in his throat.

Did I forget to lock it? No. He was sure he had checked before bed.

He locked it again and hurried back upstairs.

The next night, it happened again.

Click.

Mark’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed his phone, checking the time. 2:47 a.m.

He swallowed hard.

Gripping the bat, he went downstairs.

Two deadbolts were unlocked.

A cold sweat broke out on his skin.

Mark backed away slowly. “Julia,” he called, his voice shaking.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes. “What is it?”

“The locks,” he whispered. “Something’s unlocking them.”

She frowned. “Maybe the door’s just old? You know, shifting or something.”

Mark wanted to believe that. He really did.

But the next night, at exactly 2:47 a.m., he heard three clicks.

The locks were coming undone, one by one.

That was it.

He nailed the door shut.

The final night.

Mark barely slept, sitting upright in bed, bat in hand, listening.

At 2:47 a.m., the house went still.

Then—

Bang.

A loud thud against the basement door.

Mark’s breath hitched. His hands clenched the bat.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Something on the other side was pounding.

Then—

The nails began to pull out.

Not pop out. Pull out, slowly, one by one, as if plucked by careful fingers.

Mark ran.

He grabbed Julia, yanking her out of bed. “We’re leaving. NOW.”

As they stumbled toward the front door—

Creeeeaaak.

They turned.

The basement door was open.

The darkness beyond it stretched, deep and wrong, like a mouth waiting to swallow.

A long, emaciated hand slid out from the shadows, gripping the doorframe.

Then—

It stepped out.

Mark and Julia didn’t stay to see what came next.

They never went back.