Dimly-lit; cluttered; eerie: the attic of Clara's house remained, littered with boxes and the walls covered with cobwebs.
Clara and her brother James were crouched on the ground, scavenging for items that Clara desired for her new house. She was eighteen, moving out to live on her own.
She pulled out a framed picture from a box she was rummaging through.
The gentle, kind face of her grandmother (who'd passed away three years ago) peered back at her from the photo; a beaming, familiar smile plastered on her slightly wrinkled face.
Clara sat for a while, in admiration and reminiscing on her memories with her grandmother, when James called.
"Look! There's a door behind this closet"
Clara glanced behind her.
James stood by the faded, forest-green closet at the far end of the attic, James' hands firmly grasping at one end, trying to move it out of the way Impatient,
he gestured for Clara to assist him. She picked herself up and rushed over. The two struggled, pulling the closet with all their strength.
Finally, it moved, presenting a rather small, dull red door with a thin white frame and doorknob.
Clara immediately got goosebumps and her heart started beating faster, colliding with her chest. James tried twisting the rusted knob without hesitation.
"Of course, it's locked," he said frustrated.
"There must be a key somewhere around here." he said. "Let's look around."
The siblings searched around the attic, opening every cupboard and box, trying to find the correct key.
After they hunted through the piles of unnecessary objects, they collapsed on the ground, fatigued.
James tried to kick the door down several times, to which Clara simply shook her head, annoyed with her impulsive and aggressive brother. He gave up, finally, too tired to try any further.
"Whatever, it can't be that important. I'm going to get more storage boxes, keep looking around."
James left. Clara sat alone, not wanting to admit to her judgemental brother that she was paranoid about the contents waiting behind the door. Why was she so worried anyways?
10 years ago...
Clara and her grandmother stood in the attic. Clara was helping her properly organise the attic and gather whatever they wanted to display downstairs.
Clara examined the attic, as it was only the second time she'd been there. Otherwise, this area was meaningless and mostly forgotten.
She stumbled upon the green closet and discovered that there was a door behind it.
"What's behind this door?" she asked, assuming her grandmother would already know, considering she lived there longer and for the majority of her life.
"Oh! Never try to open that, dear," she responded.
"Because... there are things far too demonic behind that door to be uncovered."
Even though she was young, Clara knew her grandmother was only trying to scare her, so she wouldn't open the door. At least, that's what she thought...
Back to the present...
That's why she was afraid to open the door! Mere childhood trauma that rose from her grandmother's words.
What was so important to hide that you'd attempt to petrify an inocent 8-year-old? The memory seemed so faint, that Clara didn't know if it was a dream or real.
Suddenly, something caught Clara's eye. A shimmering key lay on the ground in-front of the queer attic door. She swore that hadn't been there earlier...
Reluctantly and partially frozen with terror, she retrieved it, walked over to the door- which with closer inspection had unexplainable scratches on it,
probably because of the way she and James moved the closet against it.
She twisted the key in the door's keyhole, and with a click the door opened, moving back a little so it was ajar.
Clara made an effort to peer through the crack, but it appeared to be pitch black from what she could see.
Then, a heavily floral fragrance drifted from the door, a scent Clara knew to smell like her grandmother. And like magic, an alluring voice seeked her. The exact voice of her grandmother.
"Clara... come in, dear."
With that, an unseen force- an emotion that only hankered to see her dear grandmother again was strong enough for Clara to put her hand on the door and push it back.
However, before she could enter, a slimy, black claw stretched out of the darkness of the room behind the red door.
Before she could scream or even back-off, the talons of the devilish hand gripped at her blouse and swiftly pulled her into the room.
There was an extremely distant, yet diabolical laughter that commenced for a while, before the door swung back to its agape position.
James called, returning. He noticed the ever so mysterious red door was opened and made his way over, through the ocean of boxes.
Clueless, he placed his hand on the door, slowly pushing it back, whilst the familiar, tempting smell of flowers floated out...