BEHIND CLOSED DOORS — PART 4. - by ☘️Baby 🍀 Joy ☘️

“Amara…” The voice was directly behind her. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even turn around. The little girl stared at whoever was standing behind Amara. Her face had gone completely pale. “Don't turn around,” she whispered. Amara's eyes filled with tears. “Why?” “Because she isn't your mother anymore.” The footsteps stopped. Silence filled the hallway. Then the voice behind Amara spoke again. “Sweetheart…” Amara closed her eyes. That voice. She remembered it. Her mother's voice. The way she used to say her name when she was little. The warmth. The softness. Everything. “Mom?” The little girl shook her head violently. “No.” Amara slowly turned. A woman stood behind her. Long dark hair. A pale dress. Her face partly hidden in the shadows. Amara stared. “Mom?” The woman smiled. And for one second, Amara saw the mother she remembered. Then the hallway lights flickered. And the woman's face changed. Not completely. Just enough. Enough to make Amara step backward. The woman whispered: “You came back.” Amara shook her head. “I don't understand.” “You weren't supposed to remember.” “Remember what?” The woman looked toward the little girl. “She remembers.” The little girl backed away. “No.” The woman took one step forward. The little girl screamed: “RUN!” Amara grabbed the girl's hand. They ran. Down the hallway. Past the bedroom. Past the old mirror. Past the stairs. But the hallway seemed to stretch longer with every step. The front door was right in front of them. Amara grabbed the handle. Locked. She tried again. Nothing. Behind them— footsteps. Slow. Calm. Coming closer. The little girl whispered: “She knows we're here.” “Who?” The girl looked at Amara. “Your mother.” Amara stared at her. “Then why are you afraid of her?” The girl hesitated. “Because she's not the one who disappeared.” Amara stopped. “What?” The girl pointed behind them. “She is.” Amara turned. The hallway was empty. The footsteps had stopped. Then she noticed something on the wall. A photograph. She had never seen it before. She walked toward it. It showed her mother. Her aunt. And another woman. Amara stared at the third woman. She looked exactly like her mother. Same face. Same hair. Same eyes. But there was something different. The third woman was holding little Amara's hand. Amara's voice became a whisper. “Who is she?” The little girl answered: “Your mother.” Amara looked confused. “But that's my mother.” “No.” The girl pointed at the other woman. “That one is your mother.” Amara stared at the photograph. Then at the woman standing at the end of the hallway. Then back at the photograph. Two identical faces. Two mothers. One memory. One lie. Suddenly, the front door unlocked itself. CLICK. Amara grabbed the little girl's hand. “Come on.” They pushed the door open. But instead of seeing the street outside… Amara saw the hallway. The same hallway. The same black door. The same silver handle. She stepped back. “No…” The little girl whispered: “We're not in the house anymore.” Amara looked around. “What do you mean?” The girl pointed at the wall. There was a clock. Its hands were frozen at: 2:13. Amara remembered. The knocks. The scratching. The voice. Everything always happened at 2:13. Then the clock moved. One minute. 2:14. The entire house shook. The black door slammed shut. The little girl screamed. “She's coming!” Amara grabbed her. “Where do we go?” The girl looked at the black door. “There's only one place.” “Where?” The girl pointed toward the staircase. “Upstairs.” Amara looked at the stairs. She remembered what her aunt had always told her. Never go upstairs. Never open the black door. Never ask about her mother. Three rules. Three lies. Amara took the first step. Then the second. The little girl followed. As they reached the top, Amara noticed something written across the wall. Names. Hundreds of them. Some were scratched out. Some were faded. And at the very bottom— two names were still fresh. AMARA. And beneath it: AMARA'S MOTHER. Amara stared. Then another name slowly appeared beneath them. The letters formed one by one. AUNTIE. Amara's heart sank. “Aunty…” A voice answered from behind her. “Amara?” She turned. Her aunt stood at the top of the stairs. Crying. Alive. “Aunty!” Amara ran toward her. But the little girl grabbed her arm. “Don't.” Amara stopped. Her aunt looked at the girl. Then she whispered: “You found her.” The little girl nodded. Her aunt looked at Amara. “I tried to keep you away from this place.” “Why?” “Because once you remember everything…” She glanced toward the black door downstairs. “…it remembers you too.” A loud knock echoed through the house. Knock. Knock. Knock. Everyone froze. Another knock. This time from upstairs. Behind them. Amara slowly turned to

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