BEHIND CLOSED DOORS-PART 5. - by ☘️Baby 🍀 Joy ☘️

Amara slowly turned to— the black door. It was there. At the top of the stairs. Where it had never been before. The silver handle slowly began to turn. Her aunt covered her mouth. The little girl backed away. “No…” Amara stared at the door. “What's behind it?” Her aunt whispered: “Everything you forgot.” The handle stopped. Silence. Then a child's voice came from behind the door. “Amara…” The little girl began to cry. Amara looked at her. “Who is that?” The girl didn't answer. The voice came again. This time, it sounded exactly like Amara. “Amara…” Then the door opened by itself. Just a little. And from the darkness behind it— a small hand reached through. Amara's aunt screamed. “DON'T LET HER OUT!” Amara froze. The little girl looked at her. And whispered: “It's you.” Amara stared at the tiny hand. “What?” The girl pointed at the darkness. “The girl behind the door…” She swallowed. “…is you.” The door opened wider. And Amara saw herself standing inside. A much younger version of herself. Maybe seven years old. Barefoot. Holding a photograph. Staring directly at her. The younger Amara smiled. Then she lifted the photograph. It was the same photograph from downstairs. But this time, there was something different. Someone had been standing beside little Amara. Someone who wasn't her mother. Someone who wasn't her aunt. Someone who looked exactly like— Amara. The younger girl pressed one finger against the photograph. And whispered: “You promised you wouldn't come back.” Amara couldn't speak. Her aunt began crying. The little girl stepped backward. And behind them, somewhere deep inside the house— the front door slammed shut. Again. Locked. The younger Amara smiled. Then the black door opened completely. And the house went dark. The house went dark. Completely. Amara couldn't see her aunt. Couldn't see the little girl. Couldn't even see the door anymore. Only silence. Then— A whisper. “Amara…” She froze. It was coming from somewhere in the darkness. “Amara…” She reached out. “Aunty?” No answer. “Little girl?” Nothing. Amara took one careful step forward. Her foot touched something cold. She looked down. She couldn't see it. But she could feel it. A photograph. She picked it up. A faint light appeared above her. Not from the ceiling. From the photograph itself. Amara stared. The picture had changed. There were now four people in it. Her mother. Her aunt. The little girl. And Amara. But the little girl wasn't standing beside her. She was standing behind her. Holding her hand. Amara's breathing became unsteady. Then she noticed something written on the back. Three words. YOU WERE FIRST. A voice whispered behind her. “You finally remembered.” Amara turned. Her aunt stood there. But something was wrong. She wasn't crying anymore. She was smiling. Amara stepped backward. “Aunty?” Her aunt tilted her head. “You shouldn't have opened the door.” “I didn't.” “I know.” “Then who did?” Her aunt's smile disappeared. “You did.” Amara shook her head. “No.” “You always do.” The hallway suddenly lit up. Amara looked around. The little girl was gone. The black door was gone too. Instead, there was a bedroom. An old bedroom. Small. Faded. And strangely familiar. Amara stared at the bed. A small teddy bear sat on the pillow. She recognized it. Her mother had given it to her when she was seven. She slowly walked inside. On the wall were dozens of drawings. Houses. Trees. A woman. A little girl. And a black door. Amara touched one of the drawings. At the bottom, written in childish handwriting: MUMMY SAID I MUST NEVER OPEN IT. Amara's eyes widened. “I remember this room.” Her aunt stood behind her. “Yes.” “I used to sleep here.” “Yes.” “But…” Amara turned. “I thought I grew up in the other house.” Her aunt said nothing. Amara's voice trembled. “Why don't I remember this?” Her aunt looked toward the drawing. “Because your mother made sure you wouldn't.” “Which mother?” Silence. Amara's aunt looked at her. “The one who raised you.” Amara's heart sank. “My mother?” “No.” Her aunt's voice became barely audible. “The woman who raised you wasn't your mother.” Amara stepped backward. “Then who was she?” Before her aunt could answer— a child's laughter came from behind the black door. Amara turned. The door was back. Standing at the end of the bedroom. The little girl appeared beside it. She looked terrified. “Don't listen to her.” Amara stared. “Who?” The little girl pointed at her aunt. “She lies too.” Her aunt's expression changed. “Go away.” The girl shook her head. “You can't keep doing this.” “Doing what?” The girl looked at Amara. “Changing the story.” Amara's heart raced. “What story?” The girl took a step forward. “The night you disappeared.” Amara frowned. “I never disappeared.” The girl whispered: “You did.” Amara looked at her aunt. Her aunt closed her eyes. Then she finally said: “You were missing for three days.” Amara stared. “What?” “You were seven.” “I don't remember.” “I know.” “What happened?” Her aunt looked toward the black door. “You opened it.” Amara's stomach dropped. “And?” Her aunt swallowed. “Your mother found you inside.” “Which mother?” Her aunt didn't answer. The little girl did. “The other one.” Amara turned toward her. “What other one?” The girl pointed at the black door. “Her.” The door slowly opened. A woman stood behind it. The same face. The same hair. The same eyes. Amara's mother. But this time, Amara didn't see the pale dress. She saw a frightened woman. Tears on her face. Reaching toward her. “Amara…” Amara couldn't move. The woman whispered: “I tried to get you out.” Amara's eyes filled with tears. “Why didn't you?” The woman looked at the aunt. “Because she stopped me.” Amara turned sharply. Her aunt's face went pale. “That's not true.” The woman stepped forward. “You took her.” “I protected her.” “You erased her memories.” “I saved her life!” Silence. Amara stared at both women. “What happened to me?” Neither answered. Then the little girl walked toward Amara. She reached for her hand. And suddenly— Amara remembered. A bedroom. A black door. Her mother screaming. Her aunt pulling her away. Someone knocking from the other side. And a little girl standing beside the door. A little girl who looked exactly like her. Amara gasped. “No…” The little girl looked at her. “You remember now.” Amara slowly shook her head. “You're not a ghost.” The girl smiled sadly. “No.” “Then who are you?” The girl squeezed her hand. “I told you.” Amara stared at her. The girl whispered: “I'm the part of you they left behind.” The lights went out again. A knock came from behind the black door. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a voice spoke. Not her mother's. Not her aunt's. Not the little girl's. Her own voice. Older. Colder. And coming from inside the walls. “Amara…” She looked up. The voice whispered: “You remembered the wrong night.” Her aunt screamed: “RUN!” But it was already too late. The black door slammed open. And behind it— wasn't a room. It was the street. The street outside the house. Except there was something standing in the middle of it. A little girl. Seven years old. Holding Amara's teddy bear. Amara stared. The little girl smiled. Then she raised her hand. And pointed directly at Amara. “You left me here.” Amara couldn't breathe. Her aunt whispered behind her: “That isn't your past.” Amara turned. “Then what is it?” Her aunt looked terrified. “Your future.” The little girl outside smiled wider. And the black door slammed shut. TO BE CONTINUED…

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