🎙️Opening Line (whispered) “Some doors… were never meant to be opened.” 🔮 [Dim candlelight flickering, soft ambient wind sounds in background] Hey, so… this happened to my cousin’s friend in West Virginia, and I swear to you, it’s still messing with my sleep. She moved into this old farmhouse her family inherited—secluded, up in the mountains. You know the kind—peeling paint, creaky floors, attic no one goes into. But here’s where it gets weird… 🌫️ [Zoom slowly on an old photo or faded wallpaper] There was this locked door in the hallway. Like, deadbolt locked. And the strange part? There was no key. No explanation. Just this old brass plaque on the wood that said “KEEP SHUT” in these scratched-in letters—like someone had clawed it in, not carved it. So, of course, she gets curious. She asks the neighbors about it. And one old man just says: “You hear scratching… don’t open it.” 🕰️ [Slight ticking clock overlay, echoey] A week goes by. She hears it. Scratching. Not like mice or rats. No—this was slow. Deliberate. Like something was tracing the inside of the door with a fingernail. She records it. Listens back. But on the audio? There’s no scratching. Just… whispering. And it said her name. 📞 [Phone buzzing sound effect, then silence] So she decides to leave. Packs her stuff. Calls her dad. And the night before she’s supposed to go—at exactly 3:13 AM— she wakes up. The door is open. But it gets worse. There are muddy footprints. Bare feet. Small. Child-sized. Leading out of the door… and stopping right next to her bed. 👁️ [Zoom in slowly on a darkened doorway or shadow] She swears she didn’t hear a thing. Just woke up with that heavy, something-is-watching-me feeling. Then the room turned ice cold. She looks over—and right there, in the shadows near the closet— there’s this figure. Short. Twitching. Its limbs all wrong. She said it looked like a child… but the face… was just this gaping mouth. Like it was screaming— but no sound came out. She blinked—and it was gone. 🔚 [End shot – slow zoom on an old door, creaking sound rising] She moved out the next day. But the door? She went back to check one last time… and it was sealed shut. No handle. No hinges. Just… wall. Like it was never there. 🖤 “Some doors don’t lead to rooms… They lead to things that remember being locked in.”