“Thirty Days in the Dark”Day 5

 

        Day 5: The Door That Wouldn’t Stay Closed

           

By the fifth day, exhaustion was sinking into Daniyal’s bones. He hadn’t slept properly since arriving, and his eyes burned from staying awake through every whisper-filled night. Still, he tried to convince himself that he had some control left.

That morning, he made a plan.
“No more open doors… no more surprises,” he muttered to himself.

He went down to the lighthouse entrance, a massive iron door that had been swinging open by itself. With all his strength, he dragged a broken wooden beam from the storeroom and wedged it across the door. He checked it again and again — the door wouldn’t budge now. Satisfied, he whispered a prayer and went back upstairs.

The day passed slowly, but quiet. The storm had eased, and for once, the sea sounded calm. Daniyal almost believed maybe the woman from the night before had been just a nightmare.

But nightfall proved him wrong.

As the sky turned black, Daniyal lay awake in his sleeping bag, Quran by his side. At first, all he heard was the wind. Then, Krrrrreeeak…

His heart froze. The sound came from below — the iron door.

He told himself it was impossible. He had locked it shut with a beam. Trembling, he held his flashlight and crept down the stairs.

                       

When he reached the bottom, his blood ran cold.

The door was wide open. The beam was gone.

Rain had blown in, soaking the floor. Wet footprints led from the entrance, winding slowly toward the spiral staircase.

Daniyal panicked, his breathing quick and shallow. He ran back up, clutching the Quran, and shut himself in his room. He pushed a chair against the door and held his flashlight tight.

Hours dragged by. He tried to keep his eyes open, but exhaustion finally overcame him.

He woke to a strange sound — scratching. The door handle rattled softly, as though someone was testing it. Then, silence.

His skin crawled. He slowly turned his flashlight toward the wall beside him. His stomach dropped.

There were marks on the wall that hadn’t been there before — fresh carvings, deep and jagged, forming strange symbols. Circles. Lines. Shapes he didn’t understand. They seemed wet, glistening, as if carved with seawater instead of a blade.

Then, in the darkness, a whisper. Not outside. Not from the sea. From inside the room.

“It’s not the door that opens, Daniyal. It’s you.”

The light flickered. Daniyal dropped the torch in terror, scrambling back against the wall.

When dawn finally broke, the carvings were still there. But the door downstairs — perfectly shut again. The beam back in its place, as though it had never been moved.

Daniyal realized something terrifying: the lighthouse wasn’t just opening doors. It was opening him