Writers 
I stared at the piece of paper for what felt like forever.
DON’T OPEN THE RED DOOR.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up.
The paper was cold.
Not slightly cold.
Freezing.
I dropped it immediately.
"Okay..." I whispered.
I took a step backward.
My eyes moved around my room.
My window was closed.
My curtains were still.
My school bag was exactly where I had left it.
Nothing looked unusual.
Except for the paper.
I slowly bent down and picked it up again.
There was something strange about the handwriting.
The letters looked rushed, almost as if whoever had written them had been in a hurry.
I turned the paper over.
Nothing.
I checked underneath my desk.
Nothing.
I searched through my notebooks, thinking maybe I had written it without remembering.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
There was a tiny red mark in the corner of the paper.
It looked like a drop of ink.
I touched it.
The mark smeared across my finger.
I quickly wiped my hand on my bedsheet.
"That's enough."
I threw the paper into my waste bin.
Then I climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over my head.
I wasn't sleeping again.
Not tonight.
---
The next morning, I woke up feeling exhausted.
I had barely slept.
The first thing I did was look at the waste bin.
The paper was still there.
I sighed with relief.
At least it hadn't disappeared.
I got ready for school and tried to forget everything.
By the time I reached the classroom, I had almost convinced myself that the whole thing was just my imagination.
Aisha noticed me immediately.
"Nurr!"
I looked up.
She was standing beside my desk, holding two books.
"You look terrible."
I frowned.
"Thanks."
She laughed.
"You know what I mean."
I dropped my bag onto the chair.
"I didn't sleep well."
"Why?"
I hesitated.
I almost told her.
The words were right there.
I had dreamed about a stranger.
He knew my name.
There was a red door.
There was a mysterious note.
But something stopped me.
"I was just thinking too much."
Aisha narrowed her eyes.
"About what?"
"Nothing."
She stared at me.
"Nurr."
"I'm fine."
She sighed.
"Fine."
She walked back to her seat.
I watched her go.
I felt guilty.
Aisha was my best friend.
If something strange was happening, she was the person I should have told.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
---
During lunch break, I went to the library.
I didn't really know what I was looking for.
Maybe answers.
Maybe proof that I wasn't imagining things.
I walked between the shelves slowly.
History.
Literature.
Science.
Old textbooks.
Then I noticed a section I had never paid attention to before.
LOCAL HISTORY.
I pulled out one of the books.
It was old and dusty.
The title read:
THE HISTORY OF OUR TOWN.
I sat at a nearby table and opened it.
At first, nothing seemed interesting.
Old buildings.
Old photographs.
Names of streets.
Stories about the school.
Then I turned another page.
And froze.
There was a photograph.
A photograph of a street.
A long, empty street.
Tall buildings stood on both sides.
At the end of the road was a thick layer of mist.
My heart began beating faster.
I leaned closer.
It was the street from my dreams.
I looked at the caption underneath.
ROSEWOOD STREET — PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN IN 1998.
I stared at the date.
1998.
That couldn't be possible.
The street looked exactly the same.
Even the broken streetlight was there.
I quickly turned the page.
Another photograph.
The same street.
This time, there was a small brick building beside it.
And attached to the building...
was a red door.
I stopped breathing for a second.
The same red door.
My hands became cold.
I looked around the library.
Nobody was watching me.
I turned the page again.
There was a short paragraph.
I read it carefully.
The building had once been part of an old community centre.
But it had been abandoned many years ago.
There had been an incident there.
The book didn't explain what happened.
Instead, one sentence had been crossed out with black ink.
I stared at the covered words.
Why would someone cross out a sentence in a school history book?
I ran my finger over the ink.
Then I noticed something underneath.
A few letters were still visible.
...boy...
My heart sank.
I closed the book.
I couldn't read anymore.
Someone had written something on the inside cover.
A name.
NURR.
I almost dropped the book.
I stared at it.
My name.
Again.
"That's impossible."
I looked at the handwriting.
It was the same handwriting as the note.
My breathing became uneven.
Someone had written my name inside a book about a place that appeared in my dreams.
A book published years before I was even born.
I closed the book and stood up.
I was leaving.
Immediately.
But before I could take another step, someone spoke behind me.
"You're looking for the red door."
I froze.
Slowly, I turned around.
An elderly woman stood at the end of the aisle.
She was holding several books.
Her expression was serious.
"How do you know?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she looked at the book in my hands.
Then she whispered:
"You shouldn't have found that."
I swallowed.
"Found what?"
She stepped closer.
"The boy."
My heart stopped.
"What boy?"
She looked directly into my eyes.
"The one who keeps appearing in your dreams."
I couldn't speak.
She reached for the book.
I didn't give it to her.
"Who is he?"
Her expression changed.
For the first time, she looked afraid.
"I don't know."
"But you know something."
She looked toward the library doors.
Then back at me.
"Some questions are safer when they remain unanswered."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
She lowered her voice.
"It's a warning."
Then she walked away.
I stood there, completely confused.
The bell rang.
Students began entering the library.
I quickly put the book back.
But before I left, I looked at the page one last time.
The photograph of the red door was gone.
I blinked.
I turned the page back.
Nothing.
The photograph had disappeared.
Only the words remained.
ROSEWOOD STREET — PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN IN 1998.
I closed the book.
My hands were shaking.
---
That night, I refused to sleep.
I sat at my desk with my schoolbooks open.
I tried doing mathematics.
Then English.
Then science.
Nothing worked.
Every few minutes, I looked at the clock.
11:42.
12:15.
1:03.
2:17.
I rubbed my tired eyes.
"Maybe if I stay awake..."
I looked at the clock again.
3:16.
My stomach dropped.
One minute.
I stared at the clock.
3:17.
The room went completely silent.
My phone screen turned black.
The light above my desk flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
I stood up.
"Mom?"
No answer.
I walked toward the bedroom door.
Then I heard footsteps.
Not from the hallway.
From inside my room.
I slowly turned around.
There was nobody there.
The footsteps stopped.
Then I heard a whisper.
"Nurr."
I froze.
The voice sounded familiar.
It was his voice.
The stranger.
I backed away.
"This isn't a dream."
Silence.
Then the whisper came again.
"Nurr..."
I covered my ears.
"No."
The room suddenly became colder.
The curtains moved even though the window was closed.
Then my phone lit up.
A notification appeared.
I stared at it.
There was no app name.
No number.
Just a message.
YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE LOOKED FOR ME.
My heart pounded.
Another message appeared.
NOW THEY KNOW YOU REMEMBER.
I stared at the screen.
"Who are they?"
Three dots appeared.
Someone was typing.
Then disappeared.
Typing again.
Then another message appeared.
DON'T TRUST THE LIBRARIAN.
I stopped breathing.
The elderly woman.
The book.
The red door.
The stranger.
Everything was connected.
Before I could think, another message appeared.
TOMORROW. 4:00 PM.
Then another.
COME ALONE.
I stared at the words.
A final message appeared.
ROSEWOOD STREET.
The phone screen went black.
I didn't sleep that night.
---
The next morning, I walked into school feeling like I hadn't slept in a week.
Aisha immediately noticed.
"You look worse."
"I didn't sleep."
"Again?"
I nodded.
She studied my face.
"Nurr, something is wrong."
I looked at her.
For a moment, I wanted to tell her everything.
But then I remembered the message.
COME ALONE.
"I'll be fine."
Aisha shook her head.
"You're lying."
I forced a smile.
"I'm really okay."
She didn't believe me.
Neither did I.
---
At exactly 3:42 PM, I left school.
I told Aisha I had somewhere to go.
She asked where.
I lied.
I hated lying to her.
But I didn't know what else to do.
The walk to Rosewood Street felt longer than it should have.
The sky was turning grey.
The wind was cold.
When I finally reached the street, everything looked exactly like my dream.
The buildings.
The broken streetlight.
The mist.
And at the end of the road...
the red door.
I stopped.
My heart was pounding.
Someone was standing beside it.
The stranger.
He looked at me.
This time, he didn't say anything.
He simply raised one hand.
And pointed behind me.
I turned.
There was nobody there.
When I turned back, he was gone.
I looked at the red door.
The piece of paper with my name was still attached.
But now there was something written underneath it.
Four words.
YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.
I stared at the sentence.
"No..."
I shook my head.
"I've never been here."
A voice came from behind the door.
A voice I recognized.
My own voice.
"Nurr..."
I stepped backward.
The door slowly opened by itself.
And from inside came a whisper:
"Welcome back."
...