Have you ever thought of opening a door that was supposed to remain closed?

Well, I did — and I wish I hadn’t. My name is Adil, and this is the story of my best friend Bilal and me.

At our school, there was a small passage leading to the basement. It was the perfect spot for the most curious kids to sit and have long discussions away from the teachers’ eyes.

One afternoon, while exploring the basement, I noticed a rusty metal key sticking out of the janitor’s keychain. Something about it caught my eye. The janitor had accidentally left his keys behind and my curiosity immediately took over.

As I reached for the key, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A shiver ran down my spine. I jumped and let out a tiny scream, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

“Chill, bro…! It’s just me!” It was Bilal.

I sighed with relief.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, glaring at him. He gave me a mischievous grin.

The next moment, I was explaining my plan to him, telling him about the grumpy-looking janitor and how he had left his keys behind. Then I pointed towards a dusty, battered door at the end of the basement corridor. It had been damaged by the fierce storm that had struck two months earlier.

Bilal took a step backwards. “Are you crazy?” he whispered. “What if there’s something dangerous inside?”

The final school bell had rung seven minutes and 28 seconds earlier.

The usual chatter of students faded after sometime, leaving behind an eerie silence. I was terrified too, but I didn’t want Bilal to see through my fake bravery. I forced a smile and stepped towards the creaky door. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I approached it.

With trembling fingers, I separated the almost-detached key from the keychain and inserted it into the lock.

“Adil, stop!” Bilal shouted.

But it was too late. I turned the key.

CLICK! The lock opened. A cold breeze rushed out, sending a chill through both of us. We coughed as the dusty air filled our lungs. Beyond the doorway lay something that looked like an entirely different world.

Although the dust blurred my vision, I could still make out 13 enormous shelves, dozens of bottles filled with mysterious substances and an isolated table standing in the middle of what appeared to be an ancient library.

Everything looked as though decades had passed since anyone had entered the room.

And guess what? My curiosity struck once again! I began exploring while Bilal stood frozen in silence. He looked as though he had forgotten how to move.

“Bilal!” I called.

After a few seconds, he finally replied, “Adil, we should go…”

“We aren’t leaving now! We’ve come this far. Come on, buddy!” I insisted.

After some nervous discussion, Bilal finally agreed to stay a little longer, but only on one condition: we would leave as soon as I had examined a strange journal lying on the table.

The journal looked as though it had survived the Second World War. Its cover had faded to a dusty beige colour, and its pages were yellowed with age.

I opened it carefully. Inside were dates, events and what appeared to be old records. The writing, originally in red ink, had mysteriously turned green. I remembered learning about chromatography in science class that very day. Perhaps there was a scientific explanation for the strange colours, but nothing could explain the uneasy feeling growing inside me.

I flipped through the journal, passing half-torn pages and faded writing. Then, just a few pages before the end, I noticed something that made my heart pound.

In bold, frightening letters, a message stood out from the rest of the writing. Unlike the other entries, it looked surprisingly recent.

My hands began to tremble. Bilal leaned over my shoulder, and I could feel his fear growing too.

The message read: “If you have found this, there is no chance…” The rest had faded away.

“Chance of what?” Bilal asked, his voice cracking.

“I… I don’t know,” I whispered, suddenly losing all the confidence I had pretended to possess.

All of a sudden, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. THUMP!

Bilal jumped. I grabbed his hand and we stood frozen, staring into the darkness.

A huge shadow appeared before us. Its shape seemed almost human, but something about it was terribly wrong. It moved towards the door and, before either of us could speak, the door burst open.

“HELP!” Bilal screamed, praying that someone would hear us.

It was the janitor! He hurried towards us and carefully led us out of the room. We stumbled into the corridor, gasping for breath. Even after we were safely outside, my heart continued to race.

The janitor locked the door, as though he were shutting away something that should never have been disturbed. Surprisingly, he didn’t look angry. Instead, he looked worried.

“That library’s assistant was a very sweet woman,” he explained quietly. “But she died in the early 1970s because of an unknown accident. The officers never paid much attention to her case, and it remains unsolved to this day.”

He paused before continuing.

“I hope you two are safe. Please, I beg you, let this case remain closed forever. Never go back there again. Just act as though nothing happened.” His words left us with more questions than answers.

How had she died? What was the journal about? Why had someone written that terrifying warning? And why did everyone seem so frightened of that room?

Questions kept popping into my mind and I was certain Bilal was thinking about them too. Despite everything, neither of us could forget what we had seen.

Before we left, Bilal gathered enough courage to ask the janitor one final question.

“Sir, why can’t we know what happened?”

The janitor stared at us for a long moment. Then he spoke in a low, serious voice.

“Some mysteries are not supposed to be touched once they’ve been left untouched.”

That single sentence haunted me. I couldn’t sleep properly that night. Every creak in the house made me jump, and every shadow seemed to hide something sinister. I kept remembering the dusty library, the mysterious journal and those frightening words:

“If you have found this, there is no chance…”

The next morning, Bilal and I met again.

“That really was something,” I said, trying to laugh it off.

Bilal stared at me and shook his head. “You have absolutely no clue what we’ve gotten ourselves into,” he replied.

For once, I had nothing to say. Even now, whenever I pass that basement door, I wonder what lies behind it. But one thing is certain: some doors are better left closed.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 14th, 2026