Storage Room

Lena and Misha had been living together for two years now, were engaged, and were already planning a wedding that they kept postponing. Misha worked as an accountant at a little-known company. Lena was a student, studying part-time, and unemployed.

Nothing paranormal or inexplicable had ever happened to them. There were no evil brownies or restless spirits in their new apartment who disliked the current owners. The couple was absolutely delighted with their new home. The house itself was a three-room apartment with a large living room and two small bedrooms. Next to the kitchen, a pale blue door led to the storage room. The other doors in the apartment had been repainted white.

On Saturday morning, Lena, as usual, was preparing breakfast, quietly humming some simple melody that composed itself. Her fiancé, meanwhile, was killing time watching television. He flipped through the channels, staring skeptically at the screen. Bored, he gave up and ended up sitting there doing nothing. Suddenly, he remembered that one of the two light bulbs in the bedroom had burned out the previous evening, and he decided to replace it since he had nothing better to do.

The storage room was completely crammed with all sorts of junk, both useful and unnecessary. Spare doorknobs, extra matches and candles, old clothes—all this junk was carefully stored in a small room behind the blue door, carefully sorted into various boxes, chests, cabinets, and shelves. The light bulbs were in an iron box with sharp corners, and the box itself stood, one might say, directly opposite the door.

Being clumsy, Mikhal immediately tripped right at the threshold of the storage room and fell down with a crash.

"Mish, what are you making a fuss about? Is everything okay?" "Lena laughed, peeking out of the kitchen. The pantry door was already locked.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," Misha replied. "I just tripped and fell."

The guy walked into the kitchen and smiled awkwardly:

"I was going to change a lightbulb in the room..."

"Then go change it," the girl snorted and turned away, continuing to cook.

On Monday morning, Mikhail got up early. Lena was still asleep; her fiancé didn't wake her. Some time later, when the guy was gone, Lena woke up and went to the store to do some shopping. It was clear and crisp outside—despite the impassable white snowdrifts, it was pleasant to walk along the road. On the way back, Lena realized she'd forgotten her apartment keys. The door locked automatically, and it was impossible to open it without keys or tools. Besides, as luck would have it, she'd forgotten her phone. Her relationship with the neighbors was neutral, but Lena didn't want to disturb them. So, having climbed up to her top floor, she obediently waited for her fiancé at the door.

It was getting dark. Mikhail still hadn't shown up. The girl despaired, and, not understanding the point of her actions, she rang the doorbell of the empty apartment. After a trill of birdsong, a click was heard, and the door opened.

The girl entered the room, closed the door behind her, and wearily dropped the bags on the floor. The guy carefully picked them up and carried them to the kitchen. We won't go into their heated discussion about the fact that the guy had been home the whole time, while Lena was freezing in the entryway.

It was late evening. The couple was watching a movie on TV. Suddenly, something caught the girl's attention:

"By the way, Mish..."

"What?"

"Do you smell anything?" She stood up from the couch and looked around the room.

"No, what does it smell like?"

Lena, without answering the guy, left the room and headed for the kitchen. The closer she got, the more pungent the smell became, unpleasant and nauseating. The blue door was ajar...

Lena couldn't even scream. Having hit his head on the corner of an iron box, Mikhail lay dead in the storage room for the second day.

"Darling, did something happen?" a voice called from behind her.

There was nowhere to run.