Red Door Yellow Door Rules Novels & Stories

Being friendly would only add to my escape means. "Where are you taking me?" Val asked. "I don't know. I just figured this was the way considering how far you dragged me," I responded. He chuckled, "Of course, Wolfie. Make a left turn ahead." I did as he said and we stopped in front of a red door. If I have any experience with red doors, it was only in movies and books. Red meant no. "No way! I'm not entering a red door. Everyone knows never to enter a red door; it's like certain death," I said.

And there, at the right wall there was a dim yellow door but she could not see the words written on it because Kaycee had opened the second door which was a black door with no writing just a few decorations around the edges and the door handle. Thelma paused seeing the black door, she felt odd and weird about the room as she stare at it. Kaycee looked back to her with a raised eyebrow then signaled with a jerk of his head for her to enter. Thelma was reluctant at first, her thoughts were based on immoral activities she thought Kaycee was trying to trick her into doing. She wondered deeply why he brought her into a secret room and not the dress room she was told and also scolds herself for fo

“These sorts of doors normally are. They’re exit only, for an emergency.” As Cameron looked into the bar again, he saw a young couple edge towards the stairwell doorway. “Shit,” Rhett realized what was about to happen. The young man in the bar reached for the door handle. “I said: No one moves!” The first Van Helsing snapped out, and the couple in the bar froze, the man scanning to see if there was any way that they had been seen. But it wasn’t them that they spoke to, but the group that walked out of the door to the right of the stairwell entrance, behind the bar - marked “Staff Only.”

"Each door holds a truth. Some are small. Some are large enough to swallow you. You must pass through seven to reach the door behind the door. But be warned. The truths behind the doors are not merely memories. They are living things. They have grown in the dark. They have become hungry. And they do not wish to be disturbed." Eliana looked at the twelve doors. Some were closed. Some were ajar. Some seemed to breathe. Door number three, painted a deep ocean blue, was rattling on its hinges. Door number eleven, black as a starless night, was weeping. The sound of it was a low, rhythmic sobbing that matched her own heartbeat. "Why seven?" she asked. "Why not all twelve?"

I typed fast, keeping it low by my thigh, thumbs moving on muscle memory alone. "At club. Taken downstairs. Possible contact. Move." Send. The bald man slowed, then stopped abruptly. I nearly ran into his back. He turned sharply, grin still plastered on his face, gold teeth glinting under the lights. We were standing in front of a massive double door now; dark wood reinforced with steel, the kind you didn’t put anywhere unless you were protecting something valuable. Or hiding something ugly. “No phones allowed here, playboy,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly. “House rules.”

Darker. It was for my own selfish interests. Most of the doors were the usual colors. Soft blues for peaceful dreams, gentle greens for nature-inspired fantasies, warm yellows for happy memories. Some pulsed with brighter light, indicating particularly vivid dreams. Others were darker, showing the troubles their dreamers were processing. But one door caught my attention immediately. It was bright red. Not the soft red of roses or the warm red of sunset, but the harsh, violent red of fresh blood. The door pulsed like a heartbeat, and I could feel waves of guilt radiating from it even from across the cloudy space.

My hands tightened as I looked at him, the rest of the students clapped and cheered. “You got two hours to settle in.” He said and walked away. The rest seven people scurried to their studio. I walked slowly. A girl got the first one, another the second. Mine’s L8-08. The last ending. I smiled as I stepped in. The glass is opaque. I stared at the reader's strip above the door. I hold my card up the reader and the door is cleared open into two. I chuckled. There's a large piece of writing that says: “My personal space.”

Now I have to cross my fingers he never asks Aspen's sister-in-law about her grey tabby. My calves burn by the time I hit the fourth-floor stairwell and enter the code to open the door to my hallway. It's a few short steps to my wooden apartment door and I let out a sigh when I spot the bright yellow Post-it note stuck to the middle of it. What could it be now? I stop in front of my door not touching the note, but standing close enough to read the messy male scrawl. This is in violation of rule number six.

But the red door itself looks freshly painted, and there's something about it that wants my eyes to shift away from it, as though it doesn't belong in plain sight. "This is it," Kael says to me, but now he is guarded. "What's wrong?" "There are rules in the marketplace. No violence on the premises, no forcing, no stealing. If we play by the rules, we should be all right." Should be all right. Not exactly a rousing testimonial. Kael knocks on the red door the exact way he did earlier. Five taps consecutively, then pause, then three more. The door swings open quietly, not to show a person but only darkness outside the door.

Alice replied while looking around at the innumerable floating doors. “And all the doors here might be identical,” Van added. “Firstly let’s try this one, there is something written around the knocker. That must be it,” Kirsten said without even listening to Van. And before Van could explain to her that many of the doors here also have inscription around their knockers, Kirsten is already opening the nearest door. “Just bow your head when you enter, that’s what the inscriptions on the doors said,” Van just reminded. “What for, the doors isn’t that low. Common sense Van,” She replied before entering the door. Unable to stop her, the rest have no choice but to go after her. They could only hop