Red Door Yellow Door Stories Novels & Stories

I was here to find Lydia, and that’s what I was going to do. Blood wet my boots with every step. The carpet was no longer merely soggy but was drenched with more liquid than it could hold. The place smelled like a slaughterhouse. I pressed on. There were two doors on the back wall. One was painted yellow and one blue. I hate yellow, quite honestly, so I reached for the blue door. “I wouldn’t do that,” said a voice. I whirled around. “Who said that?” I demanded angrily. I couldn’t see anybody.