Swamp Season Séance, Ep. 7: “The Door You Cannot Close”

Swamp Season Séance, Ep. 7: “The Door You Cannot Close” as told by Dale T. Doll I’m starting to think I should’ve listened to the old hous...

as told by Dale T. Doll

I’m starting to think I should’ve listened to the old house when it told me to stop. Maybe the walls do know something I don’t. Or maybe it’s just that every time I open my big mouth about “mysterious doors,” the universe laughs and says, “Yeah, sure, let’s do that.”

But no. I had to keep going.

The full moon has passed, but the house hasn’t stopped moving. No, not like the usual creaks and groans you get when a house is damp. This felt like something else. A rhythm, like it was breathing—slowly, deliberately, like a creature learning how to hunt.

It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the door again that I realized what I’d missed the first time.

The door didn’t open easily. It didn’t just swing inward like an ordinary door would. It was like it was waiting for something. Me. The moment my fingers brushed against the handle, the air stilled, and I knew I was about to make a choice.

A mistake.

And I should have stopped there.

But the thing is, when a ghost has been feeding you half-truths and pretty little lies about locked doors and promises, you start believing they’re real. You start thinking it’s your job to finish what someone else started. You start thinking that opening the door will finally give you answers.

So, I opened it.

And here’s the kicker—the door didn’t lead to the same room behind it. It led somewhere else. Somewhere wrong.

At first, I thought it was another hallway, but the walls were damp with something that wasn’t just water. It was… wrong. They felt slick under my fingertips, cold and alive, like they were breathing with me.

Then the voices started.

Not just Lucinda’s, but many.

It was as if the walls had absorbed the echoes of every person who had ever entered the house, and now they were all speaking at once—whispers, pleas, screams—no faces, just the sound of too many lost souls pressed into the fabric of this place.

And there, in the distance, was Lucinda. But she wasn’t standing in front of me. She was inside the wall, or maybe it was her image trapped in a deep fissure, staring at me with eyes that no longer seemed human. Her voice—guttural now, heavy with something ancient and hungry—spoke:

“It’s not too late, Master D.

You don’t understand. You never did.

You’ve already opened it.

This is what you are now.

The door you’ve opened can never be closed.

And I’m not the only one waiting.”

And there it was. The thing I hadn’t even thought to ask—what if Lucinda wasn’t the one waiting on the other side? What if the door had been a doorway for something much worse? Something older?

I stumbled backward, but the door wouldn’t close. It didn’t even want to. The handle twisted, pulling against me as if it were fighting to stay open. And then—something—pressed against it from the other side. A shape, long and spindly, like it was trying to crawl through the crack.

I slammed my hand on the frame, trying to shut it, but the shadow only pushed harder. It was cold now. Colder than the deepest part of the swamp. And I could hear the sound of nails scratching against the door, but no one was touching it.

And then, for a split second, the shadow paused.

Lucinda’s voice again, but it was different this time—almost a warning, but it was too late to listen.

“Close it… close it… if you can.”

I slammed the door shut, and for a brief moment, I thought maybe I had. But the house didn't stop. The air didn’t go still. In fact, it got colder, heavier, like something had settled in.

I haven’t been able to get near it since.

And Lucinda hasn’t said a word.

But I swear—I hear scratching sometimes.

Coming Soon in Episode 8: “The Hunger Below”