It was a quiet evening, the kind of stillness that presses against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I was home alone, sipping tea, lost in the pages of an old novel. The house was peaceful, every corner filled with silence. Or so I thought.
Then came the knock.
It was subtle at first. A faint rapping on the front door. I paused, thinking it might have been the wind. But no. There it was again—louder this time.
I set my cup down, my heart rate quickening. Slowly, I moved toward the door. My footsteps were soft against the wooden floor, as though I was afraid that whatever waited outside might hear me.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
This time it was insistent. Three sharp, deliberate taps. I swallowed hard and pressed my eye to the peephole. No one. Just the empty street illuminated by a flickering streetlight.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling slightly. No response.
I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob. Something in my gut screamed not to open it. But curiosity got the better of me. I turned the knob slowly, cracking the door open just enough to peek outside.
There was no one there. Only the cold night air rushing in, sending shivers down my spine.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
This time the sound came from behind me, inside the house.
I froze. The knock had come from the very door I was standing at—yet it was now closed and locked. My breath caught in my throat as the realization sunk in. Something was playing with me, something unseen. But it was here.
The knocking echoed again, louder now, from every corner of the house, surrounding me. The shadows in the room seemed to shift and stretch, dancing to the rhythm of the relentless knocking. I backed up, trembling, feeling the cold press of fear on my chest.
Suddenly, everything went quiet again. Too quiet.
Then, a whisper right next to my ear: “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The lights flickered. My body went numb with terror, and I turned to run—but something unseen grabbed my arm, pulling me into the darkness.