I should have listened to my grandmother. She always told me, "There are certain doors you do not open after midnight, and there are certain knocks you never answer." I laughed it off as old folklore—the kind of stories people tell to keep children inside. But tonight, I learned that some superstitions aren't just stories; they are warnings from people who knew better.
It was exactly 12:05 AM. The rest of the building was submerged in deep, silent slumber, but I was wide awake, buried under my blankets with a book. Then, it started. Thud. Thud. Thud. A sharp, heavy, and deliberate knocking at my front door. My heart skipped a beat. I lived on the fourth floor, and no one ever visited at this hour. I stayed still, waiting for them to leave.
Five minutes passed. The silence felt heavy, pressing against my ears. Then, the second set of knocks came. Thud. Thud. Thud. It was louder this time, aggressive and demanding. I crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty, bathed in the sickly, flickering glow of the fluorescent lights. I called out, "Who’s there?" but only silence answered.
I turned away, feeling foolish, when I realized the sound hadn't stopped. It was coming from inside the apartment.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My blood turned to ice as I realized the sound was coming from my bedroom closet. My bedroom door was wide open, and there, in the dim moonlight, I saw the closet door trembling under the force of the knocks. My phone vibrated violently on the nightstand. I grabbed it, my hands shaking uncontrollably. A message from an unknown number: a photo of me, sitting on my bed, paralyzed in fear. It was taken from inside the closet, looking out.
The caption read: "You shouldn't have checked the door. The guest who enters on the third knock doesn't leave until they are invited in."
I couldn't breathe. My eyes were glued to the closet door as it slowly began to creak open, inch by agonizing inch. A pale, withered hand, with skin like parchment stretched over bone and claws that dug deep into the wood, gripped the edge of the frame.
I didn't run. I couldn't. I was trapped in a nightmare. As the door swung wide, the room grew freezing cold, my breath misting in the air. Behind the closet door, there was no back wall—only a distorted, dark mirror reflecting my room. But the reflection wasn't me. It was something else. A tall, gaunt figure with hollow eyes that mirrored my own face, smiling a jagged, impossible smile.
And then, the sound began again. But this time, it wasn't coming from the door, the closet, or the room. It was echoing from inside my own skull. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The light flickered once and died. I am still sitting on my bed. The closet door is wide open, and the knocking in my head is getting louder. I think it’s finally time to invite them in.
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