Somebody Has Been Knocking On My Door

It started a week ago. 

It was late, probably a little past midnight, and I was up watching some insipid TV show in the living room, when I heard a knock at the front door; three concise taps. I approached it cautiously, and, though having no reason to be suspicious, I looked through the peephole. There was nobody there.

I had decided it was some neighborhood kids pulling a prank, or perhaps even my imagination. I had nearly forgotten about it until the next night, around the same time, it happened again. Three knocks. This time, I’d been in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I paused to listen harder, but heard nothing else that night. Once again, I shrugged it off.

The next night, I waited for it. I stood at the door at a quarter past twelve, staring through the peephole, as if I were hoping to catch whomever was doing this. The three gentle knocks came again, but I saw no one, despite my porch light being on. 

That time, I finally understood there was something wrong.

Then came the fourth night. I had examined my porch and front door extensively, hoping to come up with an explanation. I could find nothing that would make such a distinct knocking sound. I had begun to doubt that it was someone playing a prank. My house sits further back from the street, and the neighbors are far enough away that I doubted I was hearing things from them.

I pulled a chair up to my door and intended to wait until it happened again. I supposed I could wait outside, but something in my gut told me that isn’t a good idea. Instead, I sat, browsing on my phone, and waiting for the knocking to come. It was never exact in timing, but I knew it was always around 12:15 in the morning. I tapped my foot impatiently, and checked my watch every now and then. 

What was I expecting to find, I wondered? I had no answers, but I still thought something didn’t feel right. I stood up to check for visitors, but as usual, my porch was empty. 

Come 12:20, I was beginning to think I’d gone mad, sitting at the door like this. Maybe I had been imagining it… .

I had just stood to go to bed, when I heard it. The beautiful, terrifying proof that I was not crazy. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Very soft. Polite, even. 

I hesitated. What now? I peeked out the peephole. There was nobody there, of course. 

I reached out and touched the doorknob hesitantly. What would happen if I opened it? 

Knock - knock - knock.

This was a first. The knocks were rapid, and more insistent this time. 

I drew my hand back from the doorknob. Did it—whatever it was— know I was here? 

I grimaced, and chanced a look out through the peephole again. But still, nothing. 

Holding my breath, I reached out for the doorknob again. 

I opened the door. For some reason, I was still surprised there was nobody here. As I began to close the door, I heard something that sent shivers down my spine. A disembodied voice spoke to me, loud and clear.

“May I come in?” the voice asked. It was deep, a man’s voice, and very smooth. 

I gasped, and slammed the door shut, locking it firmly behind me. I cowered against it, my heart pounding. What the hell was that? 

Knock knock knock.

The knocks were even quicker now, and whatever it was felt… frustrated. 

What should I do?  Let it in? I felt sick at the thought. I didn’t even know what it was, or what it wanted. 

I sat back down in my chair, and slowly rocked back and forth. The knocks continued. I felt now more than ever I must not acknowledge them. I couldn’t let this thing into my house. 

The next morning, I saw on the news that a neighbor less than a block away had been killed, their house broken into. The police had no suspects so far. The victim had placed a 911 call shortly before they were murdered, and the news station played the audio. The terrified voice blasted through my TV speakers:

Please, someone keeps knocking. They want me to let them in. They need me to let them in. Please, help.

I was frozen with fear when I heard those words. Goosebumps appeared on my arms and the back of my neck. I could imagine now what would have happened if I had let it in. I wouldn’t still be here, I was sure of that. After I’d heard the news, I double-checked that my door was locked. 

The knocks came again that night, but I huddled under my blankets in my room, desperate to block them out. I eventually fell asleep. But it’s not over. 

I still hear the knocks every night. I do my best to ignore them, but they’re getting so loud. So persuasive. So unrelenting. I now often find myself sitting by the door at night, toying with the doorknob. I think of how much peace it would bring me if the knocking stopped. I know I shouldn’t, but… I think I want to let them in.