The Last Knock at Midnight:

The night time became heavy with silence, the kind that presses against your chest and makes each breath experience like a secret. Aisha sat alone in her dimly lit rental, her palms wrapped round a chipped porcelain mug. The tea inside had lengthy long gone bloodless, however she held it besides, as though the warmth would possibly return if she just waited long enough.

She had been ready all night. looking forward to something she couldn’t call, something that gnawed at her nerves and made her glance on the clock each couple of minutes. nighttime changed into approaching, and with it got here the reminiscence of the ultimate three nights.

Three nights. three knocks.

At exactly 12:00 a.m., a person had knocked on her door. just once. A single, deliberate knock. No footsteps in the hallway, no shadow below the door, no voice calling her call. simply the knock.

the primary night time, she concept it turned into a prank. maybe a neighbor’s infant, bold themselves to play a recreation. She overlooked it.

The second night, she felt uneasy. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for motion. nothing. when she eventually opened it, the hallway changed into empty, the air nevertheless.

The 0.33 night, she didn’t open the door at all. She sat frozen, her coronary heart pounding so loudly she notion whoever become outdoor might listen it.

Now, the fourth night time was here.

The clock ticked in the direction of middle of the night. Aisha’s condo turned into small, however this night it felt cavernous, each shadow stretching longer than it need to. She tried to distract herself—scrolling thru her phone, flipping thru a book—but her eyes stored darting returned to the door.

Eleven:59.

Her pulse quickened. She set the mug down, her arms trembling.

12:00.

The silence was unbearable. She held her breath, waiting.

Then it got here.Knock. just one.

Her belly dropped. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. alternatively, she stood, her legs susceptible, and walked slowly towards the door. every step felt like a betrayal of her very own safety.

She pressed her hand in opposition to the wooden, feeling its cool surface. “Who’s there?” she whispered, her voice slightly audible.

No solution.

Her mind raced. have to she open it? ought to she call a person? but who might agree with her? A single knock in the dead of night wasn’t evidence of something.

She reached for the lock, hesitated, after which pulled her hand returned.That’s while she observed some thing. The knock hadn’t echoed. It hadn’t seemed like wooden towards timber. It was softer, duller, nearly as though it had come from within the condo.

Her blood ran bloodless.

Aisha spun round, scanning the room. The shadows seemed to shift, curling at the rims of her imaginative and prescient. She subsidized faraway from the door, her breath short and shallow.

“stop it,” she whispered to herself. “You’re imagining things.”

however then she noticed it. At the window across the room, faint condensation had formed, though the glass were clean moments in the past. And within the condensation, a unmarried handprint regarded.

Her knees almost gave out. She stumbled backward, clutching the brink of the table. The knock hadn’t come from the hallway. It had come from inner.

She forced herself to transport, grabbing her smartphone and dialing her exceptional pal, Sara. the call rang once, twice, three instances. No answer.

Her panic grew. She tried again. nevertheless nothing. All at once, the phone buzzed in her hand. A message.

From Sara. But it wasn’t what she anticipated. It examine: Don’t open the door. Don’t observe the window. simply wait. Her heart stopped. How ought to Sara understand? She typed returned frantically: What’s going on? How do you realize?

No reply.

The mins dragged on. Aisha sat curled on the couch, her phone clutched tightly. every creak of the constructing made her flinch. The handprint on the window remained, stark towards the glass.

Then, at 12:15, some other knock.

This time, it came from the toilet door.

Her scream tore via the silence. She ran to the front door, fumbling with the lock, determined to break out. but while she pulled it open, the hallway become not empty.

Sara stood there.

Her face faded, her eyes wide. “I instructed you not to open it,” she whispered. At the back of Aisha, the toilet door creaked open.

The tale ends here, unresolved, suspended in the second among terror and revelation. became it a haunting? A stalker? A trick of the thoughts? Or some thing some distance darker, something Sara knew but couldn’t explain?

The unanswered query lingers, just like the echo of a unmarried knock at nighttime.