Don't Let It In

The knock came at 3:02 a.m.

It wasn’t gentle, nor was it quiet; instead, it was loud like a siren, booming like a lightning storm, disturbing the silence within the home.

He laid still in bed, groggy; he’d been sleeping when the knock rudely awakened him. He rubbed his eyes, looked around. He didn’t get up; he tried to go back to sleep.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

He shot up into a sitting position, wide awake now, no longer able to assume it was just his imagination.

The clock beside him, sitting innocently on the dresser, glowed aggressively in the darkness, its red digits revealing how late it was. Who could possibly be beating down his door at this hour?

Then, it came again. Three times, still deliberately loud. But then, repeated. And then, rapid.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!!!

His pulse quickened with each fierce knock, fear overwriting every other emotion. It couldn’t be someone in trouble; the knocks are too aggressive. It couldn’t be someone he knew; they’d be calling out his name, too. It couldn’t be someone trying to break in; they’d have done it quickly.

It sounded like someone with the intent to harm.

He tried to think. Maybe he was wrong. The road leading to his home was long, unpaved, swallowed by the woods; he lived in the middle of nowhere, away from society. Only family and friends knew the precise location of the house.

He told himself he’d stay in bed and ignore the bangs coming from the front door. Whoever it was, they’d never see a light turn on and would assume the house to be unowned. The only problem was the house was too well kept, inside and out, to be unlived in.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!!!

The knocking grew more rapid by the minute, persistent in summoning him to the front door.

His feet hit the wooden floor before he truly decided to make a move. He pulled on the robe draped over the chair and padded down the hallway, down the staircase, careful to avoid the creaky board at the final step.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The knocking, though still loud, had gotten slower again.

The air was cold, colder with each movement closer to the front door. The wood groaned beneath his feet, announcing his presence just steps away from his destination; he’d forgotten about the second loose floorboard.

The front door felt ominous, unsafe to approach further, so he didn’t. He stared, mind wondering what stood behind it. Definitely a man, had to be; tall, muscular, evil eyes, unkempt hair, all things he believed would characterize the person behind the door.

There were no more knocks. Not after the floorboard groaned.

Only silence.

“I know you’re there.”

The voice was deep, distorted, inhuman. It sounded like no voice he’d ever heard before. Something scraped at the wood; fingernails, maybe.

“Let me in.”

His breath caught. His hands shook. His body trembled.

He glanced at the latch; locked.

“No,” he muttered, voice cracking from fear.

“Don’t you want to help me?”

A gasp of fright escaped him; the voice, midsentence, switched from deep to childlike.

“Mister, please. You have to let me in.”

His heart pounded so loud, he thought it was about to jump out of his chest like a baby Xenomorph.

Every instinct within him screamed the same exact thing: DON’T LET IT IN.

He stumbled back a step. The doorknob twisted. The door rattled on its hinges. The knocking returned, the loudest they’d ever been, fast and neverending. Something rammed against the door, a shoulder most likely, but no matter how hard it hit, the door wouldn’t budge.

He backed into the kitchen, groping for his phone on the counter; he always charged it there. The screen lit; no service. The signal, while it often failed, was never just gone completely. And, then, the phone died, at full battery; impossible but it happened, right before his very eyes.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Slow, deliberate, loud like before. Almost like the person behind the door was teasing him.

Minutes passed.

He slowly made his way towards the backdoor. He watched as the doorknob of the front door jiggled, again and again, rougher each time. The person outside was growing impatient.

“Please, let me in. It’s cold out here.”

The deep voice was back.

“Let me in.”

“LeT mE iN.”

“LET ME IN!”

The person was getting angrier. The same as before began again; the doorknob twisted, the door rattled on its hinges, the knocking returned with rapid speed, the door was rammed continuously. Still, the door did not budge beneath the abuse.

He reached the backdoor and unlocked it, but before he opened it, he paused. He wanted to run for it, sprint through the woods until he found someone, anyone, but it was dark, he’d get lost. He was trapped with no escape route.

Coming out of his thoughts, he noticed something. The knocking, the ramming, the rattling, all the noise had stopped. Silence echoed through the house.

He slowly walked back towards the front door, staring it down.

Moments passed. The person, no, the entity never made another sound.

Gathering up courage, he yelled. “I’m not letting you in!”

Silence echoed afterward, not a peek made from the entity behind the door.

And, then, from behind, the backdoor creaked open.

He spun around, utter terror on his face.

With a door finally opened, all that could be seen was complete darkness beyond the barrier between inside and outside.

Then, a whisper came, directly beside his left ear.

“You already did.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Inspired by "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" book series, Creepypasta, CoryxKenshin's "Spooky Scary Sundays" from YouTube, and specific choices from "In Space With Markiplier".