Don't Look Too Closely

Something was just…off.

It was 2 am, and Evan was finally shutting down his gaming console after a few hours of catching up with his friends on a slow Thursday evening. Of course, those few hours had turned into several after talking trash across glowing screens and friendly fire, and he cursed under his breath after checking the time on his phone. His screen’s harsh blue light seemed almost too bright, slicing through the dim calm of his apartment. Along with the hum of the refrigerator and faint tick of the wall clock, everything felt unusually loud in the quiet aftermath of digital laughter.

Evan stretched, setting the controller on his coffee table, its plastic clack echoing far too sharply. He blinked and gave a low laugh to himself.

“Get it together, man. You’re tired, that’s all.” He ran his hands over his face, his words coming out quieter than he expected, nearly swallowed by the stillness.

At least he was working remotely in the morning. His laptop sat open on the dining table, lid dimming, cursor blinking like a patient heartbeat.

Evan stood from the couch with a low groan, the routine mechanical: shut lights off, rinse the dishes, double-check the door was locked. Living alone had made him meticulous. But that night, something about the ordinary movements felt strained, like acting out a memory instead of inhabiting it.

And when his finger hovered over the switch near his front door, a yawn cracked his jaw. Mid-yawn, he froze.

Knock knock.

The sound was light, but deliberate; two solid raps that seemed to vibrate against the air more than the door itself. Evan’s hand lingered midair. His first instinct was irritation. Probably one of his neighbors again. The walls were paper-thin; this building was a glorified box with plumbing. Still, something about the timing and precision of it…it made him uneasy.

He leaned towards the peephole, then stopped. The tiny glass circle gleamed faintly under the hallway light filtering through the cracks beneath the door. He hesitated, pulse ticking upward, irrationally. He didn’t know why; the hole was just a lens, just glass and metal. But, it was something that always unnerved him a little; a tunnel of distortion, curving the world outside in a building fish-eye-view. It made reality feel warped, untrustworthy.

He swallowed and pressed his eye to it.

Nothing. Just the usual scuffed beige of the opposite wall, the dead potted plant in the corner where his adjacent neighbor was, the exit sign bleeding red through the cheap glass.

He waited a second longer, just in case. His own breathing began fogging the peephole, but nothing happened.

“Huh,” he muttered, stepping back. Probably just the upstairs neighbors goofing off again, the two kids living there tended to use his floor as a racetrack, terrorizing every tenant in the process.

Evan flipped the switch, letting the entryway drown in darkness before shuffling back toward the living room.

Knock knock knock.

The rhythm was sharper this time, quicker as his muscles locked up, stopping dead in his tracks.

He turned again, staring at the door. The apartment seemed to tilt slightly, as if the sound itself had weight. For a long moment, Evan stood motionless, jaw clenched, before stepping closer, quietly, steps light and deliberate. He peered through the peephole again.

Still nothing.

He pressed his forehead lightly against the door, listening. The hallway on the other side was silent, except for the faint buzzing of a dying fluorescent near the stairwell. Yet, the silence felt wrong, like something was waiting to resume once he wasn’t listening.

Evan rechecked the locks: deadbolt, chain, latch, all secure. With a tired huff, he muttered, “Assholes,” under his breath and walked off.

He made it to the bathroom, toothbrush already in hand, the rhythmic brushing drowning out whatever lingering unease hummed beneath his ribs. He studied himself in the mirror for a long moment, the dark crescents under his eyes, the disheveled curls, the fine line between his brows that deepened when he frowned. Evan spat, rinsed, and exhaled slowly, his hand raising to rub along the scruff lining his jaw.

Knock knock knock.

He froze again, turning out of the bathroom to look at the door again and shutting the light off behind him. It was right there, on the other side of the door.

His irritation flared; he stomped over to the door, flipped each lock, and swung it open, ready to shout.

The hallway was empty.

The dim bulb near the stairwell flickered, buzzing faintly. Shadows leaned against the walls like they were listening as well. Evan stepped half in the doorway, peering up and down the hall. Nothing. Nothing but the smell of old carpet and layers of paint. Yet, the air felt…thicker. His ears strained for any sign of movement, but there was only that awful hum.

He shut the door carefully, the sound of the latch and locks still too loud in the stillness. His heart thudded against his ribs as he stood there, staring at the peephole. Something about it drew his gaze again, its tiny, unblinking glass eye staring back. He felt like he kept looking long enough, something might look back.

Evan shook his head, forcing a laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “God, you’re losing it, man. Just go to bed.”

But the words didn’t land this time. They felt like a plea.

He dragged himself towards his bedroom, tossing his phone onto the nightstand with a dull thud. The neon red of his bedside clock read 2:32, and he finally settled under the blankets. Evan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint, lined shadows cast by the blinds, disrupted occasionally by a passing car or two. Eventually, he drifted toward sleep.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Evan sat up instantly, heart hammering and eyes wide. The sound was louder, more deliberate, and almost angry-sounding. It reverberated through the air as if it were inside the apartment. His skin prickled, hair standing on end as he stood from his bed to pace carefully to the door, avoiding the creaking spots in the floorboards. However, each step felt heavier than it should.

When he finally reached the door, his fingers trembled slightly as he steadied himself against the door, eye leaning towards the peephole.

Someone was there.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall of the entryway behind him, his heart slamming against his ribs. A large and dark mass had filled the lens entirely. No details, just absence. It was almost like someone had pressed their face right up against the other side of the door.

Evan hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to step away and hide, but curiosity pulled him back like a tether. He leaned in again, this time slower.

Nothing.

The hallway was empty again.

He stood there for a long moment, the sound of his own breathing unnaturally loud. He hadn’t heard footsteps, no scuffle, no echo or retreating movement. Whoever, or whatever, had been there had simply vanished.

Evan backed away, every muscle tense. He should call someone. The cops? His friends? What would he even say? Was it someone just playing a prank on him? No, no…

He pressed his palms to his eyes. “Just sleep. You need sleep, idiot.”

Walking quickly back to his bedroom, he took some melatonin reserved for emergencies and climbed back into bed, leaving the hallway light on this time. But he didn’t sleep.

Evan lay there again, eyes open and chest rising and falling too quickly. The faint glow from the hallway light bled through the crack beneath his bedroom door, a thin golden line across the floorboards. It should have been comforting, but instead it looked like a boundary, one that something could easily cross.

He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up higher over his shoulders. The sound of his own breathing felt loud, intrusive. Every little creak in the walls or pipes made his pulse jump. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy, his body finally starting to give in to the exhaustion.

Knock knock.

Evan’s eyes snapped open.

That wasn’t the front door.

He rose upright from his blankets slowly, pulse thrumming in his ears. The sound had been softer this time, but closer. Too close. He glanced at his bedroom door, which was still closed, the same with his windows.

Silence.

He waited, seconds ticked by, then…

Knock knock knock.

He jolted, the sound now coming from the wall just beside his bed. His heart crawled up his throat. He felt himself leaning toward it, holding his breath, rationalizing that it could be an animal. The knock came again, deliberate and steady.

“What the hell…” he whispered. Could it just be an animal?

He threw off the blanket, standing and pressing a shaking hand against the wall. Cold, but nothing beneath it but plaster and air. And nothing sounds like it’s scurrying around on the other side either.

Knock.

This time, it came from the opposite wall, the one facing the hallway. Then again, behind him, near the closet. It was moving.

Evan’s mouth went dry. Stumbling backward, he reached desperately for his nightstand, fumbling for the lamp switch.

Click.

Light flooded the room, warm and steady. For a moment, everything was still, everything seemed ok.

Then, somewhere at the foot of his bed, a final, soft tap.

He froze, his gaze darting downward. The shadows just beyond the edge of his bed, just out of reach of the light, seemed thicker, pooling like spilled ink. One of them shifted.

He could see it plainly, the faint outline of a shape rising. Too tall, too thin.

Evan’s breath caught, hearing a humming from his lamp, and he noticed the light instantly flicker as if reacting to the presence of this shadow. He turned, lunging for it, but the bulb flickered once, twice, then it burst with a sharp pop!

Darkness swallowed the room.

He stood motionless, the ringing stillness pressing in on him. Suddenly, right next to his ear, a whisper of air. A breath.

Knock.

A scream.

Then, silence.