He Knocked Back

He Knocked Back

By Zemal

It started like any other night.

“Knock knock,” Lily whispered, her tiny knuckles tapping twice on her bedroom wall. A giggle bubbled from her throat, muffled beneath the weight of her comforter and the plush army of stuffed animals standing guard around her.

She always waited for the silence. It was part of the game. She’d invented it herself—an imaginary friend who lived on the other side of the wall. Her parents humored it, the way parents do. A phase, a child’s invention. An echo chamber for dreams.

But this time, there was an answer.

Knock. Knock.

Lily froze. At first, she smiled wider. She was only six, and for a six-year-old, imagination often feels like magic. But as the knock settled into her bones, so did something colder. Their house didn’t share walls. It stood alone. There was no one on the other side.

She told her mom the next morning.

“It was probably an echo,” her mother said without looking up from her coffee. “Or the pipes. Old houses like this make funny noises.”

Her dad added, “Next time, tell your little wall buddy it’s bedtime.”

That night, Lily hesitated. But curiosity, as it always does in children, outweighed fear.

“Knock knock,” she tried again, barely above a whisper.

Knock. Knock.

Slower this time. Heavier. As if someone was thinking.

“Who’s there?” she asked, emboldened.

A pause. No sound. But then—

Knoooock... knock.

Drawn-out. Deliberate. Not playful. Not a joke. Lily sat up in bed.

“Is it a game?” she asked the wall.

No answer.

From then on, it became routine.

Some nights, she knocked and got no reply. Other nights, the knocks came first. Once, she was already drifting off when Knock knock echoed behind her. She jumped and turned on the nightlight.

She began to notice things. Her dolls would be in different positions. Her closet door, always closed tightly, would be cracked open in the morning. Her goldfish died without explanation. Her cat, Dusty, hissed at the wall and refused to enter the room.

Still, she kept knocking.

Children accept strange things. What adults would flee from, they often embrace.

Until the night he spoke.

“Knock knock,” she whispered.

And the wall whispered back, “Come play.”

Lily’s mom found her in the hallway the next morning, curled into herself, mumbling knock-knock jokes in her sleep. Her fingernails were torn and raw, her little hands pressed against the cold wall.

That night, Lily didn’t sleep in her room. Her parents were spooked but not convinced. A sleepwalker, they said. Maybe even a fever dream.

They let her sleep in their room, nestled between them. But around 3:13 a.m., they were jolted awake by Knock. Knock.

On the wall behind their bed.

Lily didn’t stir. She just smiled in her sleep.

The family moved out within a week.

Years later, when the property was sold, the new owners brought in a contractor to renovate. While removing drywall in Lily’s old room, he found something buried inside the inner cavity of the wall.

A thin layer of insulation. Old toys.

And handprints.

Child-sized. Pressed from the inside out.

They called the police, but no missing persons matched the age or time frame. No evidence of a second child. Just the unsettling realization that the house was built with its secrets, and had been waiting patiently for someone to knock.

The house sits abandoned now. The “For Sale” sign sways in the wind. Local kids dare each other to walk up to the porch at night. Most don’t.

But those who do sometimes swear they hear it.

Just behind the walls.

Knock. Knock.

And if you're foolish enough to answer…

He knocks back.