The Knock from Nowhere

It came at midnight.

A steady thump, seconds apart, continuous.

It awoke Ophelia from her deep slumber, dragging her unwillingly back to the waking world one harrowing beat at a time. She stumbled from the shadowed room, barely making it down the stairs in one piece. The minuscule light protruding from the almost-blackout curtains lit fractions of her space, thanks to the bedroom directly facing a glaring streetlight. Slippers forgotten in the dream-like haze she was clouded with, Ophelia felt a flush of chill shoot up from her toes as she stepped down onto the concrete floor. She stepped back onto the carpeted staircase, the shock of the ice cold ground snapping her awake rather quickly.

The rhythmic knocking continued.

Ophelia turned towards the door, situated on the side of the house. A narrow alleyway led between the buildings, twisting and turning around the odd design to allow the residents to reach their homes. She started towards it, walking on her heels to avoid the chilly ground. She crept through the small living space, past the wall-lenght mirror and almost tripped over the old armchair, certain it had been closer to the wall before.

Reaching the front door, an eerie feeling washed over Ophelia. Her hand was raised, ready to turn the lock and swing it open. She paused, trying to shake the remnants of the dream away. It blurred her mind, cascading more shade across the world and obscuring her thoughts from reality.

The door was dark. The outside was dark. Everything was dark.

The knocking continued. Ophelia felt the urge to call out, to scare away whomever was outside bothering her. The light was off. The movement sensor flickered, a small green dot to show it was working. She could see it through the translucent window.

Nothing was there. There couldn’t be, or else the light would have turned itself on. It was constantly going on and off, at all hours of the night, whenever someone wandered home in the odd hours. Drunk, lost, just finished with a shift - there was rarely an hour where the alley stayed dark.

And yet, in the darkness, the knocking continued. Steady, slow, sinister.

Ophelia leaned on the door, pressing her face close to the hazy glass. She couldn’t see past her nose, the blackness so thick that nothing seemed able to penetrate through. Taking a deep breath, she turned the silver key and slowly pried the door open.

The knocking stopped.

The sudden silence took her breath away, and though she poked her head out and looked left and right up the alleyway, she saw nothing. No footprints on the damp ground, no breath sounds from beside her. Nothing.

Closing and locking the door firmly behind her, Ophelia exhaled a long, relieved breath. She looked through the small window once more, and satisfied that nothing was outside, started for the staircase once more.

The very moment her sole reached the soft carpet, a knock sounded again. Goosebumps ran the length of her bare arms, another involuntary shiver raced down her body.

Ophelia braced herself against the handrail, turning herself in a circle trying to find the source of the noise. She was certain it had been coming from the door, absolutely certain. But of course, nothing was there. Not a soul in sight.

The sound seemed to come from all directions, spinning around until she became dizzy with fright. Heart racing, head reeling.

Stumbling from her place, Ophelia knocked into the side table, sending a lamp cascading from the surface. She reached it before it clattered to the ground, and from her touch, the bulb was lit. Shaking hands placed it gently back on the worn wood, wide eyes taking in so much light they started to burn.

The knocking kept going, though suddenly with the light, she could focus better on the sound. It seemed to echo around her small room, bouncing from one wall to the next with force.

Closing her eyes, Ophelia grounded herself in the room. She knew where everything was and how far to reach each object. She focused on the sound, and started walking towards it. Her toes found the foot of the old armchair, and she held in a scream of sudden pain.

‘That chair shouldn’t be there,’ she thought, recalling it was out of place when she initially went searching for the obnoxious noise.

Beside the chair, the mirror stood tall and proud. Bought from an antique store the week before, Ophelia had rested it behind the old chair until she found a better home for it. Such a beautiful ornate piece should be flaunted, not hidden away.

It seemed the mirror thought so, too.

Ophelia approached the glass with caution. The knocking continued from the other side, rattling the reflective surface slightly so she couldn’t see her true reflection.

Her hand reached out of its own accord, and before Ophelia realised what was happening, her palm was pressed against the glass. She felt a sudden warmth against her cold skin, and saw something in the mirror.

A fist, large and hairy, banging against the surface in a steady rhythm. It was bruised and bleeding, leaving faint streaks of blood sliding down to the ground.

Ophelia turned but saw no-one else in her small house. She reached towards the hand and again felt an aura of warmth around it. She went to wipe the streaks away from the glass, but her fingers could not reach.

It was on the inside.

Her hand hovered by the knocking fist for a moment too long.

Perhaps she was simply over-tired and imagining things. The knocking could simply be a branch blowing against the bricks in the wind. Her eyes were perhaps playing tricks on her, the lights dancing in her vision.

The knocking fist stopped. And reached through the glass.