The Last Knock

It was just past midnight when the knocking started.

Three slow, deliberate raps against the front door. I jolted upright, my heart hammering in my chest. Who knocks at this hour? My husband, Ethan, lay still beside me, his breathing deep and unbothered.

Another knock.

I crept to the peephole. Nothing but darkness. Still, an unsettling sensation crawled up my spine. I hesitated before whispering, "Who’s there?"

Silence.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I should call the police. But then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time, it came from the back door. I swallowed hard. No one should be back there. The motion sensor lights didn’t turn on.

Then came the voice.

"Let me in."

I stumbled backward, the voice eerily familiar. It was mine.

"Let me in," it repeated, pleading now. My own voice, distorted, desperate.

Ethan stirred. "Babe? What’s wrong?"

I turned to him, unable to speak. He must’ve seen the fear in my eyes because he was out of bed in seconds, heading toward the back door.

"Ethan, wait—"

Too late. The door creaked open. A rush of cold air filled the room. And standing there, framed by the dim porch light—was me.

My breath hitched. The other me—identical in every way but with hollow, vacant eyes—stared back.

"Ethan," it said, voice like a whisper through glass, "she’s not your wife."

Ethan froze. His gaze darted between us, confusion morphing into terror. "What the hell is this?"

I stepped forward. "Ethan, it’s me. I—"

"No," the other me interrupted, stepping closer. "She’s lying. I’ve been locked outside for so long. Please, you have to believe me."

My head spun. What was happening?

"Ethan, don’t listen to her!" I reached for him, but he flinched away.

"Prove it," he whispered.

Panic flared in my chest. How do you prove you’re yourself?

The other me smirked. "She won’t be able to. But I can." She turned to Ethan, voice trembling with emotion. "Remember last year, when we got lost on our anniversary trip? You told me you’d never let go of my hand. And I promised I’d always find my way back to you."

Ethan’s lips parted. His face softened.

I gasped. "No—"

His fingers laced with hers.

"Ethan!"

A cold, crushing force wrapped around me. My body convulsed, vision tunneling. The last thing I saw was my reflection—smiling.

Then darkness.

Morning light streamed through the windows. Ethan hummed as he brewed coffee, completely at ease.

I stepped up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He leaned into my touch.

"I had the strangest dream last night," he murmured. "You were…different. Afraid. Like you weren’t really you."

I kissed his shoulder, my lips curling.

"That’s silly," I whispered. "I’m right here."