The Stranger at Midnight

It was a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to hold its breath, suspended in stillness. Sarah sat in her living room, her legs tucked under her, a book resting on her lap. The house was empty — just her and the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. She had always enjoyed the peace of the late hours. But tonight, something felt off.

The wind howled outside, rattling the old windows of her cottage. The trees swayed in the distance, casting eerie shadows against the dark sky. She glanced at the clock. Midnight.

Perfect time for a scary story, she thought, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of her mind.

Then came the knock.

At first, Sarah thought it was just her imagination, a faint sound carried by the wind. But when it came again, louder this time, she froze. It was a knock at the door — three sharp raps, as if someone was desperate to get in.

Her heart skipped. Who could be at her door at this hour? The only people who knew she lived here were her close friends, and none of them would visit unannounced in the middle of the night.

Sarah stood, her pulse quickening. She approached the door slowly, peering through the peephole. But there was no one there.

A shiver ran down her spine. She backed away from the door, her hands trembling. It’s probably nothing. Maybe someone knocked by mistake, she tried to convince herself.

But as she turned back toward the living room, there it came again — a louder, more urgent knock. This time, it was followed by a soft voice, barely a whisper.

“Let me in.”

The voice sent a chill through Sarah’s bones. It wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t anyone she knew. It was deep, raspy, like it had been dragged through years of dust and decay.

She stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Who is this?

Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, and for a moment, she almost reached out to unlock it. But something held her back. A gut feeling. Something felt off.

The voice came again, but this time, it was closer — much closer.

“I said, let me in. I know you’re there.”

Sarah’s eyes darted around the room, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. The house was silent except for the rapid thumping of her heart. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn’t know who was on the other side of that door, but one thing was clear: they were anything but ordinary.

With trembling hands, she grabbed her phone from the table and dialed 911. The line connected.

"911, what's your emergency?"

“Someone’s at my door,” Sarah whispered, struggling to keep her voice steady. “They’re knocking, and… and they’re asking me to let them in. I don’t know who they are.”

“Stay calm,” the dispatcher replied, her tone steady but laced with concern. “Can you tell me your address?”

As Sarah recited her address, she heard the knocking again. This time, it wasn’t just at the door. It was coming from the windows — all of them. The walls seemed to shake with the force of the knocks, and she could hear the faint scraping of nails against the glass.

Her stomach twisted. How did they get around the house so quickly?

The dispatcher’s voice turned urgent. “Ma’am, stay inside and lock all doors. The police are on their way, but I need you to remain calm. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

Sarah barely registered the dispatcher’s words. She had already moved to the back of the house, locking every door behind her. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her hands trembled as she pressed herself against the wall, trying to stay hidden.

The house fell silent all of a sudden.

The knocking ceased. The scratching stopped. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing but quiet.

Sarah held her breath, straining to hear any sound, anything that might reveal what was going on. Had they left? Were they lying in wait for her to make a move?

Then, a soft thud. And another.

She tiptoed to the window and peered through the curtains.

A figure loomed in her backyard, just beyond the trees. The silhouette was tall and unnaturally thin. Its features were shrouded in darkness, but Sarah could make out the outline of its long, twisted limbs. It stood still, as if it were waiting for her to notice it.

The figure’s head tilted slowly to one side, and in the faint light, Sarah could have sworn it was smiling.

Her stomach dropped, and her thoughts raced. I’m not imagining this. It’s real. I’m not alone.

In a panic, she grabbed her phone again, her fingers slick with sweat. The dispatcher’s voice crackled through once more.

“Ma’am, I need you to stay inside. The officers are on their way, but you need to lock yourself in a room and stay there until we arrive.”

Sarah stepped back from the window, her hands shaking. Panic surged through her. Every instinct told her to flee, to escape the house, but where could she go? The figure outside blocked her only exit.

A sudden noise made her jump. A light tapping at the window drew her attention.

It was a hand — pale and twisted, with long, gnarled fingers. The nails scraped against the glass as the figure methodically tapped its knuckles, peering inside.

Now she could see its face — contorted into a grotesque grin, skin an ashen gray stretched tight over sharp bones. Its eyes were wide and black as coal, yet there was something eerily familiar about its expression. It wasn’t just a monster… it was watching her, studying her, almost as if it recognized her.

Then, the door behind her creaked open.

“Sarah…”

The voice was soft, soothing — familiar. But it wasn’t hers.

She turned around, her breath hitching in her throat.

A figure stood in the doorway. It looked like… her father. He had died years ago, yet here he was, standing before her just as he had in life.

“Dad?” Sarah gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Is that really you?”

But the figure’s face twisted, stretching in an unnatural way, and those same black eyes glowed with an unholy light. It wasn’t her father at all. It was something else — a creature pretending to be him.

The figure at the window grinned wider, its nails tapping more rapidly, as if urging the one in the doorway on.

“I’m here to let you in,” it said, its voice now harsh and guttural. “Come to me.”

The world around her seemed to darken, and the walls began to close in.

With a final, desperate scream, Sarah dashed toward the door, slamming it shut behind her. But deep down, as she crumpled to the floor, she understood there was no escaping them. The strangers. The things that wore the faces of people she once loved. They were everywhere now — inside, outside, lurking.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

Hours later, when the police arrived, they found nothing. The house was eerily quiet. Sarah had vanished. The only trace left behind was a single note, hastily scrawled in frantic handwriting on the wall:

"They are still here. They're always watching."

But the door stayed locked.

And the windows? Empty.