“The Girl Alone at Night: The Door That Wouldn’t Stay Closed”

“The Girl Alone at Night: The Door That Wouldn’t Stay Closed”

It was past midnight when Nimra, a 20-year-old university student, realized she was the only one left at home. Her parents were away visiting relatives, and her younger sister was at a friend’s sleepover.

The house felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears until you hear your own heartbeat. She tried to ignore it, making herself tea and scrolling through Instagram. But every now and then, she thought she heard something — a faint creak in the ceiling, the soft thud of something shifting in the darkness.

She laughed nervously to herself.

“Old houses make noises. That’s all,” she whispered.

The Uneasy Hour

By 12:45 a.m., the lights flickered. The Wi-Fi cut out. Her phone was at 12% battery.

Then she heard it: a slow knock on the front door.

Not once, not twice, but three times.

Nimra froze. Who could be at the door at this hour? She crept to the peephole. The porch light was off, but she could make out a figure — tall, unmoving, standing completely still.

Her breath caught in her throat. She backed away quietly.

Then her phone buzzed. A WhatsApp message popped up from an unknown number:

“Why don’t you open the door, Nimra?”

Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t told anyone she was alone.

The Door

The knocks grew louder, harder, until the entire door shook on its hinges. Nimra grabbed a kitchen knife and whispered, “Go away!”

Suddenly, the knocking stopped.

The silence was worse than the sound. She tiptoed back upstairs, every floorboard betraying her with a groan. She locked her bedroom door, switched off the light, and slid under the blanket, praying the night would end quickly.

The Footsteps

But then — footsteps. Inside the house. Slow, deliberate, heavy.

Her eyes widened in the dark. She had locked the main door. No one should have been able to enter. And yet, she heard them — moving up the stairs, closer, closer.

Her trembling hands reached for her phone. 5% battery left. She dialed her father, but the line went dead.

The footsteps stopped. Right outside her bedroom door.

📜 The Paper

A long pause. Then, the faint scrape of paper sliding under her door.

With shaking hands, she picked it up. Written in uneven letters were four chilling words:

“I AM BEHIND YOU.”

Her breath stopped. She turned slowly toward the window — and saw the reflection of a man in the glass. Tall. Hooded. Standing in the shadows of her room.

She screamed, but no sound came out.

Morning After

The next morning, her parents returned to find Nimra unconscious on the floor. The room was empty, the door still locked from the inside. Police found no signs of forced entry.

The only evidence was the crumpled paper, still clutched in her hand.

To this day, Nimra refuses to talk about what happened that night. The neighbors say they sometimes see a shadowy figure outside her window, even when the house is locked and dark.

Some say it was a stalker. Others whisper it was something else entirely.

All Nimra says is this:

“The scariest part wasn’t that he was in my room.

It was that he whispered my name like he’d known me forever.”