I Broke the Rule of Three. Now, It’s Hunting Me

The Rule of Three

There’s an old rule in my family: Never answer a knock at 3 AM. Not even if it sounds like your mother’s voice. Not even if it’s your own hand on the door.

My grandmother told me the rule saved her life. But she never told me what happens if you break it.

I’ve always hated the quiet of 3 AM. It’s like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something to go wrong. I learned the rules young, whispered to me like a lullaby:

1. Never answer a knock at 3 AM.
2. If you hear your name, don’t respond.
3. If you see a shadow without a source, run.

I thought they were just superstitions—quirky family folklore to scare kids into staying in bed. But last week, I broke the first rule. And now, I’m not sure I’ll live to regret it.

It started with a knock.

I was alone in my apartment, scrolling through my phone, when I heard it. Three slow, deliberate raps on the door. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I froze. The clock on my nightstand glowed: 3:00 AM.

“Who the hell is knocking at this hour?” I muttered, trying to shake off the unease.

The knock came again, louder this time. BANG. BANG. BANG.

I crept to the door, peering through the peephole. The hallway was empty.

“Hello?” I called, my voice trembling.

No answer.

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the lock. It’s probably just a prank, I told myself. Or a drunk neighbor.

I opened the door.

The hallway was silent, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly. No one was there.

But the air felt… wrong. Heavy, like I’d just woken something up.

The next night, I heard my name.

It wasn’t from the door this time. It came from inside the apartment. A whisper, so soft I almost missed it.

“Sarah…”

I spun around, my heart pounding. The living room was empty.

“Sarah…”

It came again, this time from the kitchen. I grabbed a knife, my hands shaking, and searched every corner. Nothing.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone.

By the third night, I was losing my mind.

Shadows moved when I wasn’t looking. Once, I swear I saw a figure standing in the corner of my room—tall and featureless, with eyes that glowed like embers. But when I turned on the light, it was gone.

I tried to research the Rule of Three, but all I found was a cryptic forum post:

“The Rule of Three isn’t a superstition. It’s a warning. Once you break it, there’s no going back.”

Last night, it found me.

I woke up to the sound of knocking. Not on the door this time—on my bedroom window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I pulled the covers over my head, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Sarah…”

The voice was closer now, right beside my ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying it would go away.

But then I felt it—a cold hand on my shoulder.

I screamed, scrambling out of bed. The clock on my nightstand glowed: 3:00 AM.

The door wouldn’t open. The windows were locked. My phone was dead.

And then I saw it.

A shadow, darker than the night, standing in the corner of my room. Its eyes glowed like embers, and when it smiled, I saw rows of jagged teeth.

“Sarah…” it whispered, stepping closer.

The last thing I remember is the clock striking 3 AM.

Now, I’m the one knocking.

And if you’re reading this, you’ve already broken the first rule.