She Keeps Knocking at 3:17 AM

It started on a Thursday.

At exactly **3:17 AM**, there was a knock at the door.

Three soft taps.

Darren sat up in bed, groggy and disoriented. The clock glowed red in the dark: *3:17*. His apartment sat on the third floor, down a quiet street. No one visited at this hour—especially not in this weather. Rain pelted the windows. Wind hissed through the cracks in the walls. Still, the knock came again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He shuffled to the door, unsure whether he was dreaming. Through the peephole—nothing. Just the dim hallway light flickering overhead. He opened the door cautiously. No one.

Only a single **wet footprint** on the doormat.

Night Two

Darren tried to rationalize it. Maybe a neighbor was drunk. Maybe it was the building settling. Maybe he was overtired from work.

But on Friday night—again, at **3:17 AM**—**three knocks**.

This time, he didn’t open the door. He crept up to the peephole and held his breath.

At first, nothing.

Then, movement.

A **girl**, barely more than a shadow, stood still at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bone. Her long black hair clung to her face, and she stared directly at his door. She didn’t knock again.

Just watched.

Darren backed away. When he checked again, she was gone.

The Voice Behind the Door

Saturday came. Darren didn’t sleep. He waited, sitting in a chair facing the front door. Knife in hand. The hallway light flickered outside.

And then

**Tap. Tap. Tap.**

3:17 AM.

His chest tightened. Slowly, he approached the door. This time, no peephole. He didn’t want to look.

But then he heard it.

A voice. Low. Almost a whisper.

“Let me in... I’m so cold...”

He froze. It was a girl’s voice, maybe 10 or 12 years old. Shaky. Sad. Not demanding—but pleading.

He didn’t move.

> “Please... just for a moment. Just warm me up...”

He turned off the lights and hid behind the couch.

By morning, she was gone.

The Building’s Secret

Darren asked around. The old man in 3B was the only one who didn’t think he was crazy.

“You heard her, didn’t you?” the man said, his voice a rasp. “The girl. The Knocker.”

Darren nodded slowly.

The man sighed. “She comes to the one who’s alone. She finds them when they’re just lonely enough to listen.”

“Who is she?”

“Some say a girl who died in this building, years ago. Locked outside by mistake. Froze to death. Others say she never existed at all—just something that *wants to be let in.*”

“Why 3:17?”

The man hesitated.

“They found her body at 3:17 AM.”

Night Five: The Lights Go Out

Darren tried everything—salt at the doorway, crosses, prayers, even taping the door shut.

Still, **tap. tap. tap.**

Still, **3:17.**

This time, the lights blew out.

Pitch black.

He grabbed a flashlight—but it flickered like the hallway bulb. He could feel her presence now. Not just outside the door... **inside the walls*. In the floorboards.

Whispers like wind:

“Let me in...”

Then a second knock came.

Not at the front door.

At the bathroom door.

He ran. Drove to a friend’s place and didn’t return for two nights.

She Follows

Darren thought leaving the apartment would end it.

But at **3:17 AM** on Monday night, while sleeping on his friend’s couch, he heard it again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Not on a door this time.

On the window.

Third story. No balcony. No ledge.

And when he pulled back the curtain—

She was upside down, hanging by her feet, grinning.

He screamed.

His friend found nothing. But the footprint she left on the windowpane was still there.

The Choice

Desperate, Darren found a psychic online. An old woman with milky eyes who didn’t flinch when he said the time.

“3:17?” she asked. “She’s closer than I thought.”

“What does she want?”

The woman reached out and touched his chest.

“She wants warmth. A soul. Not just to come in… but to take your place.”

“Can I stop her?”

She thought for a moment.

“You have to open the door.”

“What?! That’s the one thing I’m not supposed to do!”

“Not tonight. But someday. She’ll knock again. And you’ll feel sorry. Or tired. Or just curious enough. And when you open the door—*she enters, and you don’t come back.*”

Darren left shaking.

Final Night

It had been eight days.

Darren hadn't slept in two. He sat in the dark, wrapped in blankets, door triple locked, chair wedged against the knob.

He stared at the clock.

3:16 AM.

His breath held.

3:17.

And then—

Nothing.

No knock.

No whisper.

Just silence.

Darren waited a full hour before finally relaxing. He leaned back in his chair, let his eyes close, relief washing over him like a wave.

Then the closet door creaked open.

From the dark inside came her voice:

“You made me wait.”

The New Apartment

Six months later, a young woman named Riley moved into Darren’s old unit. It was clean. Quiet. Affordable.

She’d heard the rumors but didn’t believe them.

On her first night, she unpacked, made tea, and turned in early.

At exactly 3:17 AM*l, she awoke to three soft knocks at the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She blinked at the clock.

Laughed nervously.

And whispered:

“Must be the pipes.”

But at the door, a shadow waited.

Smiling.

Author’s Note

If you hear a knock at **3:17 AM**, don’t answer.

Not the door.

Not the window.

Not even the closet.

Because **she’s still looking for someone warm to trade places with**.

And she’s very, very patient.

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