The Night It Knocked

There was only one rule: never answer the door after dusk.

That was what old man Corman told us when we moved into the crumbling farmhouse at the edge of town. A relic, he called it—a place that had seen too much. He was serious, too, his wrinkled hands trembling as he leaned in close, his breath a mix of whiskey and fear.

“After the sun dips, lock the door, and whatever you do, don’t answer.”

We laughed it off. A town legend, we thought, a ghost story to spook newcomers. But something about his eyes, the way they flicked toward the horizon as the sun began its slow descent, left a chill in my bones.

We locked the door every night after that. For weeks, nothing happened. The nights were still and uneventful, the moon casting long shadows through the cracked windows, but no knocks came. We almost forgot about the warning, letting it slip into the back of our minds.

Until the night it knocked.

It was just after 9 PM. We had finished dinner, the last sliver of daylight fading from the sky. The house creaked in the cooling air, and the wind whispered through the trees, but something felt off. Too quiet. Too still.

Then—knock, knock.

We froze. My sister Emily looked at me, eyes wide. We hadn’t been expecting anyone, especially not after dark. My heart began to race, the sound echoing in my ears.

Another knock, this time louder. Impatient.

“Don’t answer it,” Emily whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t plan to. I couldn’t move, glued to the spot, my skin crawling. Something was wrong. This wasn’t a person. I knew it. I could feel it. But the knocking continued, rhythmic and deliberate.

Knock. Knock.

The door rattled in its frame. Whoever—or whatever—was on the other side wanted in.

Suddenly, a voice called out. “Help me.” It was a woman’s voice, weak, pleading. My instinct screamed to help, to throw open the door and pull whoever it was inside. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Emily’s grip on my arm tightened, her nails digging into my skin.

“Help... me...” The voice cracked, desperate. But there was something off. The words were hollow, like an echo. Like something mimicking a plea for help.

The knocks stopped.

We sat in silence, the house breathing around us. Just as I thought it was over, a soft scratching sound began at the door. A slow, deliberate scrape of nails against wood. Then came the voice again, closer this time, pressing against the door.

“Please... help.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. Emily was shaking beside me. We both knew it now—this wasn’t someone needing help. This was something else.

The scratching stopped, and in the quiet, we heard it—a soft tapping at the window.

I didn’t want to look, but my eyes were drawn to it. There, on the other side of the glass, was a figure. Pale, gaunt, and unnaturally still. Its face was pressed against the window, eyes hollow, lips twisted into a grotesque smile.

Tap. Tap.

It didn’t blink. Just stood there, staring, that awful smile stretching wider.

“Let me in.”

I bolted for the back room, dragging Emily with me. We slammed the door shut, locking it behind us. My heart pounded in my ears as the tapping grew louder, faster. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sound, but it echoed in my skull.

Then came a voice, low and guttural, no longer a plea. A command.

“Let. Me. In.”

The windows rattled, the walls creaked, and the air grew heavy, suffocating. I could hear it, moving around the house, tapping at every window, scraping at every door.

We huddled in the darkness, too terrified to breathe.

It stayed outside all night, scratching, tapping, whispering.

By dawn, the noises stopped. The air lightened, and the oppressive weight lifted.

We didn’t leave the house for hours, not until the sun was high in the sky. When we finally stepped outside, there were deep gouges in the door, the wood splintered and torn. The windows bore smears, handprints that weren’t quite human.

But we never saw what left them.

We moved out the next day.

But every now and then, late at night, I still hear it—a soft, insistent tapping at the door.

Would you answer?