The Tapping at 2 A.M.

It started with the noise.

Emma had just moved into her new apartment on the third floor of an old building. The apartment was small but nice, with big windows that let in lots of light during the day. At night, though, the building felt different. The stairs creaked, the pipes made strange sounds, and sometimes she heard a loud thud from the apartment above. But the worst sound came from the apartment across the courtyard.

Every night, around 2 a.m., she would hear it—a soft, steady tapping. It sounded like someone knocking on glass, slow and careful. At first, she thought it was just the wind or a tree branch hitting a window. But the sound was too regular, like it was on purpose.

One night, she got curious. She went to her window and looked across the courtyard. The building across from hers was dark, except for one window on the fourth floor. The curtains were closed, but she could see a faint light behind them, like a TV was on. Then she saw it—a shadow moving behind the curtains. It was tall and thin, almost too thin, and it seemed to sway slightly, like it was waiting.

The tapping started again, louder this time. Emma froze. The sound wasn’t coming from the window with the shadow—it was coming from her window.

She turned around, her heart racing. The room was empty, but the tapping kept going, sharp and steady. She forced herself to look at the glass. There was nothing there, just her own scared face staring back at her.

The next morning, she tried to tell herself it was just her imagination. But that night, the tapping came back. This time, there was also a low, rough whisper. She couldn’t understand the words, but the voice sounded desperate, like it was begging for something.

Emma decided to find out more. She asked the building manager about the apartment across the courtyard.

“Oh, that place has been empty for years,” the manager said, looking uneasy. “The last person who lived there moved out after… well, let’s just say they had some problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Emma asked, her stomach twisting.

The manager paused. “They said they kept seeing someone in the window—a tall, thin figure. They said it would tap on the glass at night, trying to get their attention. We checked it out, but there was never anyone there.”

Emma felt a chill run down her spine. That night, she kept her curtains closed and tried to ignore the tapping. But it got louder, more urgent, until it sounded like fists banging on the glass. The whispers turned into screams, muffled but clear.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed a flashlight and went to the apartment across the courtyard. The door was unlocked, and the air inside was dusty and stale. The living room was empty except for an old, broken TV in the corner. The screen was cracked, and the power cord was torn.

But the window… the window was covered in hand prints. Dozens of them, smeared across the glass like someone had been trying to get out. And in the middle of the glass, written in the dust, were two words:

“HELP ME.”

Emma stumbled back, her flashlight shaking in her hand. As she turned to leave, she heard the tapping again—this time, from inside the apartment. She looked back at the window and saw the shadow again, tall and thin, swaying slowly.

It wasn’t behind the curtains anymore.

It was in the room with her.