The Tapping at 2 A.M.(Part 2)

read part 1 for better understanding......

Emma’s breath caught as the shadow moved closer. It was tall and thin, swaying like it wasn’t quite solid. The tapping had stopped, but the silence felt heavy. Like the room was holding its breath. She stepped back, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her chest.

The room got colder, and Emma could see her breath in the air. The shadow didn’t come closer, but it felt like it was pushing her down, making it hard to think. She looked at the door behind her. It was still open, just a few steps away. She could make it. She had to.

But as she turned to run, the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Emma screamed, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. She grabbed the doorknob, twisting and pulling, but it wouldn’t open. Her flashlight fell from her hand and rolled across the floor, its light flickering near the broken TV.

The shadow moved.

It glided toward her, its shape-shifting like smoke. Emma pressed herself against the door, her mind racing. The cold was sinking into her bones, and the whispers were back—louder now, more desperate. They swirled around her, bits of words she couldn’t understand, but the fear in them was clear.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “What do you want?”

The shadow stopped just a few feet away. For a moment, it seemed to think. Then, slowly, it raised one arm—if you could call it an arm—and pointed toward the window.

Emma looked. The handprints were still there, smeared across the glass, but now they seemed to glow faintly. The words “HELP ME” were still visible, but below them, something new had appeared: a date, written in shaky letters. 10-31-1998.

Her mind raced. What did it mean? A clue? A warning? She looked back at the shadow, but it was gone. The room was empty again, the air still and quiet. The door creaked open behind her, like it was telling her to leave.

She didn’t wait. Emma grabbed the flashlight and ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and across the courtyard. She didn’t stop until she was back in her own apartment, the door locked and the curtains closed tight.

But even as she sat on her couch, trying to calm down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. The shadow was still there, watching, waiting. And the whispers… they hadn’t stopped. They were softer now, almost gentle, but they were there, just barely audible.

Emma knew she couldn’t ignore this. Whatever—or whoever—was in that apartment, it needed her help. And if she didn’t figure out what it wanted, she had a feeling it would never leave her alone.

The next morning, she went to the library. If the date meant something, she was going to find out what. She spent hours looking through old newspapers, her hands shaking as she turned the pages. And then she found it.

October 31, 1998: Local Man Disappears Without a Trace.

The article was short. A man named Daniel Hargrove had gone missing from his apartment on the fourth floor of the building across the courtyard. His neighbor said he’d been acting strange, talking about hearing voices and seeing shadows in his apartment. The police had searched but found nothing. The case had gone cold.

Emma’s stomach turned as she read the article. Daniel Hargrove. The shadow. The whispers. It all made sense now. He was still there, trapped in that apartment, trying to get help.

But how could she help him? She didn’t know anything about ghosts or how to free them. And even if she did, the thought of going back into that apartment made her skin crawl.

That night, the tapping came back. It was softer this time, almost like it was begging. Emma sat by her window, staring at the dark building across the courtyard. She knew what she had to do.

She grabbed her flashlight and a small bag of supplies—salt, a candle, and a lighter, things she’d read about online—and crossed the courtyard again. The door to the apartment was still unlocked, and the air inside was just as cold and stale as before.

“Daniel,” she called out, her voice shaky. “I’m here. I want to help you.”

The shadow appeared almost instantly, its form flickering like a weak flame. It didn’t come closer this time, just stood there, swaying gently. The whispers grew louder, clearer, and Emma could finally understand the words.

“Thank you,” they said. “Thank you.”

Emma lit the candle and placed it on the floor, then sprinkled a circle of salt around herself. She didn’t know if it would work, but she had to try. She closed her eyes and thought about Daniel Hargrove, about the man he had been before he became this shadow.

“You’re free,” she whispered. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air around her seemed to shift, and the whispers turned into a soft, gentle sound. The shadow began to break apart, its form dissolving into tiny specks of light that floated up and disappeared.

When Emma opened her eyes, the apartment was quiet. The cold was gone, and the handprints on the window had faded, leaving only faint traces behind.

She didn’t know if she had really helped Daniel move on, or if the shadow would come back. But for now, the tapping had stopped, and the whispers were gone. And that was enough.

As she left the apartment and crossed the courtyard, she looked up at the window one last time. It was dark, the curtains still and quiet. But for the first time since she’d moved in, it didn’t feel like something was watching her.

Emma smiled faintly and went back inside. She had a feeling she’d sleep well tonight.