The Three Knocks

The city had gone quiet hours ago. Outside, the streetlights flickered lazily, washing the empty road in a pale, dying glow. Inside apartment 3B, Alina sat cross-legged on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through her messages for the tenth time in a row.

She lived alone. She liked the silence… at least she used to.

Tonight the silence felt too heavy, too aware.

Her charger was across the room plugged into the wall. Her phone was at 3%, but she was too lazy to get up. She tossed it aside and lay back, staring at the cracks on the ceiling. The apartment was old—older than most of the buildings on the block—and sometimes at night the pipes moaned like they were alive.

She was used to that.

But she wasn’t used to this.

TOK — TOK — TOK

Three knocks. Sharp. Slow. Too deliberate.

Alina froze. A cold shiver crawled up her spine.

No one should be knocking at this hour. Not at 1:13 AM.

“Probably the neighbor,” she whispered to herself, though she didn’t believe it.

The knocks came again, exactly the same rhythm.

TOK — TOK — TOK

She pushed herself off the bed and tip-toed out of her room, her breath shallow. The hallway was almost completely dark except for the weak glow from the bathroom night-light. The world felt muffled, like something was holding its breath behind the walls.

She approached the front door slowly, every step heavier than the one before.

“Who’s there?” she called out, trying to sound brave.

Silence.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“I said—who’s there?”

Still nothing.

She waited. One second. Two seconds. Three—

TOK — TOK — TOK

This time it sounded closer… like the knocks came from just inches away from her face, though she still hadn’t reached the door.

Her knees trembled.

She leaned her head toward the peephole. The hallway outside looked empty—silent, undisturbed, not even a shadow.

“Maybe it’s a prank,” she murmured, swallowing tightly.

But the building was nearly empty tonight. The old woman in 3C was away visiting her daughter. The college boys upstairs were out of town. The landlord lived in another neighborhood.

She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t a prank.

She turned the lock with shaky fingers.

Click.

Then, with a long breath, she pulled the door open.

The hallway was completely empty.

A draft of cold air brushed past her ankles like something slipping by.

Alina stepped out a little, looking left, then right. Nothing.

No footsteps. No voices. No doors opening or closing.

It was as if the entire floor was deserted.

“See? You’re overthinking,” she whispered.

She shut the door and locked it again.

But when she turned around—

Her phone was on the floor in the middle of the living room.

She frowned. “What the hell?”

She hadn’t brought it out here. She clearly remembered leaving it on the bed. She bent down and picked it up. The battery was at 12%, even though she hadn’t charged it.

Then the screen lit up by itself.

A notification had appeared.

A voice message.

From UNKNOWN.

Her throat tightened.

Hands trembling, she pressed play.

A faint hiss played through the speaker at first, like someone breathing too close to the microphone. Then, layered beneath the static, a slow whisper crawled through:

“Don’t open the door.”

Alina’s heart stuttered.

“What—?” She replayed it.

The voice was low. Male. Rough. But distorted, like someone speaking from far away… or underwater.

Again:

“Don’t open the door.”

A chill ran down her spine. Her mouth went dry. She turned slowly toward the front door, half expecting someone—or something—to be standing there.

Nothing.

She quickly grabbed her charger and plugged her phone in, desperate to call someone, anyone. But as soon as the wire clicked into the phone, the lights in the apartment flickered.

Then went out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

“Not now, please not now,” she whispered.

She fumbled for her phone. It was still on, screen glowing faintly in the dark. Then, without warning, another notification slid across the top:

NEW VOICE MESSAGE – UNKNOWN

She didn’t touch the phone. She didn’t breathe.

The message opened on its own.

Static. Wet breathing. Then the same whisper:

“He’s inside.”

Alina dropped the phone.

“No—no, no, no—”

She backed up until her shoulders hit the wall. Her pulse hammered against her skull. The apartment was silent again, but she could feel it—something else was here with her.

For the first time, she wished she wasn’t alone.

The phone screen blinked. A new message appeared.

A text this time.

“Turn around.”

Alina squeezed her eyes shut. Tears burned in the corners. Her hands shook uncontrollably.

Another message:

“I said turn around.”

Her breath hitched. Slowly, painfully slowly, she lifted her head.

Her ears picked up the slightest sound behind her.

TOK…

A single knock.

But not on the door.

It came from inside the apartment, just inches away, on the wall right behind her.

Alina couldn’t move.

Another knock.

TOK.

Then a whisper, so close it brushed the back of her neck:

“You opened the door for me.”

The lights flickered on for a split second—and she saw it in the reflection of the window across from her.

A figure.

Tall, thin, head tilted unnaturally to one side.

Its skin grey and stretched tight like old paper.

Its mouth too wide.

Its eyes completely black.

Standing directly behind her.

The lights went out again.

Alina screamed.

She ran. She stumbled into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Her hands scrambled for anything heavy—she shoved a dresser in front of the door, then collapsed to the floor shaking violently.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t want to look. But she couldn’t stop herself.

New notification.

UNKNOWN: “There’s no lock that keeps me out.”

The dresser behind her scraped.

Not by her.

Something was pushing it.

Her breath strangled in her throat.

She clutched the phone to her chest, whispering:

“Please… please… please…”

The scraping stopped.

Silence.

For a moment she dared to hope maybe it left.

Then—

TOK — TOK — TOK

Right on the bedroom door.

Slow.

Patient.

And then the whisper slid through the wooden cracks like smoke:

“I’ve been inside since the first knock.”