The Midnight Knock

A frightened woman stands in a dimly lit living room, turning her head toward a large window. Outside, a pale, twisted face stares back through the glass, casting an eerie and unsettling atmosphere. Shadows creep along the walls, and the room is bathed in low light, creating a tense and horrifying scene filled with fear and suspense.

It was just past midnight when Laura heard the knock. A slow, deliberate tap at the front door. She paused her movie, listening. The knock came again—three steady thuds.

Laura’s neighborhood was quiet, with no reason for visitors this late. She peered through the peephole but saw no one. Uneasy, she called out, “Who’s there?”

No answer.

As she backed away from the door, her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Don’t answer the door.

Her heart raced. She tried to reply, but the number was untraceable.

The knock came again, louder this time. She felt her pulse quicken, unsure whether to call the police or ignore it. Then, another text: Whatever you do, don’t look outside.

Panic set in. She rushed to close all the blinds, locking every door and window. The knocking became frantic, as if whoever was outside was growing impatient.

Suddenly, the noise stopped. Silence.

Laura stood frozen in the middle of the living room, her breath heavy, eyes wide. Just as she was about to exhale a sigh of relief, her phone buzzed one more time: You looked, didn’t you?

Her blood ran cold. Slowly, she turned her head toward the large window she hadn’t covered. A face, pale and twisted, stared back at her through the glass.

The knocking began again, this time from inside the house.

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She was just getting to the good part of a particularly chilling tale when a loud bang echoed through the house, startling her so much that she spilled her tea. Heart pounding, Emily set the cup down and listened. The sound came again, a low, rhythmic thumping that seemed to be coming from the attic. With a mix of curiosity and dread, she grabbed a flashlight and made her way up the narrow staircase. The attic door creaked open, revealing a space filled with dust and shadows. The flashlight beam swept across the room, illuminating old furniture covered in sheets and boxes stacked haphazardly. But there was nothing that could explain the noise. Emily frowned, about to turn and leave when she heard it again—a soft whisper, like the rustle of leaves on a breeze. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaking. There was no answer, just the sound of the rain beating against the roof and the distant roll of thunder. Emily took a step forward, her eyes straining to see into the darkness. The whisper came again, clearer this time, and her heart skipped a beat. It sounded like someone was calling her name. "Emily..." She spun around, the flashlight beam dancing wildly. "This isn't funny," she said, more to herself than to any potential prankster. "If someone is here, show yourself!" The only response was silence. After a few moments, Emily convinced herself that it was just the wind playing tricks on her. She turned to leave, but a sudden cold draft made her stop in her tracks. The temperature had dropped noticeably, and she could see her breath in the air. She took another step, and that's when she saw it—a figure standing in the corner, shrouded in shadow. "Who are you?" Emily demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. The figure didn't move, didn't speak. It was as if it was made of darkness itself. Emily felt a chill run down her spine as she took a cautious step closer. The figure seemed to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind an eerie silence. Shaken, Emily hurried back downstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. She tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination, that the old house was playing tricks on her. But deep down, she knew that something was very wrong. The next few days were a blur of restless nights and unsettling noises. Emily heard whispers in the hallways, footsteps on the stairs, and strange knocking sounds that seemed to come from within the walls. She tried to ignore it, tried to go about her daily routine, but the sense of being watched never left her. Desperate for answers, Emily began researching the history of the house. She learned that it had been built in the late 1800s by a wealthy family, the Thompsons. The house had been their pride and joy until tragedy struck. One stormy night, much like the one when Emily first heard the whispers, the youngest daughter, Isabella, had disappeared without a trace. Her body was never found, and the family was devastated. They eventually moved away, and the house fell into disrepair. Emily couldn't shake the feeling that Isabella's spirit was still in the house, trapped and restless. Determined to help, she decided to hold a séance, hoping to communicate with the ghost and put her to rest. She gathered candles, a Ouija board, and a few personal items that had belonged to Isabella, which she had found in the attic. As night fell, Emily set up the séance in the living room. The candles flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. She placed her hands on the Ouija board and closed her eyes, focusing on the spirit of Isabella. "Isabella, if you can hear me, please give me a sign," she said softly. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Then, the planchette began to move, slowly spelling out a message. H-E-L-P M-E Emily's heart raced as she watched the planchette glide across the board. "What do you need?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The planchette moved again, spelling out another message. F-I-N-D M-E "Where are you?" Emily asked, her eyes scanning the room. The planchette stopped moving, and the candles flickered wildly. Emily felt a cold breeze sweep through the room, and the whispers grew louder, more insistent. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "Isabella, I'm here to help you. Please show me where you are," she said, her voice steady. The whispers seemed to coalesce into a single voice, a soft, pleading cry. Emily followed the sound, her feet carrying her to the base of the stairs. She climbed the steps, the whispers guiding her to the attic door. The attic was cold and dark, the air thick with dust and the smell of decay. Emily's flashlight flickered as she swept it across the room. In the far corner, she saw something that made her blood run cold—a small, wooden trunk, its lid slightly ajar. With trembling hands, Emily approached the trunk and opened it. Inside, she found a collection of old toys, dresses, and a small, faded photograph of a young girl. But it was the diary that caught her attention. She opened it and began to read, her eyes widening with each entry. Isabella had written about the strange occurrences in the house, the whispers and the shadows that seemed to follow her. She had been terrified, convinced that something was trying to take her away. The final entry was the most chilling of all—a description of a dark figure that had appeared in her room, calling her name. Emily felt a sudden rush of understanding. Isabella hadn't disappeared; she had been taken by the same dark force that now haunted the house. Determined to put the spirit to rest, Emily gathered the diary and the photograph and made her way back downstairs. She placed the items on the Ouija board and closed her eyes, focusing all her energy on Isabella's spirit. "Isabella, I found your diary. I know what happened to you. I'm here to help you find peace," she said. The air grew colder, and the whispers became a chorus of voices, all pleading for release. Emily took a deep breath and began to recite a prayer, asking for the spirit to be freed from its torment. As she spoke, the candles flickered and then went out, plunging the room into darkness. Emily felt a presence beside her, a cold hand resting on her shoulder. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the prayer, until she felt the presence begin to fade. When she opened her eyes, the room was silent. The oppressive weight had lifted, and the air felt lighter. Emily let out a sigh of relief, knowing that Isabella's spirit had finally found peace. She spent the rest of the night cleaning up the séance and packing away the Ouija board. As she climbed into bed, she felt a sense of calm that she hadn't experienced since moving into the house. The whispers were gone, and the shadows no longer seemed threatening. Emily knew that she had done the right thing, and as she drifted off to sleep, she felt a gentle breeze brush against her cheek, like a whisper of thanks from the other side.

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