Everyone in the village knew one rule:
Never open the door after midnight.
Riya laughed at it. Old village stories never scared her. On her first night alone in her ancestral house, she locked the doors, switched off the lights, and went to sleep.
At 12:07 a.m., a knock echoed through the house.
Knock… knock… knock.
Riya froze.
"Probably someone drunk," she whispered, pulling the blanket over her head.
The knocking stopped.
At 12:15 a.m., it came again—louder.
BANG… BANG… BANG.
"Riya," a familiar voice called softly.
It was her mother's voice.
Her heart pounded. Her mother had died three years ago.
"Open the door," the voice begged. "It's cold outside."
Tears rolled down Riya's face. She remembered the rule.
Never open the door.
Suddenly, the voice changed.
"If you don't open it," it growled, "I'll come in myself."
The knocking turned violent. The door shook. The lights flickered.
Riya screamed and shut her eyes.
Silence.
At 6:00 a.m., sunlight filled the room. The door stood untouched.
Relieved, Riya opened her phone.
A message notification blinked on the screen:
Mom: Why didn't you open the door last night?
Behind her, something whispered—
"You were so close."