The knock came at exactly 3:07 a.m.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just… polite.
Three slow taps.
I froze mid-breath.
No one ever came to my house at night. No friends. No relatives. No neighbors who cared enough to check on me. And certainly not at 3:07 a.m., when even the city outside my apartment seemed dead.
Another knock.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My eyes drifted to the digital clock on my desk.
3:07—still glowing red.
"Hallucination," I whispered.
Sleep deprivation did strange things. I had been awake for almost two days, drowning myself in cheap coffee and unfinished thoughts. My mind was probably playing tricks.
Then came the sound.
A soft voice.
"Arjun… open the door."
My blood turned cold.
No one had called me by my first name in years.
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't echo. It sounded like it was trying not to wake anyone else—as if the person knew I was alone.
I stood up slowly, my legs heavy, my heartbeat loud enough to feel in my throat.
"Who is it?" I asked.
Silence.
I stepped closer to the door. The corridor light outside flickered through the peephole, blinking like a dying eye.
"Who are you?" My voice cracked.
The reply came instantly.
"You already know."
Another knock.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My hand hovered inches from the door handle.
That's when I noticed something wrong.
There was a shadow beneath the door.
But it wasn't shaped like feet.
It was too tall. Too thin.
And it was moving, slowly, like something breathing.
I stumbled back.
"This isn't real," I muttered. "Wake up. Wake up."
The knocking stopped.
Relief washed over me—too quickly.
Then came the scratching.
Long nails dragged gently across the wooden door, not trying to break in… just reminding me it was still there.
"Arjun," the voice whispered again, closer this time. "You promised you'd remember."
A memory flashed in my mind—blurred and painful.
A forest.
Rain.
A scream that ended too suddenly.
My head throbbed.
"I don't know you," I said, louder now. "Go away."
The scratching stopped.
For a few seconds, there was nothing.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This time, the door shook.
"Don't lie," the voice said.
"You opened the door once before."
My stomach dropped.
I had never lived in this apartment before six months ago. I was sure of it. Yet, suddenly, doubt crept in.
Had I?
I looked at the door more carefully.
There were marks on it.
Deep, old scratch marks—half-hidden beneath layers of paint.
From the inside.
My breath caught.
Something moved behind me.
I turned sharply.
The mirror across the room reflected my terrified face—wide eyes, pale skin.
But behind me…
There was another reflection.
Someone was standing inches from my back.
I spun around.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
My phone buzzed violently in my hand. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.
A notification.
Unknown Number.
One message.
Why won't you look at me anymore?
Before I could react, the screen changed.
The front camera turned on by itself.
And in the live preview…
I saw myself standing there.
Staring at the phone.
Smiling.
But I wasn't smiling.
The knocking started again.
This time, it came from inside the room.
Behind the mirror.