The Third Knock
April 6, 2025
It started with a knock.
Soft. Measured. Tap. Tap.
Jenna glanced at the front door. 11:47 PM. Rain streaked the windows. No one should be out there.
She muted the TV. “Hello?”
Silence.
Then—tap tap—again.
She peeked through the peephole. Nothing but darkness.
Creeped out, she double-locked the door and went back to the couch. Probably some kid messing around. She lived in a quiet suburb. Nothing ever happened here.
Tap. Tap.
The third knock was louder. Closer.
This time, it came from the back door.
Jenna stood, heart racing.
She moved to the kitchen. The backyard was pitch black. She flicked on the light. No one.
She pulled out her phone and texted her neighbor:
You hear knocking? Weird stuff happening.
A typing bubble popped up. Then:
Don’t open the door. Not after the third knock.
Jenna froze.
Tap. Tap.
The knock came again. This time from the window—right beside her.
She turned slowly.
A figure stood just beyond the glass. Pale face. Hollow eyes. Smiling.
It didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Her phone buzzed again:
They only knock three times. Don’t answer. Just wait.
Jenna stepped away from the window. “This is a joke. It has to be.”
The lights flickered.
Suddenly, the knock echoed from inside the house.
Tap. Tap.
From the hallway.
No. She was alone. She had locked everything.
She backed toward her bedroom, grabbing the bat she kept under the couch.
From the dark hallway, a voice whispered:
“Just one more…”
Jenna held her breath. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the storm.
Tap.
The third knock.
This time, it came from her bedroom door.
She hadn’t even realized it had closed.
She whispered, “No. You’re not real.”
The door creaked open an inch.
The whisper came again, just behind it:
“I’m real now.”
She swung the bat hard—connecting with nothing. The room was empty.
But her reflection in the mirror? It smiled.
She wasn’t smiling.
She stepped forward. The reflection stepped back.
Then it knocked on the other side of the glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The mirror cracked.
Jenna turned and ran, throwing open the front door.
Rain hit her like needles, but she didn’t care. She sprinted across the yard to her neighbor’s house, banging on their door.
No answer.
She turned around.
Her house was dark. Windows black. Door closed. Like nothing ever happened.
But standing in the window of her room—was her.
Smiling.
Waving.
Jenna pounded harder. “Let me in! Please!”
The neighbor finally opened the door.
They stared at her, wide-eyed. “Jenna? You’re… but you’re—”
She followed their gaze.
Her reflection stood behind them. Inside their home.
It knocked once on the wall.
Tap.
Then smiled.