Scary Story 4 — Knock Knock

It started when I was around the age of 8. It was my birthday, and I was going to have a lot of family and friends over to celebrate. While we were setting up, one of my uncles asked if I could grab a ladder for them out of our shed. I obliged, and headed around the house to the back. The ladder was in the very back, and the shed door was on springs, so it would shut automatically. I opened the door and stepped inside. As I reached for the ladder, the door banged shut behind me. As soon as it shut, someone started to repeatedly knock on the door right when it shut, and I jumped at the unexpected noise.

“Hey kid,” A voice I didn’t recognize said. “Hey, you gotta let me in.”

Whoever was outside had to be playing a trick on me. The shed didn’t have a lock yet, so they could open it up whenever they wanted. I decided to stay quiet, not say a word.

The knocking got more frantic, and the voice started to sound desperate. “Please, listen,” The voice said. “You have to let me in. Just open the door and let me in!”

The knocking progressed into banging, and I got scared, so I tucked myself in the corner and waited for what felt like forever. Eventually, The banging stopped, and outside became quiet. I carefully peeked outside and found no one. I quickly grabbed the ladder and left.

I didn’t have another experience like this one for years, and I chalked the first one up as a prank and forgot about it all.

But than high school came around. I was now a sophomore, just doing their best to juggle life and school without feeling terribly overwhelmed. One day, I headed to the bathroom during class. I closed the stall door and locked it, and than the knocking came again.

The voice was different from before, a female, which I thought was strange because I was in the men’s restroom. But the panic in their voice was the same, I could hear it, despite how calm they were trying to be.

“Hey, you, do you think you could open this door for me?” She said, knocking lightly.

I didn’t want to say anything, like last time. It was weird enough that it was a girl in the men’s restroom, but I definitely didn’t want to be sharing a stall with her. Than I looked down, under the space between the stall door and the floor. There were no visible legs or feet outside the stall, just empty space. I bent down and looked under all the stalls to see if they were trying to hide off to the side where I couldn’t see. There was no one.

She knocked again. “Please, I can see you. I know you’re there. I just need to get in.”

I sat on the toilet, brought my knees up to my chest, folded my arms and buried my face in them, content on waiting this whole scenario out. I didn’t really believe in ghosts, and I didn’t want to. This whole thing was freaking me out.

Eventually, just like last time, after getting progressively frantic, the voice left and the knocking stopped.

As I got older, these instances got more and more frequent. I would be in the weirdest places when someone would knock. Bedrooms, bathrooms, phone booths, et cetera. Any place that had a door, really.

The people varied greatly in all aspects. Some broke down and cried when I continued to refuse to open the door, others swore at me. Some just knocked quietly, not saying a word, but every strike of their fist on the door sound just as desperate as the others, if not more. Female, male, as young as children, and old enough to be my grandparents. I’ve heard many different languages ranging from the known to unknown.

But no matter what the circumstances, no matter where I was or who was on the other side, I never opened it. It was hard, sometimes, especially when I had children on the other side. I will admit, I was curious. What would happen if I did open a door, just once? Would I be greeted by nothing, or will someone magically appear when no one was there? Those were some of the curious questions, but I often had the anxiety questions come into mind as well, to balance out the curiosity. What if there was a demon on the other side? A ghost maybe? Would my soul get taken, or would I just die? Maybe I’d get possessed.

As unorthodox as some of these questions were, they helped keep me from opening the doors, and I eventually learned to live with the knocking and voices.

One night, 30 years after the first instance, I was sleeping in my bedroom when the knocking came again. It woke me up, and caused me to sit up. I’ve had instances where people knocked in the night, but I generally ignored them. But the knocking was different this time. It came from the window. As far as I’ve known, the knocking was always coming from a door.

I climbed out of bed slowly and walked up to my window, pulling back the curtain to see outside. It was pitch black, which was odd because I got the curtain to stop the street lights from shining through my window and keeping me awake.

The knocking came again, and I felt cold. The knocking sounded more like a tapping, like with the tip of your fingernail. Small cracks started forming in the middle of the window. A long, thin claw broke through the window. It wasn’t human.

I ran toward my door and reached for the handle, only to find that there wasn’t one. I ran my hands up and down the entire door, but there was nothing. I looked down to see light filtering in through the crack at the bottom of the door. I bent down and looked through it. To my surprise, instead of my hallway, I was looking into a classroom I didn’t recognize. Desks in neat rows facing a white board, and sitting in one of the desks was a boy who couldn’t be much older than 14.

I knocked on the door, and the boys head snapped toward the door in surprise. “Hello? What are you doing in the cabinet?” He asked.

The tapping from the window turned into drumming, and I could hear the glass starting to break.

I knocked again. “Hey, kid. Open this door for me, please? I really need to get out of here.”

Writer, dreamer, random-stuff-sayer.