Knock

Stacey is 20 years old and lives by herself. Yet, she can't help but feel like the bumps she hears in the night aren't figments of her imagination . . .

It was 2:17 AM when what sounded like a knock pulled Stacey from her sleep. For a long moment, not knowing what else to do, she continued to lie in bed. She stared into the darkness that drowned her bedroom with eyes that she didn’t realize were wide open. There was silence around her for what felt like ages. Finally, she decided that it had only been a bump in the night. Yet as she snuggled the side of her head into her silk pillowcase, there it was again, from downstairs.
            Knock.
            Stacey’s eyes flew open once more. She wanted to get up, but found herself petrified. Paranoia flooded her with a barrage of ideas that, albeit foolish, left her terrified. The most prominent was that an intruder had broken into her home and made the loud noise by accident. If she stood up, her floorboards would creak; the second floor was especially prone to this. The intruder would know that she was awake and, worse yet, exactly where she was.
            Though she’d thought it was accidental, a few seconds later she again heard the noise.
            Knock.
            Now, Stacey was growing more confused than frightened.
            What is that? She wondered. It’s too early for someone to be at the front door, but if an intruder made that sound, then why make it again? Shouldn’t they want to stay quiet? Those knocks are loud enough to wake me up!
            So, despite her fear, she decided that she had to get to the bottom of this. She picked her phone up off of the bedside table, plucking it from its charger to hold it close to her chest.
            20 years old and living in the house all alone, she felt fear at the thought of standing up, so she took her time when she did. Sure enough, the floor creaked. She froze.
            When nothing happened, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief and tip-toed to her open bedroom door. There she stood, peaking through the crack as she waited for the noise that she now anticipated.
            Knock.
            Whoever"or whatever"was making the sound had to be doing so on purpose. She stood frozen in fear for what felt like an hour but must’ve only been five minutes. There it came again to pull her from her horror.
            Knock.
            Stacey pressed herself against the wall, ponytail crunching against it. When she turned on her phone, she flinched when the bright screen flashed in her face, blinding her. As she blinked her eyes to adjust, she found herself about to speed-dial her parents. The moment she realized what her body had in mind, though, she stopped herself.
            It had been her own idea to live alone. Her mother had told her that it was a bad idea; that sooner or later she’d come crawling back to stay with her. She’d always been a paranoid girl, disturbed by the most innocent of bumps in the night. Her hyperactive imagination, she felt, was to blame. If she called her parents and started crying, only to find out that the noise was nothing, she’d feel like an idiot!
            Knock.
            I know; I’ll text Max!
            She let her hands return to her contact list. At the top was Max’s name; her ex-boyfriend, but still a friend. Opening their texts, she saw the last ones they’d exchanged, yesterday: “Thanks for what you said there. It meant a lot to me.” “No worries, Stace.”
            She’d always worried that he didn’t care about her anymore. After all, she’d been the one to break up with him, last New Year’s Eve. During the countdown. She’d always regretted that detail. Would he ever enjoy a New Year again? To her surprise, though, yesterday he’d confessed that he did care and that he enjoyed being her friend. It had been such a surprise, in fact, that Stacey had cried over it the instant she was alone.
            He’s bound to be awake right now.
            “Max, come over,” she wrote. Wait, no. He doesn’t have a car. A few backspaces. “Max, are you there?” Again, hesitation. Of course he’s there, but he’s not likely to respond . . . He ignores me unless I have something important to say.
            Is this important? I could be about to die. But what if it’s nothing? He’ll think I’m a scaredy-cat.
            Knock.
            So, with a mask of faux bravado, she decided her pride as a woman was a priority and deleted the text. No one had murdered her yet, and still that knocking continued. If someone wanted to harm her, they would’ve done so already. She waited for the noise. Right on cue, she heard it.
            Knock.
            After turning off her phone’s screen, Stacey finally pulled herself off the wall. She slunk from her bedroom, being as careful as she could; those floorboards were the loudest in the house.
            Creeeeaaaak.
            She froze again and waited for the sound.
            Knock.
            Considering that to mean that she was still in the clear, Stacey let out an anxious huff. The stairs were terrifying. Even so, she made her way down them one at a time. She walked sideways, distributing her weight more on the middle of each step than on either end. She did this because at some point she’d learned that this prevented them from creaking so much.
            It didn’t take her very long at all to make it down to the first floor. At the foot of the stairs, she held her phone close with trembling hands and waited for the sound to guide her.
            Knock.
            Stacey felt her blood run cold. The sound was coming from the basement. Quivering like a dying leaf, she approached the top of the descending stairs.
            This floor had moonlight pouring in from various windows, basking it in a celestial blue glow. Juxtaposing this serenity, the basement was pitch black. Stacey’s heart was in her throat.
            Oh, why does it have to be coming from the basement, of all places? Why not the kitchen? Why not from under the living room couch?
            Knock.
            There it came again to haunt her, like a bad dream. Though every fiber of her being told her to run away, she turned on her phone’s flashlight. With a level of hesitance unknown to her until that moment, she panned it down to look into the dark abyss before her.
            The basement was spacious and large, but also filled with a maze of boxes still packed from her move. As such, though she could now see the stairs, she could see little else. She waited again for the knock.
            . . . But there was only silence.
            Mortified as Stacey was, her curiosity got the better of her. She felt numb, as if her conscience was cowering in terror. Regardless, she made her descent into the dark basement. Her heart pounded like she was running a marathon; it felt like she’d die of sheer fright!
            Then, she saw it: a hollow wooden box sitting on the floor near some of the others. That particular box had held photographs, but she’d emptied it at some point. While she did recall leaving it down there, she couldn’t recall whether she’d left it on the floor like this. All of a sudden, from behind a stack of boxes came a thick ball of artificial yarn that she’d bought for her cat. It rolled at a steady rate before bouncing against the wooden box.
            Knock.
            As the ball returned to the darkness, Stacey felt a mix of emotions wash over her: relief, glee, and last but not least . . . disappointment at her own fright. She loosened up and let out a titter to herself.
            Of course! God, how could I forget about Mittens? I’ve got half a mind to kill this stupid cat, but, oh, I’m so relieved!
            When the ball rolled out once more, Stacey picked it up. “Bad, Mittens,” she scolded with a laugh. “You scared me half to death!”
            With that dealt with, Stacey took a deep breath to calm herself. There would be no more knocking. So, pretending that she hadn’t spent so long sneaking around in pure terror, she returned to her bedroom. Once there, she crouched and picked up her phone’s charging cord.
            After standing up on the bed and stretching, Mittens stepped closer and meowed. With a tender, relaxed smile on her face, Stacey gave the cat a pat on the head. It took a few seconds for her heart to sink, her smile shifting into a frown as she realized that something wasn’t right.
            Mittens was her only cat.
            That was when she heard the floorboards right outside her bedroom creak. After a few seconds of inner hysteria, she heard it, against the door.
            Knock.

Reviews

[Franky]

Oh my! I wasn't expecting that twist at the end. Nice job of making me relate to this and causing my heart to race a lot while reading. Whew!!