It started with a knock at midnight.

The sound was so soft that at first, I thought I had imagined it. But then it came again—three precise taps against my front door.

I glanced at my phone. 12:00 AM.

My heart thudded as I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Through the peephole, there was nothing but darkness.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

A cold chill crept down my spine. I hesitated, debating whether to open the door. Then, as if in response to my doubt, a package slid into view from beneath the door.

A plain cardboard box. No labels, no sender, nothing.

I stood frozen for what felt like forever before finally picking it up and carrying it inside. The box was unexpectedly light. With trembling fingers, I peeled back the tape and flipped open the lid.

Inside was a single piece of paper with six words typed neatly in the center:

"Do not look outside. Just hide."

My stomach clenched. I stared at the note, my brain racing through a hundred scenarios. Was this a prank? A joke from a friend?

And then—

A scratching sound at my window.

I turned my head slowly, every nerve in my body on edge. My bedroom window faced the street, but my blinds were down. The scratching continued, soft and deliberate, like fingernails dragging against the glass.

I took an unsteady step backward, clutching the note in my hand. My instincts screamed at me to look. To pull up the blinds and see what was out there.

But the note said not to look.

My phone vibrated on my nightstand. I snatched it up, my fingers fumbling as I unlocked the screen.

Unknown Number: "Whatever you do, DON'T LOOK."

I nearly dropped the phone. My breath came fast and shallow. My mind screamed who is this?! but before I could respond, my bedroom light flickered. Then the power cut out completely.

The scratching at the window stopped.

Darkness swallowed the room. My ears strained for any sound, any movement, but there was nothing. The silence was suffocating.

And then, as my eyes adjusted, I saw it.

A shadow at the base of my door.

A pair of feet.

Bare. Motionless. Standing right outside my room.

I stopped breathing. My body refused to move, locked in a fear so primal that all I could do was stand there, gripping my phone, heart hammering against my ribs.

Then—

tap. tap. tap.

Three soft knocks on my bedroom door.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But where? The only exit was through the door, and whatever stood on the other side wasn’t human.

My phone vibrated again.

Unknown Number: "Don’t move. It doesn’t know you’re awake."

I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. My eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon, an escape, anything.

Another message popped up.

"Close your eyes. Count to 30."

My pulse pounded in my ears. I had no choice. I clenched my eyes shut and, in my head, began to count.

One… two… three…

The floor creaked.

Seven… eight… nine…

A breath. Right on the other side of the door.

Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…

I felt it. A presence. Watching. Waiting.

Twenty-two… twenty-three… twenty-four…

A whisper—so soft, I almost didn’t hear it.

"Come outside."

Twenty-nine… thirty.

Silence.

I opened my eyes.

The shadow at the door was gone.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I dared to move. My hands were shaking as I reached for the door, pressing my ear against the wood. Nothing.

Slowly, I turned the knob. My breath hitched as I inched the door open.

The hallway was empty.

The house was silent.

My phone vibrated again.

Unknown Number: "Check your front door."

Every instinct told me not to, but I couldn’t ignore it. Heart pounding, I made my way down the hall, past the living room, and to the front entrance.

The package was gone.

But in its place was something worse.

A photo.

A photo of me. Asleep in my bed. Taken from inside my room.

The timestamp? 11:59 PM.

One minute before the first knock.

I staggered backward, my mind reeling, my stomach twisting into knots. My shaking hands flipped the photo over. More typed words on the back:

"You looked, didn’t you?"

The lights flickered back on.

And the knocking started again.

tap. tap. tap.

I did the only thing I could think of—I bolted out of my house. My feet pounded against the pavement as I ran down the darkened street, heart racing like a drum. Where could I go? Who would believe me?

I didn’t stop running until I reached the only place that felt remotely safe—my best friend Mark’s house. I banged on his door until he finally answered, groggy and confused.

"Dude, what the hell? It’s the middle of the night."

"Mark, someone—something—was in my house."

He frowned, but when he saw my face, his expression darkened. "Come inside."

I collapsed onto his couch, trying to explain everything between gasping breaths. The package, the messages, the feet at my door.

Mark didn’t laugh. He didn’t call me crazy. Instead, he got up, walked to his bookshelf, and pulled out a dusty old book. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for and turned it towards me.

It was an old urban legend. A story about The Midnight Watcher.

A being that knocks at your door at midnight. If you open it, it takes something from you—your voice, your memories, or worse.

I felt sick. "Mark… I looked."

He swallowed hard. "Then it’s not over."

My phone buzzed again. My hands trembled as I turned it over.

Unknown Number: "We saw you."

The lights in Mark’s house flickered. And the knocking began again.

Final Thought:
You’re home alone. It’s midnight. There’s a knock at the door.

What do you do?