Every night at exactly 3:15 AM, someone knocks on my door. Three knocks. Always the same rhythm. But when I check, no one is ever there At first, I thought it was a prank. Until last night when I left my security camera running. And this timeā¦ I saw who was knocking. Or rather,
Or rather, what. It started a month ago. Same time. Same number of knocks. No footprints, no shadow under the door. I asked my landlord if anyone had lived here before me. He went pale and mumbled something about 'moving on quickly.' Wouldnāt say anything else. So I decided to catch the prankster myself. Last night, I set up my phone to record. Pointed it right at the door. At 3:15 AM, the knocking started. Three slow, deliberate knocks. I checked the footage this morning. No one was there. But something worse was. My door moved like someone was pressing their face against it from the other side. And then, clear as day, a voice whispered: 'Let me in.' I didn't sleep after that. When the sun came up, I checked the door. There were scratches near the peephole like fingernails digging into the wood. I ran my fingers over them. They were fresh. Someone or something was trying to get inside.
My neighbor, Mrs. Calloway, is the only other tenant on this floor. I knocked on her door, hoping sheād heard something too. No answer. Her door was unlocked. Inside, her apartment was empty. No furniture, no personal items. Just dust. Like no one had lived there for years. But on her kitchen table, there was one thing left behind: A note. With just three words. 'DONāT OPEN IT.' That night, I sat by the door, knife in hand. 3:15 AM. The knocks came. Three. Slow. Hollow. I stared at the handle. It lookedā¦wrong. Like it was turning itself. Then, in the silence, I heard it again. That whisper. 'Let me in.' I had two choices. Open the door. Or run. My heart pounded. I grabbed the handle hand shaking and yanked the door open. The hallway was empty. But the air was wrong. Freezing. Heavy. And then I looked down. There was something at my feet. A package. With my name on it. And smeared across the top, in something dark and wet, was a single word: 'Welcome.'
I didnāt want to touch it. But I had to know. I peeled back the paper. Inside was an old Polaroid photo. Of my apartment door. Onlyā¦ the photo wasnāt old. It was taken last night. And standing in front of my door staring right into the peephole Was me. I dropped the photo. My head spun. And then Knock. Knock. Knock. My door. 3:15 AM. I wasnāt alone anymore. And this timeā¦ I donāt think I have a choice. I donāt know whatās happening. I donāt know who or what is knocking every night. But I think somehow this has all happened before. And if I donāt figure it out soonā¦ I might be next. I didn't sleep. I taped the peephole shut. Blocked the door with a chair. 3:15 AM. The knocks came. Three slow, deliberate hits. I checked my phone camera to see outside no one there. But when I turned the screen to selfie modeā¦ I wasnāt alone in the reflection. Over my shoulder, standing in the dark was me. I spun around. Nothing there. But the knockingā¦ it didnāt stop this time.
It was getting louder. Faster. Then through the door came my own voice. 'You have to let me in.' My stomach twisted. I forced myself to ask: 'Who are you?' The voice outside answered: 'You. But you made the wrong choice.' I pressed my ear to the door. My own voice whispered back. 'You shouldnāt have opened it. Now, youāre stuck. But thereās still a way out.' My hands were shaking. 'What way?' Silence. Then, a slip of paper slid under the door. A handwritten note. My own handwriting. Four words: 'Break the mirror. Now.' I ran to the bathroom. Stared at my reflection. I lookedā¦ wrong. Like the person staring back wasnāt exactly me. My fingers twitched. My reflectionās didnāt. The knocking turned into pounding. The entire door shook. I didnāt think I grabbed the nearest thing and smashed the mirror. Glass rained down. And thenā¦ Everything went silent. I ran back to the front door. The chair I used to block it? Gone. The peephole tape? Peeled away. I reached for the handle. It swung open on its own. The hallway outside? It wasnāt my building anymore. Everything looked the sameā¦ but wrong. The walls had no doors except mine. No windows. Just an endless, dimly lit hallway. And then I saw it. A figure at the very end of the corridor. Walking toward me. It was me. My other self stopped. I knew, somehow, that I only had seconds to decide. One of us gets to leave. And I donāt think itās supposed to be me. The lights flickered. The walls creaked.
And then my reflection spoke one last time: 'Itās your turn now.' I donāt remember what happened next. I woke up in my bed. But something is off. My apartment door doesnāt lock anymore. My phone has no missed calls. No photos. And the mirror I shattered? Itās back. Perfect. Untouched. Except nowā¦ When I look into it, my reflection doesnāt blink. And every night at 3:15 AMā¦ I hear knocking. From inside the glass. I donāt know if Iām still me. I donāt know what happens if I answer the knocks again. But if you see your own reflection move on its ownā¦ Run.