Something Knocks on my Door Every Night at 12:16am

By Chef A10A10A10

//Source.

It first happened last week, Thursday, March the 22nd. It was just after midnight and I was lying awake in bed when I first heard it.

knock knock knock

My first reaction was to look at my phone to see if someone tried calling or texting me. But there were no messages. I live alone in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I couldn’t think of any good reason why someone would be knocking at that time and I decided to ignore it.

But then it happened again the next night at around the same time. I went downstairs this time, took a deep breath, and looked through the peephole.

Nothing was there.

I was getting a little weirded out at this point and decided again not to open the door. But if it happened again tomorrow, I’d be more willing to investigate.

And it did happen again the next night. This time I made note of the specific time. 12:16 am. I was at the door in less than 10 seconds and promptly opened it. It was dark out there and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Was something moving in the shadows near the bushes?

No.

There was nobody there. Nothing. I looked down the street in both directions but saw no movement. It was remarkably quiet out there but I didn’t hear any footsteps. I was confused. Who was knocking on my door every night? And for the first time, I didn’t think who, but what.

I thought back then to the day when the knocking first began and wondered if was related. March 22nd. I was at a funeral that day and I think I need to write a little about it here.

It was for my friend Pete. My best friend growing up. From about 8-15 we were inseparable. We started to lose touch 15-20. The last time I’d heard from him at all was 12 years ago when we were both 22. The strangest thing about his funeral was this… nobody else was there. Just me and a Priest. He was reading an incoherent bible verse when I interrupted him and asked him where everybody else was. He paused for a moment, looked at me, then went back to reading. It felt uncomfortable. I decided to leave.

So is that significant? Did I bring some spirit back with me from the funeral home? Or was I just losing my mind?

I decided I’d try and be quicker the next night. I’d wait near the door and have it opened in seconds. I wouldn’t allow any time for whatever it was to get away. But even this plan failed. It must have been a mere seconds after the knocking stopped before I opened the door. What would stand before me? Was it a neighborhood kid playing a prank? A mischievous spirit? A warning to me from the supernatural? All three options seemed equally unlikely.

But again, it was just empty space. Silence.

I had one more plan for the next night. I slipped outside at midnight and hid behind a neighbor’s car across the street. I had a very clear view of my front door and I’d be able to see whatever is knocking. I remember ducking behind the rear bumper of his car thinking what would my neighbors think if they see me? I looked at my phone. 12:15. It would happen any second now. I looked up and down the street for movement. I couldn’t see anybody. I held my phone in front of me. I watched it turn to 12:16, and still nothing was there. I was actually slightly disappointed for a fraction of a second…. But then I heard it.

knock knock knock

But I’m 100% certain as I write this… nobody was there. I was looking right at my door. But what I did see, for just a moment (and I can’t be certain) was saw a shadowy figure move away from my house. Not human. Not even something real or tangible. It was as though a shadow was moving down the sidewalk. But even I acknowledge… maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I have no idea.

I have tried some other things the past few nights. I stood by my front door one night and recorded the knocks, and then played the recording to my coworkers the next day. I started thinking the knocking was just in my head. But they could hear it. They were confused as to why I was making them listen to it… but they could most certainly hear it.

And then two nights ago I decided to beat the knocking to the punch. I stood with my phone in front of me and opened the door at precisely 12:16, just to see what would happen.

But again, there was nothing there. In fact, the knocking didn’t even happen this time. So if I stood with the door open at 12:16, the knocking would be prevented. What could that mean? And here’s the stranger thing… the knocking did wake me up that morning at 7:07 am. Why 7:07 am this time? Why wouldn’t the knocking happen if I stood with the door open? I have no idea. I’m lost. I’m really really lost.

I’m left very confused because I can’t help but think that maybe there’s some sort of secret code I’m supposed to work out. There’s the date, March 22nd. But also, what about the number of knocks on the door? It’s always three. Does that mean anything? The times the knocking occurs is always 12:16 and 7:07. Do those times represent something?

If anyone thinks of anything, please comment below. I’ll be reading and am open to advice. Maybe I can even try some of your ideas out tonight.

At 12:16 am.


It’s been two nights since I last posted.

On the first of those nights, I simply ignored the knocking again. I was still reading through the comments on my nosleep submission and trying to figure out what to do next.

Some Redditors suggested that, given that the knocking didn’t happen when the door was opened, that I just permanently leave my front door open. But that just seems ridiculous as far as I’m concerned. This is the front door to my house. Anybody could just walk in, let alone rats, raccoons, insects, etc. No, that wasn’t a strong long-term solution.

Others suggested ideas like setting up infrared cameras, leaving a fresh coat of paint on the door to see if prints are left, and even contacting a priest. I thought about maybe eventually resorting to those options.

But a post by u/houseofpwncakes set me on a different path. He suggested I look at Bible passages that match up to the time the knocking occurred. 12:16 and 7:07. Specifically, revelations 12:16 from the bible was recommended. While I was unable to find relevance in that passage, it got me looking into other biblical passages.

Acts 12:16 “But Peter kept on knocking, and when they opened the door and saw him, they were astonished.”

I mean, that couldn’t possibly just be a coincidence, could it? I had been at my friend Pete’s funeral the first day the knocking began. And the passage directly references the knocking.

The second time the knocking occurred was 7:07. After a little digging, I was able to find this passage.

Matthew 7:7 “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.”

The part I focused on was “knock, and it will be opened to you.” Does that mean I should knock back (as some Redditors suggested) and something will happen? If I put it all together… it appears that it really is the spirit of my former friend Pete who was knocking on the door. If I knock back and then open the door, what I see will be “astonishing.”

I decided to give it a try last night.

I was standing by my door at 12:15, waiting…

I was looking at the clock when it clicked over to 12:16, and then I heard it same as usual.

knock knock knock

I raised my hand and knocked back immediately. Three times.

Then I opened the door.

And I was astonished.

What stood before me I could barely see. Light refracted off of it in a strange manner and made it difficult to focus on. It was mostly a shadow and somewhat transparent. It looked both somewhat familiar while at the same time alien from this world. It had a humanoid form but looked tormented, abominable, and odious.

In my state of repulsion and fear, it took me a moment to recognize that somewhere deep down inside this monstrosity was what remained of my friend Pete. It was him. No question.

He didn’t speak to me. Instead, we could sort of see each other’s thoughts. That’s the best way I could explain it.

And I saw all the evil that Pete had done. The reason that nobody other than myself showed up to his funeral. He had been a monster in his adult life. The worst that humanity had to offer. Rape, violence, torture, murder. I saw it all. Most of it he had never even been caught for. But it was a murder that eventually got him put in jail. He was killed there, by another inmate. I saw myself at his funeral, alone, as the Priest read aloud Genesis 3:22, describing when mankind first became aware of the difference between good and evil.

And what happened next was an even worse experience. Both Pete and I were looking at the things that I had done wrong in life. I’m not going to own up to them here. They may pale in comparison to what Pete had done… but I saw how extreme my flaws had become. How badly I’d been corrupted.

The shadowy figure of what used to be my friend Pete held up a hand to wave. I saw the anguish and agony in his eyes… and then he vanished into thin air.

I stood looking into the dark empty yard of my house for at least a minute before quietly shutting the door.

So what did all of this mean? Was it a warning? If I don’t clean up my ways, I’ll also one day become the torturous form that stood before me? How do I start? Should I yell from my window asking a kid to buy the biggest goose in town and deliver it to the Cratchit family?

I’ve been thinking back to my childhood with Pete. Were there any signs of what he’d become? Why hadn’t I ever heard about his crimes? How did I even hear about his funeral? I don’t use any social media. I didn’t receive a letter or a phone call. I just somehow showed up there.

And why did he choose to come and warn me? Because we were friends? Because I was the only person to show up to his funeral?

I wasn’t sure. There wouldn’t be answers. And then I figured out that there was only one thing I could do.

Try and be better.

I did receive another knock yesterday. And I’m certain it will be the last time he ever knocks on my door. One final message. It occurred at 5:17.

It took a bit of digging, but it translates to 17:17 on the 24-hour clock.

I looked at the passage I’m certain he was showing me and smiled. And I think I can make sense of it. I think it all makes sense now.

Proverbs 17:17: A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need.

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Has Anyone Seen This Strange Infomercial?

By Chef Crystakat

//Source.

February 11th

Let me tell you the secret of the century: being a single parent is hard. Yeah, of course it’s worth it and all, but I’m not sure how anyone does this for eighteen years. Shift at the hospital, hurry home and check on Tommy, four hours of shut-eye tops, then another eight hours working retail, rinse and repeat. It’s awesome.

With a schedule that tight, you think I’d froth at the mouth for the chance to get some extra sleep, but lately my insomnia’s getting real bad. The circles under my eyes are starting to look like a permanent fixture. When Tommy’s crying is ringing in my ears and I feel like I’m about to shatter into little pieces, there’s only one outlet: late-night TV. Infomercials, to be exact. More infomercials than you can count.  Continue reading “Has Anyone Seen This Strange Infomercial?”

The Mug

By Chef Unxmaal

//Source.

“Whose mug is this?” Becky asked.

“No idea,” I replied. “What are you talking about?”

“This mug right here,” she said. I leaned back in my chair and craned my neck to see.

“I’m trying to watch this show,” I said. “What’s the big deal about a mug?”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Becky said, getting that tone in her voice like I was about to be in trouble.

“So what? You collect cups and mugs like most people … er, don’t,” I said. If I was going to be in trouble, I might as well go for broke.

“Well, look at it. It’s weird. And I’ve never seen it before.”  Continue reading “The Mug”

Some People in Gas Masks have been Standing Outside of a Building in a Dead Cornfield

By Chef Mr_Outlaw_

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We’d been driving around Texas for a while. Clayton, Tom and I had recently graduated, so we had no destination. We were just there to dick around and create some memories until we had to snap back to real life.

At one point, Tom had gotten into a heated bar-fight at some dingy joint in Bexar County. The police were called. Although he hadn’t gotten any charges, the cops pretty much warned us that we weren’t welcome back in the area. Fair enough. We decided to tone it down a bit. That’s when we started planning some shit that wouldn’t get us potentially stabbed and/or arrested. We all settled on the paranormal. That stuff was just so interesting, you know? I guess it really preys on that esoteric fear of the unknown that the human psyche implicitly holds, stimulating some kind of fucked-up rush to the brain. Anyways, we were in the market for some spooky shit.  Continue reading “Some People in Gas Masks have been Standing Outside of a Building in a Dead Cornfield”

A Shattered Life

By Chef M95Gar/Matt Dymerski

//Source.

//Some of this Chef’s dishes are available as books, including this one. You can find them on Amazon.

I don’t know when you’re going to read this, but I can tell you when it started: I was out for a walk alone in the woods when the entity came for me. It was beyond a blur. It was, for lack of a better term, absence of meaning. Where it hid, there were no trees; where it crept closer, there was no grass; through the arc it leapt at me, there was no breeze of motion. There was no air at all.

As it struck, I felt the distinct sensation of claws puncturing me somewhere unseen; somewhere I’d never felt before. My hands and arms and legs and torso seemed fine and I wasn’t bleeding, but I knew I’d been injured somehow. As I fearfully ran back home, I could tell that I was less. I was vaguely tired, and it was hard to focus at times.  Continue reading “A Shattered Life”

15 years ago my daughter was kidnapped and murdered. Today, she called me.

By Chef -IAMSANTOS-

//Source.

//Story contains themes of sexual violence.

She used to be the sweetest girl. Our little Abbie. When my wife got pregnant I did the chauvinistic thing and bragged to my friends I was having a son. He was going to be a pro football player, or baseball. No, he was going to be an astronaut or a cowboy or a space cowboy! Unfortunately Maurice was never born, instead we got Abigail. Our sweet little girl. At that moment all my chauvinism went away, and I wanted nothing more than to spoil my little angel. I didn’t care about anything else but her happiness. Whether she was famous or rich, it didn’t matter. She was my little girl and I was going to take care of her.

As you can imagine, Abbie grew up spoiled. Anything she wanted, she got. For the first ten years of her life she was the happiest little girl in the world. I quit my job and became a stay at home dad. I got to spend all day with her, it was everything I could ever want. We did everything together. We had breakfast together, bathed together and did errands together. There wasn’t a moment in our day we weren’t together. My wife didn’t mind, she had made her success as a lawyer years ago. Sometimes I think she was more excited about the idea than I was. Her firm needed her and she was able to be there without feeling guilty. By the end of it, she was sure it was her idea to begin with! I didn’t mind her taking the credit though, it made it easier to get what I wanted when she thought she was in charge, and if things went bad she’d be the one feeling guilty.  Continue reading “15 years ago my daughter was kidnapped and murdered. Today, she called me.”

The Thing on the TV

By Chef Unxmaal

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//This is part five of a series. Click here for part one.

When I was about thirteen, I stayed at my uncle’s house over the summer. I didn’t know it, but my parents were getting divorced and they wanted me to have a fun summer without dealing with the stress of moving. I loved my uncle’s place, so I was thrilled to find out that I would get to stay there all summer.  Continue reading “The Thing on the TV”

The Side Tunnel

By Chef Unxmaal

//Source.

//This is part four of a series. For part one, click here.

I hated that town. Sprawled across the rotting foothills of a dead mountain chain, the city was a mass of Old South racism and corruption, filled with inhabitants too poor or too sentimental to leave for someplace better. The city sweltered in the mid-summer heat, smog from traffic mixing with lethal amounts of pollen and dust to form a soup that killed asthmatics as effectively a whiff of mustard gas.

I had acquired a sum of money from a job a few months back, and my needs were modest, so I had nothing better to do than hang out at the fountain downtown, or at the coffee shop nearby. I met Charlie first, when I noticed some truly phenomenal photographs on his laptop. They were all of beautiful, decayed structures, some of which I had seen around town. Charlie never made eye contact as he explained, in his mild, halting speech, that he didn’t take the photos, those were Jack’s, but he handled setting up Jack’s website.  Continue reading “The Side Tunnel”

The Space Between

By Chef Unxmaal

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//This is part three of a series. For part one, click here.

Can a house be evil? Is it possible for a structure of wood and stone and plaster and glass to become more than the sum of its parts, in the negative sense? It certainly happens in the positive sense. Fill a house with light and love and family and that sense of comfort and well-being seems to permeate the very walls of the place. But … is it possible to architect a bad place, however inadvertently, through the unwitting intersection of board and beam?  Continue reading “The Space Between”

Storage

By Chef Unxmaal

//Source.

//This is the sequel to The Stairs and the Doorway

“Your honor, I’ve seen shit that would turn you white!” — Winston, Ghostbusters.

There’s not a lot of work out there for a twenty-ish ex-security guard with a bad case of PTSD. And if that dumb kid was hideously scarred by a ‘serial killer’ that had carved a swathe of victims across three states and disappeared without a trace? That kid can barely get a hamburger at McDonald’s, much less gainful employment.

My parents weren’t able to help much. The wounds on my forehead and cheeks healed after a few weeks, or months. I wasn’t counting. You can still see them if you look closely, or in the moonlight. Nobody looks too closely these days. There’s something about my eyes that seem to reflect the things that I’ve seen.

I can identify with Winston. I’ve seen some shit. And that shit would turn you white, if not stark raving mad. And I may in fact be mad, because I keep seeing shit.  Continue reading “Storage”