That night, after the fight, the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Abby lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her wrist still hurt where her father had grabbed her. Melvin couldn’t sleep either—he kept turning toward the window, listening.

Then it came.

Pss-pss.

Pss-pss.

Both of them froze.

It wasn’t outside this time.

It was in the hallway.

Abby sat up slowly, her heart pounding.

Melvin whispered, “Did you hear that?”

Before she could answer, the sound changed.

The pss-pss became soft laughter, drifting closer.

Their father’s voice rang out downstairs.

“Who’s there?!”

Doors slammed. Heavy footsteps shook the floor.

The laughter stopped. Silence pressed in.

Hearing the sound from the hallway, Carl got out of bed and cracked his door open. He saw his father coming. His father’s eyes narrowed, thinking it was Carl who had made the noise.

“Go to bed,” his father ordered.

Meanwhile, downstairs, their mother was reading a book in the living room when she heard a knock at the door.

She froze.

Another knock followed, and then—

“Mom, it’s me, Carl. Open the door.”

She whispered, “What… how did he get there?”

Just as she started to stand, she saw her husband coming down from upstairs.

She turned to him quickly. “Open the door and let Carl in.”

Her husband froze, his face pale with shock.

Neither of them moved.

The knocking came again—louder this time.

“Mom… it’s cold out here. Please let me in.”

The voice was Carl’s. The same tone. The same pitch.

Abby’s mother clutched the book against her chest, trembling. She looked at her husband, but he only stood frozen halfway down the stairs.

“That’s not him,” he whispered.

The knocking stopped. Silence spread through the house like a weight pressing on their chests.

Then the knock came again.

“MOM?”

Abby, Melvin, and Carl heard it from upstairs, too.

Her blood ran cold.

The children ran downstairs and saw their parents, pale and rigid, staring at the door.

None of them dared move closer.

Carl whispered, “Who…”

“Shh. Don’t,” his mother hissed.

Everyone stood frozen, hearts pounding in their chests.

“Who’s there?” their father demanded.

From the other side of the door came the reply—

“Dad, it’s me. Carl.”

The same voice. The same tone.

Carl, Abby, and Melvin stood in shock.

Carl stammered, “Wha—”

“Silence!” his mother snapped sharply, her fear breaking into anger.

His father’s voice trembled as he said, “No… he’s with me. Who is there?”

A laugh broke out from beyond the door—low, but it wasn’t one voice this time. It was many—broken, layered, overlapping.

Her father shouted, though his voice cracked, “Leave us alone!”

The laughter stopped at once.

Silence.

The door rattled. Not from knocking this time, but as if something pressed against it—testing the wood, pushing gently.

Then it stopped.

A whisper seeped through the cracks of the door—so soft it was almost inside their heads.

“Let me in…”

Abby’s mother covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a scream.

They didn’t say anything. They just stood there, frozen.

Suddenly, the door handle twisted slowly, as if something was trying to open it.

Their mother moved closer to her husband. Carl slipped behind his father.

Melvin clutched Abby’s hand tightly.

The twisting stopped.

Then, without warning, it twisted again—harder this time. The handle jerked violently, rattling as the unseen force pushed aggressively against the door.

And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

Their mother broke down, sobbing.

Their father stood in shock, unable to move.