The knocking on the door was suspicious, to say the least. It was late and I wasn't expecting any packages. I peered out through the peephole, but no one was there. It didn't look like there were any parcels outside either. I shrugged, yawning. I was too tired to worry about it.

I went about my evening routine, fondly petting my cat before heading off to bed. I closed the door, took off my glasses, and slid under the blankets, but the knocking started again, a bit louder than before. It had to be some kid or salesman or something. But why were they about at... 2:17 AM? Rolling over, I covered my head with a pillow, trying to block out the noise. The knocking stopped once more.

I had fallen asleep when it started again. I jolted awake to the sound, the loudest it had been the entire night. It was a desperate, angry, loud noise. It wasn't coming from the front door either. The sound was coming from the opposite side of the house, almost from the kitchen. I sat up. This was freaky. I called 911, right then and there, and told them what was happening. They said they would be right over.

I fumbled for my glasses on the bedside table, trying to stay quiet. Then I grabbed my knife. I was very uncomfortable; I felt like how I imagined prey might feel when faced with a predator. While I was gathering my wits and my weapon, the knocking had stopped. The silence was scarier than the sound was. I took a soft breath, and walked to my bedroom door. I stared at it apprehensively. Then, tentatively, I reached for the doorknob.

Something tapped on the door, a sound like a fingernail or a claw on the wood. I recoiled and tried to keep from shouting. Shaking, I knelt and looked under the door, but I couldn't see a thing. I didn't hear the doorknob turning. I didn't see the door opening until it was too late.

The police arrived at the house thirteen minutes later, at 3:58 AM. They found the house locked up and there was no answer when they knocked and shouted. They broke in and found my dead body in my bedroom doorway, covered in lacerations and bled dry. My knife was still clasped in my hand. No one ever figured out what killed me, and eventually the case was dropped. My story had no happy ending.