posted on Jul, 4 2010 @ 03:58 AM
This is a true story, based on an experience that I had while living in a cottage last year. I have changed the character around a little, but rest
assured, what you are about to read did happen to me, and remains the scariest experience I have ever had in my life so far. I wrote this today,
while waiting for some good posts to come up on ATS. Hope you enjoy.
The Solitary Knock
It was not the knock itself that startled me, rather the silence that proceeded it, and the ghastly emptiness that followed. It was as if nature
herself had seen what was coming, and had fled back to the forest to avoid contaminating herself with the abomination that had now stumbled unsteadily
out of the woods and onto my back porch, taking with her all the animals and the very wind itself back to hide from this hideous beast. It was a
solid, deliberate knock. Whomever made it left their knuckles resting against the door for the full impact to be felt, before sliding them away only
when the wooden door had echoed it's last. This was a knock that contained an intent that I could not fathom.
My body flooded with a mixture of chemicals, each screeching their own message to my mind. Stay where you are! Run away! Fight it, don't you
see? Fight it! As my body slowly cleared itself of these intrusive chemicals there remained one salient emotion, one so heavy and ponderous that
when it spoke its very body quivered and pulsated thru its words. Fear it. Was the message it delivered with it's sickly smelling breath.
Fear it deeply. And fear it I did.
I should fill you in on some background, while I still have the time to do so. The previous evening, I had arrived at this little cottage, where I
now sit frozen with fear on the lounge room floor. I had moved far from the city where I had spent a large part of my adult years. A disillusion of
marriage, and the subsequent feelings of loneness and depression had convinced me to find greener pastures. And so, I had packed up my now rather
meagre possessions, thrown away what reminded me of my former partner, and leapt into a new life far away, deep within the woods and fields in a
countryside wonderfully anonymous and deeply beautiful. This was to be the second night I had spent in this little cottage that had seemed so homely
and proper in the light of day.
You must understand, the previous days had induced a kind of weary exhaustion, a feeling of hard work done, and for the first time in years an
awareness of the satisfaction that I felt towards my life. As I sat on the threadbare rug that covered my carpet, and warmed myself against the glow
of the fire – which, for the sake of personal reflection was the only light illuminating this room in which I now sit, I was as happy and content as
I could ever remember being.
And now I continue to sit, hairs raised, oblivious to the now cold warmth that still seeped from the fireplace, tensing and watching the door from
behind which the knock had appeared.
I do mean appeared. It did not occur, or announce itself. The knock was a physical presence, trespassing into my house and into my mind. The knock
had a presence far beyond what I would call a sound.
I waited. Surely if I remain as still as I am now then the knock would go away? I did not yet realise at that time that the knock had gone away,
leaving an imprint of itself which had found a way into my mind and relived itself again and again, and with each repetition of the knock inside my
head came a rising terror that threatened to drown out all other thoughts.
I tried to will my eyes to focus on the thin dark line that lay beneath the door and connected me to the unknown presence outside. While gentle light
from the fire played and danced upon the inside of that door, I knew that outside it was as dark and cold as the feeling that still gripped me, all
the while I remained frozen on my threadbare rug, hiding in plain sight in the lounge room floor.
So I watched, much like an animal would. Aware of danger, but unable to define it. All my senses opened and let in a flood of sights of sounds and
of feelings. I could feel the individual fibres of that rug under my hands, and smell the hours old meal I had prepared earlier. But my sight – my
sight betrayed me. For all it saw was the dancing flames, and darkness of that strip under the door and nothing else.
Then I heard the scratching. This was not a sound an animal would make, rather the gritting shrieking sound of metal on brick. There was just one
scratch, long and determined, heavy with power and then, like the knock before it, it was gone.
Although I knew the presence behind the door had not.
Suddenly a terrible and massive thought forced its way into my mind. What if it had seen me? Although the venetian blinds that I had only put up
that day were shut, would there not be small holes where a creature could see? I imagined one large and hate filled eye slowly coming closer to the
glass outside, while the first exhaled breath emitted from this terrible creature lay softly against the glass as fog before disappearing into the