It’s a local superstition: if someone knocks three times at 3:07 a.m., don’t answer. Last night, I heard it — soft, rhythmic knocks on my front door. I froze, checking the clock: 3:07. Then my phone buzzed. A text from my brother: “Whatever you do, don’t open it.” Before I could respond, I heard his voice outside. “It’s me, let me in.”He died three years ago. The knocking hasn’t stopped.