When I moved into this house, the landlord had one rule: never open the basement door. He said it was sealed shut for a reason — “something got trapped down there a long time ago.” I laughed it off as superstition.
Last week, I heard it for the first time — soft knocking from behind the door, slow and polite. I tried to ignore it, but it kept returning, always around midnight.
Last night, I pressed my ear against the wood. Between the knocks, I heard breathing. Then, a whisper: “Please, let me out. It’s so dark.”
I ran upstairs and stayed up until dawn. But curiosity won. Today, I went back and noticed something I hadn’t before — faint scratches along the frame, not on the outside, but coming from within.
Tonight, the knocking changed. It’s faster now, desperate. And then I realized — it wasn’t random. It was Morse code. I looked it up.
It spelled my name.
