She awoke at 3:33 a.m. to the sound of knocking on the front door. Three sharp knocks. She lay still in bed, holding her breath.
Her flat was on the sixth floor and the building had a doorman, so no one should be knocking at that hour.
Knocks again. Three. Slowly, she got up and walked to the door. He peeked through the peephole, but the hallway was empty. His heart pounded.
-Who is it? -he asked, his voice trembling.
Silence.
She felt a shiver. Something inside her was screaming at her not to open the door. But then she heard something else.
Knock, knock, knock.
This time, the knocking came from her bedroom wardrobe door. Her skin crawled. There was no way anyone was in there. Hands shaking, she grabbed her phone and turned on the torch. She slowly approached the wardrobe, each step harder than the last.
The knocking sounded again, louder this time.
He took a breath and, with a jerk, opened the door. Nothing. Just his clothes and old boxes.
He turned around, sensing that something didn't add up. And then his phone vibrated in his hand. A new message: ‘Don't open the door.’
There was no return address.
Cold sweat trickled down his back. He turned slowly towards the front door and watched in horror as the handle turned slowly from the other side.
And just before the lock gave way, he heard a voice whisper:
-You're taking too long.
The door opened a few inches. The darkness of the corridor seemed to move, as if it were breathing. Then he saw it. A bony hand, with greyish skin and long fingernails, peeked through the opening.
-You're taking too long.... -the voice whispered again, but this time it came from behind her.
An icy breath brushed the back of her neck.
And then the light in the flat flickered... and went out completely. The last thing she felt was a cold touch on her wrist. And then, nothing.
The next morning, the door to her flat was locked as usual.
But she was no longer inside.