The Third Knock

A man’s quiet Airbnb stay unravels into terror after three unexplained midnight knocks.

The street was quiet when Adam arrived at the Airbnb. It was a one-story bungalow tucked into the dead end of a neighborhood that felt… incomplete. Some homes looked abandoned, others just asleep. No porch lights. No cars. No movement.

His was the only house with a light on.

He'd driven ten hours straight, his eyes raw from the highway and caffeine. All he wanted was a shower, a snack, and to collapse in front of the TV. The inside of the house was clean, if sparse. Beige walls. A few impersonal paintings. A stale smell, like the place had been empty too long.

He unpacked, warmed a gas station sandwich, and settled into the bedroom. Around 9 p.m., halfway through a Netflix comedy, someone knocked on the front door.

Three short knocks. Firm. Not loud.

He paused the TV. Waited.

Another knock.

Adam got up, confused but not worried. Maybe the host? A neighbor?

He opened the door.

A man stood there. Mid-thirties. Beanie hat. Red flannel shirt. He looked just as surprised to see Adam.

“Uh, can I help you?” Adam asked.

The man’s expression twisted slightly as if he’d expected someone else. He mumbled something. Adam couldn't make it out. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark without another word.

Weird.

The next night, it happened again. Same time. Same knocks.

Adam checked the peephole first this time. Same man. Same clothes. Same blank face.

He cracked the door. “What do you want?”

The man stared. His eyes were wide and flat. Then he said, “No,” and turned away again.

Adam watched him walk into the dark, where the porch light didn’t reach, where he seemed to dissolve into it.

That night, Adam left a kitchen light on. Just in case.

On the third night, the knock came later. Closer to midnight.

Three knocks. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Measured.

Adam didn’t move. Just sat up in bed, listening.

A fourth knock. Louder this time. Urgent.

He got up, crept down the hall, and peeked through the peephole.

The man wasn’t there.

No one was.

Then something brushed past the side window.

Adam moved fast to the bedroom. He grabbed his phone, turned on the flashlight. It bounced off the walls. Nothing.

But he could feel it. Like someone had been inside the house for hours and only just decided to let him know.

He turned back toward the living room and saw the front door slowly swinging open. Just a few inches. Enough to creak.

Adam ran and slammed it shut, locking both deadbolts. He pulled a chair against the door and backed away.

That’s when he heard it.

From the hallway closet, behind him:

Knock. Knock. Knock.

From inside the house.

He didn’t check. He didn’t wait.

He ran.