At exactly 3:17 every morning, someone knocked on Nora Vale’s door.

Three knocks.

Never two.

Never four.

Always three.

The first night, she ignored it.

The second night, she checked the hallway.

The third night, she opened the door.

There was nobody there.

Only a small black envelope lying on the floor.

No name.

No address.

No explanation.

Inside was a photograph.

Nora stared at it for almost a minute before she understood what she was seeing.

It was a photograph of her bedroom.

Taken from inside her bedroom.

She could see herself sleeping.

The photograph had been taken that same night.

On the back, someone had written:

YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE MOVED INTO THIS HOUSE.

Nora immediately called the police.

By the time they arrived, the envelope was gone.

The photograph remained.

The officer looked at it.

“Could be a prank.”

Nora stared at him.

“A prank?”

“Yes.”

“Someone photographed me while I was sleeping.”

The officer shrugged.

“Maybe someone has access to the house.”

Nora looked toward the locked front door.

“That isn’t making me feel better.”

The officer gave her a tired smile.

“Change the locks.”

He left.

Nora didn’t sleep.

She sat on the sofa until sunrise.

Except there was no sunrise.

At least, not that morning.

The sky remained dark.

The clocks continued moving.

4:00.

5:00.

6:00.

7:00.

But outside, the neighborhood remained completely black.

Nora walked to the window.

The streetlights were on.

The houses were visible.

But the sky looked like midnight.

At 8:12, her phone rang.

It was her younger brother, Daniel.

She answered immediately.

“Daniel?”

There was silence.

Then his voice.

“Nora.”

She relaxed.

“Where are you?”

Another pause.

“Don’t leave the house.”

Nora frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I saw someone watching your window.”

She looked toward the glass.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Daniel, what happened?”

His breathing became uneven.

“Nora…”

“What?”

“Do you remember the house?”

She frowned.

“What house?”

“The one we grew up in.”

Nora’s heart suddenly beat faster.

“Our old house?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

Daniel whispered:

“It’s the same house.”

Nora looked around.

Her blood turned cold.

“No.”

“The same walls.”

“No.”

“The same staircase.”

“Daniel, stop.”

“The same locked basement.”

Nora dropped the phone.

She slowly turned toward the hallway.

At the end of it was a door.

A door she had never noticed before.

It was painted black.

A brass number was attached to it.

17

Nora walked toward it.

Her hands trembled.

She touched the handle.

Locked.

Her phone rang again.

She jumped.

Daniel.

She answered.

“Where are you?”

His voice was barely audible.

“I’m outside.”

Nora ran to the window.

A man stood across the street.

Dark coat.

Hands in pockets.

Watching her house.

“Daniel?”

The man raised his head.

Nora couldn’t see his face.

Then he slowly lifted one hand.

He pointed toward the black door.

Nora stepped backward.

Daniel whispered through the phone:

“Whatever you do…”

The man across the street smiled.

“…don’t open it.”

The call ended.

Nora stood frozen.

Then came the sound.

Three knocks.

Not from the front door.

From behind her.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Nora slowly turned.

The black door was opening.

And from the darkness behind it came a voice she hadn’t heard in twelve years.

Her mother’s voice.

“Nora…”

Nora stopped breathing.

Her mother had been dead since Nora was eight.

The voice whispered again.

“Come downstairs.”

The door opened wider.

A cold wind moved through the hallway.

Nora stared into the darkness.

Then she noticed something scratched into the wooden floor.

A sentence.

Fresh.

Deep.

Written in red.

YOUR BROTHER NEVER LEFT THIS HOUSE.

Nora’s phone slipped from her hand.

From somewhere below came a scream.

Daniel’s scream.

Then the lights went out.

And the front door locked itself.