I’ve told this story exactly twice in my life because every time I think about it, I still get this sick feeling in my stomach.

People always ask why I moved out of my apartment so suddenly last year.

I usually laugh it off and say I needed a change, but that isn’t the truth. The truth is that after what happened that night, I couldn’t sleep in that place again without feeling like someone was watching me.

It started on a Thursday night.

Nothing unusual had happened during the day. I had worked late, ordered takeout, and spent most of the evening half-watching some crime show while scrolling through my phone. Around midnight, I moved from the couch to my bed but couldn’t fall asleep. I remember feeling restless for no reason at all.

By 1:30 in the morning, I gave up trying and went back into the living room. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the TV playing softly in the background.

Then I heard it.

Knock.

At first, I barely reacted because I assumed it came from another apartment nearby. The walls in that building were thin, and random noises traveled constantly.

But then it happened again.

Knock. Knock.

This time it sounded closer.

I muted the TV and listened carefully. My heart was already beating faster because something about the sound felt wrong. It wasn’t coming from the hallway or the front door.

It was coming from the bedroom.

I remember actually laughing nervously to myself because the idea made no sense. My bedroom window faced the parking lot behind the building, and I lived on the third floor. There was no balcony, no maintenance platform, nothing someone could stand on.

I sat there trying to rationalize it when the sound came again, harder this time.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Not random tapping. Not tree branches. Someone was intentionally knocking against the glass.

I stood up so fast I almost dropped my phone.

For a few seconds, I just stared down the dark hallway toward my bedroom. Every scary story I’d ever heard suddenly replayed in my mind. I wanted to ignore it. I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom and call someone. But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

The knocking continued.

Slow. Rhythmic. Patient.

Like whoever was outside knew I’d eventually come look.