When Ananya moved into Flat 3B, everyone told her she was lucky.
Cheap rent. Prime location. Quiet building.
Too quiet, maybe.
The building stood at the end of a narrow lane where sunlight seemed to hesitate before entering. It was old — not charming old, but tired old. The kind where paint peeled like dead skin and the stairwell smelled faintly of damp paper and something metallic.
Still, she needed a place. And Flat 3B felt… normal enough.
At first.
---
The first night, she noticed the door.
It stood at the end of the hallway past her bedroom. A thin wooden door painted the same dull cream as the walls.
She didn't remember seeing it during the viewing.
But exhaustion makes the mind unreliable. She assumed she had missed it.
It didn't open.
The handle turned, but the door refused to move — as if something on the other side held it shut.
"Storage," she muttered.
Old flats always had strange, useless spaces.
She forgot about it.
---
Until the knocking began.
Three nights later.
3:07 AM.
She woke to a soft *tap*.
Then another.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound came from the hallway.
More precisely—
From the door.
She lay frozen, waiting for the sound to stop.
It didn't.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Not loud. Not urgent.
Patient.
Like someone who knew she would answer eventually.
She got up.
Because that's what humans do — even when they know they shouldn't.
The hallway felt colder than the rest of the flat.
The knocking stopped the moment she stepped out of her bedroom.
The door stood silently.
Waiting.
She touched the handle.
Cold.
But when she tried it—
It opened.
Just an inch.
And from the darkness beyond came a smell.
Wet soil.
And something sweet.
Like flowers left too long in a closed room.
She shut it immediately.
Locked it.
And told herself it was nothing.
---
The next morning, she called the landlord.
"There's a storage room at the end of the hall," she said. "Was it supposed to be locked?"
There was a pause.
Then:
"There is no storage room in 3B."
Her laugh sounded wrong, even to herself.
"There's a door."
"No," he said flatly. "There isn't."
---
That night, she checked.
The door was still there.
---
She tried to ignore it.
For two days.
But strange things began to shift.
Her keys disappeared and reappeared in the hallway.
Her bedroom door was always slightly open when she returned from work.
And sometimes—
At the edge of hearing—
She thought she could hear breathing.
From behind the door.
---
On the fifth night, the knocking returned.
3:07 AM.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Only this time—
It came from inside her bedroom.
Her eyes snapped open.
The sound was faint.
But unmistakable.
From the wall beside her bed.
The same wall that backed onto the hallway.
The same wall where—
On the other side—
The door stood.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her throat tightened.
Because now she understood.
It wasn't knocking to come out.
It was knocking to come in.
---
The next day she spoke to Mrs. Sen from 3A.
Old residents always knew more than landlords.
At the mention of Flat 3B, Mrs. Sen's face tightened.
"People don't stay long there," she said.
"Why?"
Silence.
Then—
"There used to be another room."
The words seemed to drain the air.
"A child's room. Long ago. A girl lived there with her mother. The mother… she wasn't well."
Ananya's stomach dropped.
"What happened?"
"One day, the child disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"They searched everywhere. The police broke walls. Checked the roof. Water tanks."
Mrs. Sen's voice lowered.
"They never found her."
A pause.
Then, barely a whisper:
"But sometimes… neighbors said they heard knocking from inside the walls."
---
That night, Ananya stayed awake.
Waiting.
3:07 AM.
The knocking began.
But this time—
She didn't wait.
She walked straight to the hallway.
To the door.
It was already open.
A thin crack.
Breathing seeped through it.
Slow.
Wet.
Alive.
"Hello?" she whispered.
The door creaked wider.
Darkness spilled out.
Not absence of light.
Something thicker.
Like shadow had weight.
Inside—
A small room.
Impossible.
It wasn't there before.
Bare walls.
Peeling wallpaper.
And in the center—
A little bed.
Covered in dust.
And something else.
Handprints.
Tiny.
Pressed into the wall.
As if someone had tried to climb out.
Then—
A voice.
From behind her.
"Don't close it."
She turned.
And saw—
Herself.
Standing in the hallway.
Watching.
Eyes wide.
Mouth trembling.
Her own voice spoke again.
"If you close it… she stays."
The thing that looked like her smiled.
Too wide.
Behind her—
Something moved in the room.
A small shape.
Crawling out from under the bed.
Too thin.
Limbs bending wrong.
Head tilted at an impossible angle.
The handprints on the wall—
Fresh now.
Wet.
She stumbled back.
The hallway version of her didn't move.
"Someone has to stay," it whispered.
The thing in the room began to drag itself toward the door.
Toward her.
Its mouth opened.
Too far.
Skin splitting.
And from inside came—
Knocking.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
From within its own throat.
Her reflection reached for the door.
"Close it," it said.
Ananya hesitated.
And in that moment—
She understood.
The door didn't lead to a room.
It led to a hunger.
A space that replaced.
One life for another.
One presence for release.
The thing lunged.
She slammed the door shut.
---
Morning came.
Quiet.
No knocking.
No breathing.
No door.
The hallway wall was smooth.
Unbroken.
Mrs. Sen moved away a month later.
Flat 3A was rented again.
And soon—
Flat 3B too.
To a young man who felt lucky.
Cheap rent.
Prime location.
Quiet building.
Too quiet, maybe.
On his first night—
He noticed the door.
At the end of the hallway.
And at 3:07 AM—
It knocked.