Tap tap tap. The sound wasn’t that loud, but still loud enough for my sensitive ears to pull me from my slumber. Even as my trusted fan ran in the background I could still hear the clinks. The metal pull chain to the lightbulb in my closet hit the door over and over, whipping the wood with a rather jarring sound. I was surprisingly drowsy, even with how fast my heart was beating. But your brain does weird things when you’re faced with things that are hard to explain. I didn’t dare sit up from my bed yet, just frozen in place as I listened to the sound. It should have by all means stopped already; or maybe the laws of physics applied to everything but my creepy closet. If I didn’t know any better I would say that someone was on the other side, batting at the pull chain like it was a cat toy. That or maybe pretending it was a Newton’s Cradle. Tap tap tap. I never kept my room fully dark, dimly lit christmas lights interwoven along my bookshelf in the back corner of my room. Night terrors were a lovely predisposition passed down to me from my father, but luckily I had learned from a young age what set me off the most and how to prevent the worst of them.
I was still having a hard time explaining what this was. Auditory hallucinations were never this long. They were normally a quick, “Hey!” “Hello!” or a whisper of my name. This sound persisted even after I woke fully. I wondered if I put my cheek to the door, if I would be able to feel the vibrations of the impact from the chain. Some nights the rattling was more violent. Sometimes it was a gentle scrape. This was an inbetween, a certain rhythm to it as though it really was just swinging back and forth from the disturbance of a single push.
Tap tap tap.
Oh. It stopped. Why was the stopping always scarier than the actual sound? My eyes had been glued on the door since my awakening, but nothing had changed. No movement I could see in my dimly lit room. No Boogy man to jump out. Just a suffocating feeling that I wasn’t truly alone in my bedroom anymore. Maybe one of these days, I’ll finally have the courage to open the door when it’s swinging. Just at the thought I feel wide awake, awake enough to pull out my laptop and write down a couple thoughts. If you don’t hear from me it’s probably because I’ve been possessed, the ghost killed me, or my parents finally admitted their freeloading 23 year old to a mental facility so the staff can hear about the incessant tapping noise coming from their daughter’s room everyday instead of them. In case you couldn’t tell I’m being painfully sarcastic. I think having a sarcastic mindset scares the ghosts away more. That or maybe I’m just trying to gaslight myself into not being so afraid. I just turned my fan onto its highest setting, which is also it’s loudest. I think if I was a ghost, I would try to talk through someones fan to fuck with them. I hope it’s not reading this over my shoulder and getting any ideas.
Putting the fear aside, I can no longer think about this event because I still live in it and I would like to not go crazy, but i’ll be sure to write again if that damn thing keeps this up for much longer. I don’t let myself think too hard on who is behind the door, but I’m starting to be at my witts end, and living or dead, when I get to that point I’m going to be sharing some strong words with someone.
Sleep better than I am.