The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting eerie shadows on the walls of my dimly lit dorm room. I was alone, engulfed in the silence of the night, with nothing but the distant hum of the air conditioning for company. My roommate was away for the weekend, leaving me isolated in this cold, sterile place.
I was buried in my Psych textbooks, cramming for an “Emotion and Personality” exam on Monday that I hadn’t been prepped for, trying to concentrate, but an inexplicable sense of unease had settled over me. The air felt heavy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I forced myself to laugh it off, blaming it on the stress of exams and the countless horror stories I’d heard from fellow students about the old building.
Then I heard it – a soft, almost imperceptible scratching sound. My heart skipped a beat, and I held my breath, straining to listen. It came again, a slow, deliberate scraping against the door. I glanced at the clock – 2:47 AM. Who could possibly be outside my door at this hour?
My mind raced, thoughts of masked intruders and urban legends flooding my imagination. I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed campus security. As I described the situation, the scratching continued, growing more urgent, as if whatever was on the other side was desperate to get in.
The voice on the other end assured me that an officer would be sent to investigate, but the ETA felt like an eternity away (I go to a bigger state school so it can take awhile for them to get places sometimes). I debated whether to lock the door or leave it unlocked for the officer. The scratching persisted, accompanied now by a soft, muffled whispering. Cold sweat coated my forehead as I pressed my back against the wall, watching the door as if it held the answer to the nightmare unfolding.
Minutes passed like hours, the scratching growing louder and more erratic. The whispered words became more distinct, but the voice was unrecognizable – a haunting, guttural language that sent shivers down my spine. My heart pounded, and I felt a crippling fear as I realized that whatever was outside wasn’t human.
Suddenly, the doorknob jiggled, as if someone was trying to force their way in. Panic surged through me, and I pushed a chair against the door, praying it would hold. The scratching escalated into a violent frenzy, and the whispered words turned into a horrifying chant that seemed to fill the room.
I watched in terror as the door rattled against the force being applied to it. It felt like an eternity until I heard the distant sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, and the scratching abruptly ceased. The presence outside had vanished.
The campus security officer had finally arrived, but there was no trace of anyone or anything. He chalked it up to nerves and offered to stay nearby for the night. As I lay in bed, the weight of the encounter settled in, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that whatever had been trying to get inside was still there, lurking just beyond the threshold.
Since then I wonder every night, if this will be the night it finally gets in.