Let me start by pointing out that I have been told, and have figured out on many occasions, that I have an over-active imagination. That being said, I have thought a lot about the night that this story will focus on and I can’t talk myself into believing that it didn’t happen. As the title says, this is a true story. I do write Creepy Pastas, but this story is true, it really happened, or so it did as far as I’m concerned. I don’t share this with many people, so feel good, you’re in a way, special.
A few years ago, I lay in my bed one night doing what I do every night, thinking. I thought a lot in bed, sometimes clouding sleep. I couldn’t help it, the dark and absolute silence… I felt so alone and, well, thoughtful. At the time, I slept in a loft bed, it was a good way to save space in my room because I could slide other small furnishings under it and use the rest of the open room for whatever I want. Another thing to note: I lived on the second floor of my building. My families’ apartment was on the first floor, but it was a two-story apartment, and my room was on the second floor. The building was actually a bit elevated off the ground too, so it felt more like my room was two and a half floors up. My window faced outside to a small courtyard that spanned next to the entire long apartment building. Now that the scene is set up, try to put yourself in my position, in my room, that night.
I lay there, thinking, dozing off when I notice a small noise. It’s hard to describe it now, it might have been easier the day after it happened. The best word I can think of to describe it was… a scratch. A long, drawn-out scratch. I lifted my head off my pillow to find where it was coming from, but just as I did, it stopped. I glanced around my dark room for a moment, uselessly, before beginning my attempt to sleep again. As I pulled the covers back over my body with a noisy rustling, I thought I heard something else over the sound of the covers. It wasn’t like the previous sound, this one was, abrupt, loud, certain. Only a few seconds past before I heard it again. KNOCK. It came from my window. It was quite loud, almost like a rock was hitting it rather than a fist was knocking. KNOCK. It happened yet again. KNOCK. It began happening faster and faster until I became irritated at whoever was throwing these rocks. KNOCK. After many minutes of this continuity, my anger turned to fear upon a closer examination of the window on the other side of the room. A shadow. KNOCK. There was a shadow, not created by the tree outside, it was something else, and it was right in front of the window. KNOCK. It was just dark enough that I couldn’t see anything, but the incessant knocking was nearly driving me out of my mind. KNOCK. I sat up quickly, and as soon as I did, the shadow lifted up slightly before plummeting down past the window.
I sat staring for several minutes, eyes not even blinking to break the stare at the window. I got very little extra sleep that night, I laid gazing at the window up until it was nearly light out before etching in a few more hours before school.
To this day, I have never heard a knocking like the one I heard that night. I have never seen the shadow again. I hope to never have to. I have shared with you what I know, nothing more, nothing less. Honestly, it was probably this experience that got me into believing that there are thing people simply don’t know, or understand. I don’t believe in ghosts or monsters, but I do believe in fear, and the unknown. It is in human nature to want to understand and know everything. When something like this happens, it reminds us that there are many things that we will never know, that we will never see, and that is what scares us.