Lin Ze sat cross-legged on the attic floor, back against a stack of old boxes, the only light coming from his phone's flashlight. The red folder lay open across his knees; he had already finished the first page.
Grandfather's notes were clean and methodical, like an engineering report: "Week 1: Client highly stressed, suspects mental health issue. Week 2: Begins to believe it's a neighbor's prank. Week 3: Client temporarily moves to a friend's place—the knocking follows. Week 4: Client returns. The knocks grow heavier, almost angry."
Lin Ze turned to the middle of the file. A black-and-white photograph was clipped between the pages, protected by a clear plastic sleeve. It showed the door of Room 603, timestamped March 28, 1987, 2:58 a.m. An old wooden door, paint peeling, the apartment number faded. The hallway light was dim yellow; water stains streaked the walls.
Lin Ze held the photo closer. In the shadow beside the doorknob, there was a faint outline. A woman's silhouette. Long hair falling to her waist, head slightly tilted, as if staring straight at the camera. But the hallway had been empty when the photo was taken.
He blinked. Looked again. The shadow was gone. It had been there a second ago—now only darkness remained.
"What the hell…" Lin Ze's heart slammed against his ribs. His fingers shook; the photo slipped and fell to the floor. He snatched it up quickly and examined it once more—nothing. Just an empty door and wall.
He rubbed his eyes hard. He was exhausted. Long hours at work the past few days, climbing into the attic, the emotional conversation with Grandmother—his eyes were playing tricks.
He glanced at his watch. 12:07 a.m. Already past midnight.
"Damn it…" Lin Ze closed the folder carefully and placed it back in the box. Enough for tonight. Too tired. Hallucinations. He'd come back tomorrow.
He switched off the flashlight and crept downstairs, gently closing the attic door. Grandmother was asleep; the entire house was silent as a tomb. He slipped into the guest room, didn't even bother changing, and collapsed onto the bed. As soon as he closed his eyes, the photograph flooded his mind. That woman's silhouette. Head tilted. Watching him.
Sleep came fast—and vivid.
He stood in front of Room 603. The hallway light flickered. His watch read 2:58. Three knocks. Knock… knock… knock. Soft, deliberate, waiting for an answer.
He reached for the doorknob. The door swung open. The corridor was empty. But behind him—very close—he heard breathing. Right at his ear.
He spun around. Nothing. Yet in the mirror at the end of the hall— In the mirror stood a woman. Long hair covering her face, head tilted, staring at him. She slowly raised her hand, pointing at her reflection. Then she smiled. Her mouth stretched wider and wider, revealing a throat that was pure black.
Lin Ze jolted awake. Drenched in cold sweat, T-shirt plastered to his back. The guest room was pitch dark, only faint streetlight seeping through the curtains. He sat up gasping, heart pounding like a drum. His watch glowed: 3:02 a.m.
He froze. The knocking from the dream… Dream? Or…
He held his breath. The house was utterly silent. No knocks. No footsteps. Only his own racing pulse.
Lin Ze padded to the door in the dark and pressed his ear against it. Nothing. He exhaled, laughing at his own nerves. Just tired. That's all.
He crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up. But the moment he closed his eyes, the silhouette returned. Tilted head. Smiling. Pointing.
He tossed and turned, unable to sleep again. Only when the sky began to pale did he finally drift off. In the dream, he stood once more in front of Room 603. This time he didn't open the door. He just waited. Waiting for the three knocks. Waiting for the shadow to appear again.
And this time, the shadow didn't vanish. It stepped closer. One step. Another. Until it was right beside his ear, whispering:
"You already opened the door."
Lin Ze woke again. Morning light painted the curtains pale gold. He sat up, still soaked in sweat. His palms were slick. He looked down—the red key was still in his pocket. He had forgotten to leave it upstairs.
Lin Ze stared at the key for a long time. Then he shoved it deep into the bedside drawer and slammed it shut. But he knew, it was too late. Something had already started following him.