The Door He Kept Knocking On

In Igatpuri, cottages were designed in such a way as to be comfortable. There were small cabins with little trails leading to each cabin, with dimly lit yellow lights showing the way to your cabin at night, and being one of the most popular places for vacation, the four of us had gone there expecting nothing more than a peaceful break. Everything would seem very calm and serene during the day, and there seemed nothing evil about that place. Things would change dramatically at night, though. Everything would become silent but not in a nice way but rather in a scary way, like some evil force was about to jump on you anytime soon. This silence was intense enough for one to think they were being watched in their own house.

That evening, the uneasiness began with the dogs. There were many of them; the dogs kept following us. They did not fight with each other nor bark. They were just circling around, making a loose circle, as if they were trying to protect us. Whenever we went out, the dogs followed us up to a certain extent near the garden of our cottage but did not dare to cross it. They let out a howl whenever they were near the garden. At first, we thought nothing of it, as we thought it was common, but this kept on happening every time. The dogs used to adjust their position and, as usual, stop near the garden. No matter how long you stood there, they never came inside an inch; it did not feel like fear. It felt like restraint. They were guarding our cottage from someone or protecting us from something even more sinister.

All the cabin doors and windows were locked from inside. The curtains were shut tight; however, the feeling persisted. It was the feeling of knowing that there is somebody outside who knows where we are. It was not a random chase but a deliberate one; the individual who is searching for us knows where we are and is waiting for us calmly. Midnight quietness filled the room since all of us were exhausted after a long day full of activities. But suddenly, a noise interrupted the silent air in the room; a thump could be heard that reverberated all around, causing trembling of the very door frame. Definitely, it was not a knock; it seemed that somebody threw themselves on the door. We paused, cautiously peeking out through the window. Outside, all we could see was nothing, apart from some lights and something else, something frighteningly eerie.

Then it came again. Another bang which was stronger than before, closer and even more desperate. This time when we checked the window, we saw the dogs near our garden area. They were perfectly still and were continuously looking towards our cottage. There was something deeply unsettling in this stillness. They showed no aggression and no threat but awareness as if they knew what was happening… and were waiting for what will happen next. Their eyes had a faint light as they held them unnaturally fixed on the door. Out of fear we immediately pulled the curtain shut.

The fear and anxiety among us did not go away as it had already entered. Time stretched unnaturally as a minute felt like an hour. Suddenly the sound changed. A knock which was very soft, slow and weak, like the kind of knock someone makes when they no longer have the strength to try again. Against every instinct, we checked the window again. To our surprise, the dogs were gone, every one of them. But the silence that followed was worse; something did not feel right. Then came the sound that made all of us skip a heartbeat; right outside the door, we could hear a person breathing. It was slow, uneven and shaking. Like someone who has been crying for a very long time.

None of us moved, as the air grew heavier; pressing into the chest made it harder to breathe. Suddenly we heard a voice: "Open… the door…" The tone was neither angry nor frightening; it was broken and tired. The kind of voice that sounded like it had been calling for hours… for days… for years. It felt like someone was begging for help; slowly we gathered the courage to open the door. As soon as we began to move towards the latch, we heard a growl which was low, deep and sharp. The dogs were back, but this time they looked anxious as they moved faster near the garden area. It felt as if they were warning us about something. The voice came again, closer now…. So close that it felt like it was right outside the door. “Please… open..." The words broke as if it hurt to say them.

The room changed in that moment. The fear twisted into something unbearable, because now it did not feel like something was outside. It felt like someone was there alone, forgotten and still waiting. Then a voice came: "Why … won’t … you … open?" And at that moment it became clear that it was not the first time. It had knocked before, waiting for someone to open the door, but no one opened. The breathing slowed, and a whisper came, “Please…” for the last time. After this there was complete silence.

Morning came too suddenly; the room looked normal again. One of the dogs sat directly in front of the cottage, and as soon as we opened the door, the dog stood up, walked forward and stopped at the exact place where the knocking had come from. It growled, not in anger, in warning. Later we asked a local woman about the cottage; as soon as she heard our experience, she went silent. Her face changed, heavy with something that felt older than this place. After a long pause, she spoke softly. “A small boy used to stay there," she said. “He was very close to his family… the kind of child who never liked being alone." Her voice slowed as she said, “One evening, his family stepped out for a short while as they thought he was asleep, and they did not want to wake him up… so they locked the door from outside and left… as they planned to return soon." “But they never came back. " The air turned cold. “There was an accident on the road that night, and none of them survived." Silence filled the space between us.

“Alone… In the dark the boy was stuck there for a week… He didn’t understand where everyone had gone." Her voice began to tremble when she said, “He called for them… softly, thinking they were nearby." She took a pause and then continued, “But no one answered… He kept on knocking and waiting for his parents to return…. He kept waiting. " Her eyes lowered. “He died there of suffocation…. He was only 5 at the time." “He doesn’t know he’s gone," she added. “He still believes someone will come back and... open the door. " “And the dogs?” my friend asked, barely able to speak. She pointed towards our cottage and said, “They stay there every night…they don’t let him come too close." Then looking back at us, she said, “They are not protecting you… they are protecting him… They are trying to keep him from waiting again."

That night turned into something else. The voice, the sob. It was not something sinister; it was someone who was still hoping to be saved. And the most terrifying part was not the presence; it was the realisation that no one came to help the kid; he was all alone and lonely till his death. Even if we had opened the door that night… it would not have been out of fear but out of compassion, and maybe that exactly was what he had been waiting for. Because whatever was outside that night did not leave; it had just only stopped knocking.

And sometimes in places that feel too quiet… too still… it makes me wonder how many voices might have gone unheard… How many cries for help might have gone unanswered…and how many times someone might have stood behind a door hoping that it would be opened. Because the truth is this does not belong to one place; it could be anywhere. Even your home, because nobody really knows what stories their house has witnessed, who once stood behind its doors or who might still be waiting to be let out.