Whispers of the Soul

Horror

Knocking at Midnight

In the depths of the night, when silence prevails,
A sound breaks the stillness, like ghostly wails.
A knock at the door, sharp as a blade,
Echoes through shadows where fears are laid.

The clock strikes the hour, its chime cold and clear,
Yet that single knock brings a tremor of fear.
I lie in my bed, heart racing with dread,
What could be outside, lurking, unsaid?

Another knock follows, more urgent, more loud,
Like whispers of secrets concealed in a shroud.
I strain to listen, my breath held tight,
In the darkened stillness, I sense something's right.

"Who's there?" I call out, my voice a mere breath,
But the only reply is the shadow of death.
No answer emerges, just the sound of the night,
As the knocking grows louder, consuming the light.

I tiptoe to silence, creeping with care,
Every creak of the floor feels like eyes in the air.
The handle turns slowly, but I dare not reveal,
What waits on the other side, what truth will it steal?

The knocking continues, a rhythm so grim,
A pulse in the darkness, where shadows grow thin.
I glance through the peephole, but see naught but black,
Just the vastness beyond, and a chill at my back.

The knocks start to quicken, a frantic parade,
Each thud sends a shiver, as courage will fade.
I tremble and shudder, a chill in my bones,
For what waits in the dark may not be alone.

What specter is calling, what phantom has come?
With each reverberation, my heart beats like a drum.
The world holds its breath, the air thick with fright,
As the knocking persists, demanding the night.

Then suddenly stillness, a pause, a deep sigh,
The knocking falls silent, the echoes run dry.
Yet the feeling remains, like a storm in my chest,
What lurked at my door, will it let me find rest?

With dawn on the horizon, I ponder the sound,
A whisper of dread in the chill of the ground.
For midnight's sharp knocking, though quieted now,
Lingers like shadows, a promise, a vow.

In the stillness of night, when fears loom and sway,
The knocking at midnight may always convey—
That some doors once opened should never be crossed,
For the things that await may forever be lost.