The Last Knock at Midnight

When a sound shatters the night, what you open the door to might change everything… or end it.

First Line:

The knock was so sharp and sudden it felt like it split the night clean in half.

Starting Paragraph:

I had been sitting alone in the living room, the only light coming from the dim lamp in the corner, when it came—a single, heavy knock. Not a polite tap. Not a friendly rap. This was the kind of knock that made the air stand still, the kind that made your bones remember old fears. The street outside was empty; I knew because I had checked the blinds not ten minutes ago. I waited for a second knock, but none came. My pulse quickened. I thought of ignoring it, of letting whatever was on the other side stay there, locked in the night. Then I heard it—soft breathing, right beyond the door. No words, no movement, just that steady, human sound. I stood, my hand halfway to the doorknob, wondering if opening it would be the bravest thing I’d ever done… or the last mistake I’d ever make.

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3 Questions to Spark Flash Fiction:

1. Who—or what—is on the other side of the door?
2. What unspoken history connects you to this midnight visitor?
3. What changes forever once the door opens—or stays shut?