I Played The Psychic Knock Game…

by cnkguy

17 Sep, 2018

I Played The Psychic Knock Game…

Reading Time: 12 minutes

 

 

My friends were idiots. I was an idiot. I don’t know if the warnings are real, but I know everyone else is gone. We thought it was a story. We just wanted to play along, have some creepy fun, but now it feels so real. Like it won’t go away until it has us all.

At least that’s what Devin said.

To be clear, none of us wanted this. It was supposed to be a fun, cheesy way to spend the night while Devin’s parents were out of town. Brendan found the story (here’s a link), but it was Devin’s idea to actually play the game. None of us were surprised by that, though; Devin’s always been into rituals and creepy things. Of course, we didn’t think it would actually work. But, I guess … no one ever does? That’s how stupid kids like us get suckered into playing, even though every warning tells us not to.

It was me, Devin Hart, Brendan Smith, Hannah Lawrence, Kennedy Lake, and McKenna Hall. We chose Isaiah Whitman as the target, because Kennedy had a crush on him and Hannah and I couldn’t resist an opportunity to tease her about it. That, and McKenna lived down the street from him, so it was a convenient pick.

The rules of the game call for a picture of the target’s door. Easy. McKenna got one with her phone on the way to school. Brendan “borrowed” a pen from Isaiah in chemistry (the game calls for a personal item and Brendan said it was the best he could do on short notice). I printed a Google map route from Devin’s house to Isaiah’s, and Devin provided the “refreshments” and “ambiance”.

So it was the six of us with Devin acting as the Caller. We did the ritual exactly as instructed. Everyone wore black, sat in a circle, and held hands while surrounded by candles. (The game doesn’t call for them, but Devin insisted.) We visualized walking from Devin’s house to Isaiah’s, we raised our right hands and focused on sending the knock through Devin. Devin even lifted his arm like he wasn’t in control of it and knocked in the air three times. And then …. nothing.

At least, at the time, nothing. Devin sulked about how we didn’t have enough people to make it work, and I pointed out that we had no real way of knowing whether it worked or not, because none of us were in Isaiah’s house when it happened. There was a little bickering back and forth about poor planning and what constituted an “invasion of privacy” before we blew out the candles and pulled up Netflix. Kennedy and McKenna ditched early, and the rest of us spent the night watching old horror movies until the sun came up.

And that was it. Isaiah never said a thing about phantom knocking, and we forgot all about it.

Until about a week later when McKenna stormed up to me while I was reading outside during a free period.

She shoved my book out of the way and her phone in my face, demanding to know what “this” was all about. “This” was a Snapchat message from “callme_469” that read “You called me, but no one answered. I will return. One of you must let me in.” It was a creepy message, sure, but we all got the same Snap the night we tried to summon a demon, or whatever. I told her as much, and she complained that since she left early, she shouldn’t have gotten one.

The eye roll was strong in me, but I explained that Kennedy had cut out early, too, and she got a text just the same as we did. I didn’t know how they got our info, but I assumed Devin had something to do with it. He’s the one who made the dumb account in the first place after reading the story, and he probably gave the guy our info to up the creep factor and make it all “authentic”.

She didn’t like that answer, but it’s not like I could have done anything about it. She dropped the subject after that, but I could tell it was still bothering her when Hannah found us later that day, asking if we’d heard from Brendan or Kennedy.

I laughed about Brendan. I thought it was a little silly, her asking us if we’d heard from her boyfriend, but she said they’d had a fight two nights before, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

None of us had.

McKenna and I both tried calling him to see if maybe he was just avoiding Hannah’s calls, but they went straight to voicemail.

I told Hannah he probably knew we were calling on her behalf and he didn’t want to talk.

McKenna offered that his phone might just have died.

Hannah didn’t really accept it. She nodded at the time, because I think she wanted to believe it was that simple — I think we all did — but deep down I know she didn’t buy it.

And, honestly, I don’t think I bought it, either.

Brendan didn’t live with his family. They lived upstate — had moved there for his dad’s work — but Brendan wanted to finish high school with us. So, he lived with his older brother, Sam, in town.

Except Sam wasn’t in town. He was in Maine for a week-long conference and wouldn’t be back for another three days.

Which left Brendan all alone.

And given what Hannah told us about Kennedy, I didn’t blame her for being concerned.

Kennedy was gone. So was her family.

According to Hannah, it was like a one-family Roanoke; food was on the table, lights were left on, no sign of a struggle, all their stuff left behind, and, most upsetting to us, the front door was left wide open. Police were stumped, but we thought we knew exactly what happened.

And Hannah was terrified it had happened to Brendan, as well.

Who could blame her?

Struck by a sharp pang of realization, I asked if either of them had heard from Devin, but neither she nor McKenna had. They hadn’t even seen him since that night.

That bothered me. It bothered them, too, I guess, but Devin was my friend; I’d known him the longest. That mattered to me.

I decided to call him when I got home. Kennedy was gone, and Brendan might have been, as well. I wanted to know that Devin, at least, was still okay. I wanted to hear his laugh as I explained how our collective imaginations made a bad situation seem even worse. I wanted to hear his voice and remember this was all a game. I wanted to know that we were all idiots for buying into it.

I wanted that. But that’s not what happened.

I called and Devin answered before the first ring ended. His breathing was sharp and labored, rattling through the phone as if he had held it too close to his mouth.

“Devin?”

“Ash?” His response came out with a grating whisper tinged with what sounded like hope. I wanted hearing him to restore my own hope, but all I could feel in that moment was a growing knot of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“Dev, are you okay?”

“No, Ash. No I am fucking not. We shouldn’t have played that game,” he sobbed. “We shouldn’t have messed with it. Isaiah didn’t answer, and now we’re all in trouble. I — oh god,” his voice became even softer, and I heard him shifting briefly before holding his breath in silence.

In the distance, coming from somewhere deeper in the house, I heard banging.

Thud, thud, thud!

My heart thundered in my ears as fear crawled up the back of my neck. Quiet crept through the phone, but it didn’t last long.

Clang, clang, clang!

It sounded like something was striking pots and pans, and my mind flashed to the “fairy door” he’d painted on an old piece of tin hanging above his bed.

Thump, thump, thump!

Something muted and heavy, like the old steamer trunk at the foot of his bed.

Ba-aa-ang, ba-aa-ang, ba-aa-ang!

The shuddering reverberation of his closet doors.

It sounded like someone was moving through the house, knocking on random things in repeating sets of three, unsure of his location, but seeking entrance nonetheless. Then there was a long pause as we waited for more knocking, and then I heard Devin breathing again.

“It won’t stop,” he whispered, almost to himself. “It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop.” He repeated it like a mantra. “It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop.”

I was at a total loss, completely helpless to comfort him. What would I even say? How long had he been going through this? Since that night, perhaps?

“Devin, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, fighting back guilty tears. Why had none of us checked on him before?

Suddenly, he went quiet. So quiet I pulled the phone away to make sure we were still connected.

“Dev?”

He didn’t respond.

“Devin?!”

He took a stuttering breath and let it out as one big sigh.

“Behold,” he said, growing very still on the other end. “I have set before you an open door, one that no one is able to shut.”

Three more knocks followed his words, and then there was nothing.

The silence was oppressive. I almost didn’t dare to breathe as I strained to hear anything that might be happening on his end.

Time became meaningless. Maybe only two minutes passed — or it could have been thirty, I have no clue. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the fact that the line was still open and he was still there, somewhere, on the other end.

Come on, Devin, I thought with gritted teeth. Come on!

“Fine,” he said at last, startling me. “I’ll do it. I’ll go. I’m just so tired of fighting.”

“Devin, are you — what are you doing?”

“Ending it,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It’s never going to stop, and I can’t keep hiding. There are so many doors now, Ash. I can’t even count them. And he knocks … all the time. I just ….”

“Don’t you open the door, Devin!” I yelled into the phone, gripping it tightly in both hands, as if by sheer force of will I could hold him back.

“Good luck, Ash,” he said, sounding both exhausted and so very, painfully sad. “Maybe I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Devin!”

I heard him shuffling around, and the familiar creak of his bedroom door‘s hinges.

After that, the line went dead.

I tried calling back, but all I got was voicemail.

The news reports called him a runaway. Said he’d been acting disturbed and irrational for days leading up to it. Some suggested drugs. Most thought psychotic break. No one had any leads, but I knew.

He had opened the door.

It came for me just two days later, at 3:45pm.

I was at school, getting ready to go home. As I twisted my combination into the lock, the game weighed heavily in my mind. I tried to shake the feeling that we were all on a bullet train to hell with no way off but to go through the door. I thought about living in a cabin somewhere the internet couldn’t reach. Or maybe getting a big open floor plan apartment where I could be a shut-in for the rest of my life. I reached for the latch to open the locker door, worried that, even if I did manage to do either of those things, I would only be delaying the inevitable.

From inside my locker came three sharp raps.

The door shuddered under the force, visibly shaking with each hard knock as my hand hovered less than a centimeter away.

My chest ached with the slow, deep breath I took, watching the locker door like it was alive. A scream welled up inside me, but never made it out. It was like my brain and my body weren’t communicating anymore, and I just stood there, frozen and screaming inside.

The thing in my locker knocked again, pounding on the door hard enough that I thought it was going to break. Something inside me finally sprung to life and forced my feet to move. I backed up, right hand still held high in the air while my heart pounded so hard I could barely see.

I frowned at my locker in confusion. Adrenaline thundered through my body, leaving me shaken and raw, my every nerve on fire and my attention honed to a needle-fine point, but my brain was still sluggish, unable to reconcile what had just happened..

From my pocket came the familiar “blip” of a new Snapchat message. I pulled my phone out automatically, caught in a haze of oafish bemusement, able to act only by rote, and tapped the new message without conscious thought.

“He who enters by the door is a shepherd of the sheep. To him the gatekeeper opens.”

I knew the sender before I even looked at the name.

callme_469.

The same sick bastard that messaged us the night we played the game.

As I watched the screen, the little ellipsis cloud popped up in the bottom left corner, giving me a jolt of panic.

Someone was actively typing.

My heart seized painfully in my chest. Cold shot through my body, and I felt the instinctive need to throw the phone and hide.

But another message appeared.

My vision wavered and dimmed. I fought the urge to throw up as I struggled to read the words from a screen now bouncing in my unsteady hands.

“You must let me in!”

I exited the app.

No. No more. I’m done with this, I thought, feeling strangely numb, and yet still teetering on the edge of full-blown terror.

My head throbbed painfully as I deleted Snapchat from my phone. I don’t know why I thought it would help, but it was the only thing that made sense at the time; delete the app and the “thing” couldn’t reach me. The app was the connection, right?

I shoved my phone back in my pocket,  trying hard to push the knocking game, and McKenna, and poor Kennedy and Devin, and whatever was going on with Hannah and Brendan as far from my mind as I could. I left my books in my bag, afraid to open my locker again. Not until I was sure it was safe. Even if it turned out to be nothing, later, I wasn’t taking any risks.

I had a brief moment of panic when I reached the school’s front doors and realized I’d have to open them to leave. I stared at them like a crazy person, listening for knocks that never came as three students and a teacher came in and out without incident. I was still uneasy, but, since no one was going to let me sleep in the school, I knew I’d have to leave sooner or later.

I slipped out when a group of three girls came in, hoping the fact that it wasn’t me opening the door would grant me some kind of protection.

I hurried to the parking lot, fishing my keys out of my purse as I went. When I got to my car, I hesitated.

I had to open the door to get in. I looked over the roof of my car and saw several others still in the lot. Doors on every one. Doors on the bus if I wanted to take that, instead. Doors on an Uber, so I couldn’t use that. I could walk the seven miles to my house, but I’d still have to open the door to get in.

Doors everywhere.

A mass of irrational hysteria churned in my stomach, and I stood there, trembling, gasping for breath I couldn’t quite catch and trying not to lose my mind. It was a slow process, and I have no idea how long it took, but logic eventually managed to wrestle its way back into my head to remind me what reality was.

Reality was a series of unlikely coincidences. Reality was reading too much creepypasta and being susceptible to suggestion. Reality was a friend and her family being missing, which was tragic, but it wasn’t unique. These things happened periodically; whole families just up and disappeared without a single trace, leaving everything behind. Whole sections of the internet were dedicated to just that kind of disappearance. Reality was another friend snapping under the strain of his own imagination, just as I was close to doing, and running away from home instead of seeking help.

My heart still raced, and I felt like I’d had too many shots of espresso, but my breathing started to even out the more I thought things through.

I mean …. what the ever-loving fuck? What did I think was going on? Knocking from inside my locker? I laughed. It was ridiculous. It was worse than ridiculous: it was impossible! I laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing, crying, until I’d collapsed beside the car with my back against the door and my head between my hands.

I had to call someone if I didn’t want to end up like Devin — alone, lost on the street, losing my mind and never opening doors. That’s where he had to be now. It made sense. More sense than the alternative.

My parents would know what to do, so I called them to come get me. They were inconvenienced by my insistence, but were worried at the same time. That was fine; so was I. But It didn’t help that I thought I heard knocking coming from inside my car door, right behind my head.

When my dad showed up I just stared at the passenger side door. He tried to reassure me, but he couldn’t hear the knocking. Eventually, he had to get out of the car and open the door for me, but I made him wait until the knocking ceased; I couldn’t take the risk. After all, Kennedy’s whole family was gone. And I was just crazy enough to think it was because of that game.

When we got home, I told them everything — the creepypasta story, the ritual, Kennedy’s family, Devin’s mental breakdown, and my unshakable, irrational paranoia that I would be next if I opened any door. They said they’d look into getting me a psychiatrist, concerned about my health. But that wasn’t good enough. They didn’t understand.

I know this isn’t real — it can’t be, and I refuse to believe it is — but I also know if I open any door I’m as good as gone. I know it in my bones. The others are already gone — they didn’t get help when they should have — and I refuse to join them.

What I needed was a hospital and a room with only one door that I didn’t have to open myself. And I got it in the end. It took nearly twenty pills, a trip to the ER, and an unpleasant stomach pumping, but they gave me the quiet room I wanted.

And there’s WiFi in the rec room, so I can keep up with the stories here while the doctors help me through this. I know I’ll be back to normal again, now that I’m getting help.

What doesn’t help is the email I got earlier today. From someone pretending to be callme_469.

It said “After this I looked, and there before me was a door.” It’s a dirty trick, and my doctors will probably restrict my online access when I tell them about it, but I’ll be damned if I haven’t been seeing extra doors where there shouldn’t be any. All of them waiting to be opened for whoever, or whatever, is insistently knocking on the other side.

CREDIT: Death By Proxy

**Click HERE to check out creepypasta’s official YouTube channel**

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Don’t Play The Psychic Knock Game

by cnkguy

16 Sep, 2018

Don’t Play The Psychic Knock Game

Reading Time: 8 minutes

 

 

N̴o̸n̷e̷ ̶o̵f̴ ̷u̴s̷ ̵r̸e̶a̵l̷i̵z̶e̸d̴ ̵w̴h̷a̴t̵ ̶w̷e̸ ̵w̴e̶r̴e̷ ̶g̷e̸t̸t̷i̷n̴g̷ ̷i̵n̸t̵o̶.̶ ̵D̸a̸v̵i̴d̴ ̷i̸s̸ ̸t̵h̵e̶ ̸o̵n̴e̶ ̸w̵h̵o̷ ̴c̶l̵i̵c̸k̴e̶d̶ ̷o̷n̵ ̸t̶h̵e̵ ̶p̴o̶s̷t̴ ̵a̴n̶d̶ ̸d̵e̷c̴i̴d̸e̸d̷ ̴w̵e̸ ̸s̶h̴o̷u̴l̷d̸ ̷p̶l̷a̷y̷.̵

….

It was Thursday night and David’s dad was working. Naturally, at the prospect of finding ourselves on a Friday night unsupervised, my friends and I were drawn to David’s house, like moths into fire.

We are all 17 years old. Before we played, we were beset with that unshakable, idealist faith of youth. Nothing could touch us; we would live forever. The psychic knock game broke this belief, among other ideals.

Nobody believed it was real. The four of us had performed a dozen of these rituals before, to little results. Our little “Scooby Doo Club” consisted of me, my boyfriend David, Donna, and Mike. Smoking a bowl and poking around the internet for ‘sinister’ games to play was just what we did for kicks. The only thing any of them ever actually did was make our skin crawl at the implication of what if? – effectively making us jump at unexpected sounds and non-aggressive shadows. Everyone’s played Bloody Mary, but nobody expects to actually see her in the mirror. In our world of warning labels, the only thrill left that you can find is the thrill of ignoring them.

We were crowded in the living room, scrolling through YouTube on David’s smart TV. Donna had queued up a video that was supposed to be unsettling. It wasn’t. The caption on the video read:

“Japanese Girl Suicide Picture Urban Legend”

Allegedly, this girl had painted a picture of herself as a suicide note. Donna told us: “It was really popular in Korea and got spread around a lot.” Apparently if you stared into the painting’s eyes for long enough, the girl would smirk and her hair would move.

At least, that’s what Donna said. Her ritual choices were usually stupid. I didn’t see shit.

“Donna, this is fucking stupid and the music is annoying.” I told her.

She paused the video and glowered at me. “I thought you guys would like this. She’s pretty hot.”

David laughed and said: “We don’t care what she looks like. This is dumb. I’m with Gage on this one. I don’t really want to watch this girl’s face not change at all for five whole minutes.” Thankful that he’d agreed with me, we exchanged a quiet high-five.

Donna huffed, “Of course you’d side with your stupid boyfriend. At least Mike agrees that she’s hot,” and then with a touch of the dramatic melancholy that was Donna’s trademark, she said to herself: “Her eyes are so sad.”

Mike giggled and threw a pillow at her. Getting a bit too stoned and giggling was Mike’s signature.

“Here’s one,” David grinned. He sent the browser command to the TV and opened creepypasta.com.

Donna groaned: “I don’t wanna read.”

David read the article for her. It was titled:

The Psychic Knock Game   (*HERE is a link to the post*)

…..

There was more to the rules than the post stated. Here are a few that I’ve come up with:

• 1^st: Do. Not. Play. This. Game.

• 2^nd: The person on the other side of the door must answer it.

• 3^rd: If they don’t, it will knock on your door instead.

…..

None of us even expected the silly Snapchat user in the post to be real… but they are. Go ahead and add them if you don’t believe me. You shouldn’t. But you probably will. We all did

callme_469

Mike giggled, “Who should we do it to?”

David had a gleam of excitement in his eye. “My stepdad.”

“What if your mom answers?”

Donna sighed, “It’s not real, Gage.”

David was still grinning, “Mom is in Michigan visiting her sister. That’s why we’ve been here all week.”

The front door opened and we all jumped.

David’s sister Morgan doubled over in laughter, “Boo!” She held her side as she tried to catch her breath, “Shouldn’t smoke so much, shit makes you paranoid.” She crossed into the darkened kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, bathing her face in the icy light and grabbing a case of their dad’s beer. Then, taking her keys from the counter, she headed back to the door. She stopped at the frame before she left and turned back, eyeing David, “Better get rid of the smell before Dad gets back. He doesn’t want you guys smoking in here.”

“Oh, but you can take his beer to a party and that’s cool.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes and with a cheerful, “later nerds,” was gone. We heard the snick of the lock behind her and moments later, her headlights shone through the kitchen window as the car backed out of the driveway.

I was already wearing a black t-shirt, but David found clothes for the rest. A black sweater that hung loosely on Donna’s wiry-frame covered her past her shorts. A pair of pants for me. Mike was bigger, so David had improvised with one of his dad’s work uniforms; black cotton pants and a plain black chef’s coat. We looked ridiculous.

David had stolen his stepdad’s cigarettes. We’d been smoking them all night; there were a few left and he insisted that it was a good enough personal item.

I read through the rules again. “It’s not gonna work. We need a picture of the door.”

David handed me his phone with a grin. On the screen was a live video feed of the door in question. I looked back at him confused.

“He put in one of those camera doorbells a couple weeks ago. Dumb idiot put it behind the pillar so you can’t see anything except the door.” He giggled. “When you walk up to the house you can’t even see it. He’s been opening the door to yell at everyone who knocks now for not using the bell.”

Mike laughed so hard at this that his eyes filled with tears, “So perfect. He’ll be so mad.”

Donna pulled up a GPS app and mapped the route to David’s parants’ house.

And so the ritual began.

None of us thought it would work. As we passed the energy from one hand to the next, it grew around us. The air felt oppressive–hot. As beads of sweat soaked my forehead, my breathing grew short and staccatoed. I felt myself growing faint but calmed at the notion that I was just freaking myself out. Then I looked over to David and realized he wasn’t in control of himself any longer.

The house rumbled with the energy and we heard a hissing voice from everywhere around us growl: YESSSSSS.

The candle snuffed itself out. David’s eyes were round planets with stars swirling within, wide as if held open by invisible fingers. When the candle burst back to life, it burned with the intensity of a soldering flame, hot and blinding-white. I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled as the others raised their arms to do the same. David’s eyes changed to glistening, empty pools of milk.

He knocked three times into the air in front of him.

The candle snuffed itself out again, leaving the room in cavernous darkness, save for the lights of the phones displaying the map and the live feed of the door.

The door that his stepdad did not open.

We could see him through the glass at the top; heard as he swore on the other side of the closed door through the live video feed: “Son of a bitch. You fucking kids. Knock on this fucking door again. I’ll fucking–” his voice trailed off as he moved away.

Donna was excited. “Holy shit. Does that mean it worked? He heard it?” Nobody else spoke.

Thud

Mike offered a blood curdling scream that rang until Donna covered his mouth with her hand. She directed all of us, with her eyes, to be quiet.

We stared at each other, not making a sound.

Mike was typing something.

Thud

His eyes shone with panic, like an animal trapped. He handed Donna his phone:

Do you think that’s it? the thing? Will it give up like in the doorbell vid??

“There was nothing in the doorbell video. Just my stepdad yelling,” David whispered.

“Shhh,” Donna hissed.

The door opened slowly and nobody moved as a dark shadow entered.

“Sorry, couldn’t get my key to work. Forgot my dumb phone.” Morgan looked at us for a moment as if we had three heads each. Grabbing her phone out of her room, she then looked directly at Mike, “I know that was you. You scream like a girl.”

We doubled over in laughter. Slowly, over the course of the next half hour, a sense of ease settled back into the room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a dude scream like that,” Donna jibed him.

He threw another pillow at her, “Whatever dude. That was fucking scary as shit,” and he began giggling again.

The rest of the night passed without incident and, for the most part, we forgot about it.

…..

I was hanging out with David the following night. It was just the two of us. Morgan was staying with a friend and his dad was off at work again.

Bing

Our phones chimed in unison. A new Snapchat message. I fiddled with my phone and tapped the notification. Large white letters filled the black screen:

You called me, but no-one answered. I will return. One of you must let me in.

It was from callme_469

“So stupid,” David said, putting his phone down on the coffee table. I felt uneasy.

THUD

I felt my stomach fall away.

David looked startled but got up saying, “It’s probably my dad. The lock sticks,” he was almost to the door.

“Wait!” I shouted.

David froze as I walked to the kitchen window and gestured to the empty driveway, “If that’s him–”

“–how did he get home?” He finished for me.

We weren’t being loud enough to be heard, but a voice responded. David’s dad. “Son, it is your Father, home here now.  Lock sticking. Open door for Father?” The words sounded new. Whatever was on the other side of the door spoke with the right voice, but the sentence structure was jumbled, as though it was saying words it hadn’t used before. They were harsh. Emphasized wrongly.

Bing

This time the message read:

My father’s house has many rooms.

We grew silent and stared at each other.

Bing

Many rooms have many doors

The knocking began again, this time all around us.

THUD THUD THUD

THUD ^THUD KNOCKBANG ^THUD POUND

^{THUD POUNDBANG THUD THUD} KNOCK
^BANG POUNDIt came from the kitchen cabinets, from the closets, the cupboards, doorways, it rattled the mirrors of the medicine cabinets, and it shook from inside of the refrigerator. It struck everything that had a door, and when that didn’t work, it began knocking on walls, the ceiling, and floors.

David began hyperventilating. I was in shock.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Headlights bathed the front of the house through the kitchen window. Before long we could hear someone at the lock muttering: “Goddamit”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hey!” His shouts were muffled behind the door. “I can’t get my key to–nevermind.”

We both heard the sound as the key found its home in the lock tumblers and snicked the bolt aside.

I may have imagined the monstrous, formless shadow that loomed behind him; imagined the smile full of teeth shining in the dark like boxcutter blades…

…but I can’t be sure if I saw anything, because as soon as the door inched open wide enough, I bolted, past David’s father and his confused expression, and out into the night.

I didn’t stop running until I was at the door to my own house, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it; unsure of whether it was safe. Initially I’d grazed the handle and couldn’t be sure if I’d heard a knock or if it was the beating sound of blood in my ears.

Bing

I recognized the line from my years in Sunday School–paraphrased and perverted to serve its sinister purpose:

I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat.

I’ve been calling David for hours now. He isn’t picking up.

CREDIT: Scott Savino

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**Click HERE to check out creepypasta’s official YouTube channel**

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The Psychic Knock Game

by cnkguy

15 Sep, 2018

The Psychic Knock Game

Reading Time: 6 minutes

 

 

That idiot Josh started this. He found this Snapchat user named callme_469 (click here for a pic of their snapcode). Rumor had it that the account belonged to a hot girl, so Josh thought he could flirt with her, I guess. Despite the suggestive name, Josh was misguided; after connecting, the user sent him nothing but snaps detailing the instructions to some sort of ‘psychic’ game.

“You get a group of you together, and if you all focus hard enough, you can knock on someone’s door with your collective psychic energy.” Josh explained to Martin, Tony, and I in school on Monday.

We noticed that there was a bit more to it than that when he actually showed us the snaps, each one a picture of handwritten instructions.

• You need a large group of people who are connected in some way; friends, teammates, or classmates works well.

• You must all agree on whose door to knock on. If there is any disagreement in the group, the game will not work.

• Everyone must wear black.

• The group must sit in a circle and join hands.

• The leader (caller) in the group must place a picture of the door, a map showing the route from the group to the door’s location, and something belonging to the person to receive the psychic knock in the center of the circle.

• There must be complete silence

• The group must concentrate on the map and visualize moving to the door one at a time, starting with the person sat to the left of the caller. When you reach the door, squeeze the hand of your neighbor to the left. Only when the caller gets to the house can you begin to focus on the knock.

• The group, except for the caller, must raise their right hand, concentrate on the door, and visualize the caller’s hand raised and knocking.

• The caller must also visualise the knock. The psychic energy of the group will be channelled into the caller’s right hand and it will raise of its own accord and knock.

We didn’t know how many people we needed, so it started as a few close friends – but word soon got out. Josh invited Kayla because he wanted to make out with her. Kayla wanted to bring Abbey, the biggest loudmouth in the school, so by Thursday morning we had fourteen people coming.

We picked our chemistry teacher Mr Griffiths. He lived quite close to me so it was easy enough to take a picture of his door and steal a little garden gnome he had at the front of his house.

Everything was set, and then disaster struck.

My mom got asked to cover a shift at work; we really needed the money, so she’s couldn’t say no. Because of this, I had to stay home and look after my little sister Joanie.

So, while Josh, Tony, and Martin were having fun hanging out with the hottest girls in our class and trying to psychically bother our teacher, I was stuck at home with a nine year old brat.

Once I’d packed her off to bed, I jumped on my laptop and Skyped Josh. It was 10pm.

“Hey man, this is awesome – Kayla and all the girls came” he said, “It sucks that you can’t be here.”

“I know, man, when are you going to start?”

“Stroke of midnight, dude. Look, stay on the line, but we are going to have to put you on mute when the time comes. The instructions say complete silence.”

I hung out with them for a couple of hours via Skype and watched them get ready in Josh’s basement den. They were all dressed in black, and Josh lit a bunch of candles around the room that cast an eerie, flickering light. When he turned off the lights, the soft, low candle light made the images on the screen pixelated and indistinct.

“Sorry dude, we’re putting you on silent,” Josh said and hit mute. At this point, I could hear them, but they couldn’t hear me.

They formed into a circle, cross-legged on the floor. Josh was reveling in his role as ‘caller’, dishing out instructions and trying to act cool. There was whispering and nodding, then when they pulled out the map and object to put in the middle of the circle, they broke out in giggles, and a few of them shot glances to the screen to look at me. I couldn’t make out the images clearly, but it didn’t look like Mr Griffith’s gnome. It looked more like a sweater… my sweater.

That was when it hit me. They were going to knock on my door.

“You sons of bitches” I shouted uselessly into the muted Skype call. There was nothing I could do. They were in the circle now, completely focused. I watched, powerless to intervene.

I couldn’t see the hand squeezes as the members of the circle passed the ‘psychic baton’ to each other, but I could somehow sense it. I felt the energy building from one person to the next. The candlelight grew dimmer, drawing all attention into the circle, blocking out the rest of the room; the rest of the world. The light flickered wildly as each hand was squeezed tight, and then, the energy passed. Despite the silence in the room, a distant rumbling, grating noise grew over our connection. It hurt my ears.

I wanted to scream at them to stop, but found myself entranced by the events unfolding on my screen.

The energy passed to Josh and the group broke hands. They raised them in unison. Josh’s hands remained rested on his knees, his face impassive, eyes narrowed.

They knocked three times, slowly and deliberately. Impossibly, a deep reverberation built over the Skype connection so that, by the end of the third knock, the booming noise echoed into the pits of infinity.

It’s hard to describe everything that happened in those next few moments.

Josh’s hand shot up. For a fraction of a second, he stared at it, a terrified look on his face. In an instant, the look was gone, as his eyes rolled back in his head, only the whites now staring vacantly out. The flickering candle light transformed the shadow of his raised hand from a teenage boy’s into that of a gnarled and twisted fiend. I don’t know if I actually saw it, or imagined it after the fact, but for less than a heartbeat I thought I saw the terrible creature who owned that hand, etched in shadow on the wall and my screen.

A sound came over the speakers, full of dread, malice, and glee. It was at once a scream, a roar, and most terrifying of all, the word “Yes”.

The circle must have heard it as well, for they clutched their hands to their ears, faces writhing in agony. Blood trickled from some of their noses. My speakers blew, plunging my room into silence.

Josh was oblivious in his glaze-eyed trance. He made a slow, deliberate knocking motion three times.

Thump.

My attention shot to my front door at the thudding sound of the knock. My heart began to race.

Thump.

The knocking on my door was in perfect unison with Josh’s knocking on screen. A couple of the group in Josh’s den scrambled to their feet, freaked out at what was going on. I felt sick; this had gone way too far.

Thump.

I stood up and backed away from the door to my stairs. No fucking way I was opening that door with the shit I had just seen.

I ran upstairs to check on Joanie, make sure she was okay. Thankfully, she was fast asleep. I went into my own room and grabbed my baseball bat. From my bedroom window, I have a good view of the front door. Sweaty and hyperventilating, I nervously drew back the curtains to look.

Nothing.

I grew bolder and took a good look, studying our porch and looking out down the street. Still nothing, but I could feel a presence. That’s when I caught a glimpse; a shadowy movement in the trees across the road. It was only for an instant, but I saw that same ominous outline that I had seen in Josh’s den.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, mentally taxed from the ordeal. I woke up with my baseball bat next to me.

—–

In the cold light of morning, with a couple hours of sleep under my belt, things felt different… cool almost. What had actually happened for me to be so scared? Josh was probably faked the eye rolling and the look of fear when his hand moved. The group were in on switching it to me rather than Griffiths, so they most likely had someone come around to do the knocking, as a joke. I bet they recorded me on Skype so they could see my reaction.

I went to school more pissed off than scared, ready to confront my dick-head friends. My mood changed pretty quickly.

The whole group from the night before were gathered. They all looked terrible, Josh worse than the rest, pale as a ghost and on edge. “I’m so sorry Cody, I had no idea, man. I’m fucking scared, dude.” He said as soon as he saw me.

He showed me his phone. There was a Snap from callme_469. It was a picture of my front door; all thirteen of them had received the same Snap even though only Josh was connected to the user.

The message said “You called me, but no one answered. I will return. One of you must let me in.”

CREDIT: Adam Davies

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Posted in Creepy Pasta and tagged Real Poltergeist Facts 'Real Ghost Pictures' Supernatural Noices 'Real Ghost Stories' Paranormal encounter by cnkguy with no comments yet.