The Third Knock

A small, decrepit cabin sits alone in the middle of a dark forest. The trees loom like silent sentinels. The wind moans through the branches. A single candle flickers inside the window.

Dimly lit. Dust hangs in the air. The walls are covered in deep scratch marks. A clock on the wall ticks loudly—but the hands don't move.

JASON (30s, disheveled, paranoid) sits at a wooden table, staring at a closed notebook in front of him. His hands tremble. Across from him, LIAM (30s, calm, eerily composed) watches with an unsettling stillness.

LIAM You hear it too, don’t you?

Jason’s bloodshot eyes flick to Liam, but he says nothing. His fingers tighten around the edges of the notebook.

LIAM (softly) You wrote it down, didn’t you?

Jason’s breathing quickens. His gaze darts toward the cabin door—chained shut. His leg bounces under the table.

JASON (low, hoarse) It’s just in my head.

Liam leans in, resting his elbows on the table. His voice is calm, too calm.

LIAM Then why don’t you open the book?

Jason swallows hard. He grips the notebook, but his knuckles turn white.

JASON If I don’t read it… it’s not real.

Jason jolts. A single knock echoes through the cabin. The candle flickers. Liam smiles slightly.

LIAM First knock.

Jason shakes his head, muttering to himself. He presses his palms against his temples.

JASON It’s not real. It’s not real.

The second knock. Closer. The air in the room tightens, pressing in on Jason. Liam doesn’t move, his eyes locked on Jason.

LIAM Second knock. You remember what happens next.

Jason looks at the notebook, then at Liam. His hands start to shake violently.

JASON This isn’t happening.

LIAM Then don’t listen.

The third knock.

Jason’s breath catches. The candle dies. Silence smothers the room. The clock on the wall starts ticking again.

LIAM (whispering) You wrote it down. Now it’s coming.

Jason’s face contorts in horror. He stares at Liam—

But Liam is gone.

Jason’s chair tips backward as he scrambles away from the table. His hands fumble for the notebook, but when he opens it—

The pages are empty.

The sound of scratching comes from the walls. The clock ticks louder. Jason’s eyes dart around the room—

JASON (whispering) No, no, no…

A breath ghosts against his ear. A voice—his own voice—whispers from behind him.

WHISPER (O.S.) You shouldn’t have written it down.

Jason spins around— but the screen cuts to BLACK.