A young man named Brock was laying in bed, thinking of what to do. He lay there, deciding on a book to choose.
"Should I read Lands of Concrete or Roll for Fate?" he wondered, when he heard three unexpected raps on his door.
"Hello?" Brock called out, but he was met with silence.
He decided to ignore it as he picked up Lands of Concrete, when another set of knocks reached Brock's ears.
"Hello?" Brock repeated, starting to get frustrated, knowing he was heard.
The knocks came again, only more persistent. Throwing his book down, Brock walked over to the door—until…
With a loud bang that seemed to echo across the neighborhood, his door flew off its hinges, shattering from the sheer impact and launching toward his bed.
Startled, Brock jumped back.
As the dust and debris cleared, Brock was met with a tall, dark silhouette.
Brock mumbles under my breath, horrified by the sight.
"Who are you?"
Brock almost blackes out as he started to get lightheaded.
Brock tried to call for someone, but his voice was silent. Seconds felt like hours. Brocks brain went into fight-or-flight mode as he picked up a small piece of drywall from the floor and threw it in the direction of the silhouette, hoping for any chance of success. But it just went through the shadow and seemed to be absorbed.
After what seemed like years, Brock's mom walked up the stairs, horrified by the sight of the door.
She screamed, "What the hell, Brock?!"
Brock was slightly jarred by how loud his mother was shouting, but he wasn't too surprised, considering his wooden door was now shattered to pieces on the floor.
As Brock's mom walked through the doorframe—or what was left of it—the shadow figure faded away.
Brock, looking as confused as ever, just sat on his bed trying to catch his breath. He began to explain everything he possibly could, from the knocking on the door to the door breaking down, but his mom just stared at him, confused—like she wasn't understanding a word.
Brocks voice shook with fear, unable to even form a full sentence. Brock muttered,
"I-it's the man… y-y-you didn't see him."
Brock thought maybe if he laughed it off, she would go along with it and he wouldn't seem too insane.
After minutes of explaining, Brock let out a sigh and went to pick up the shattered pieces on the ground.
"Wow, can my life get any worse? There's no way," he muttered.
After an hour of cleaning up, Brock sat down and picked up his phone, wondering if he should text his friend or not.
After a bit of procrastination, he picked up his phone and texted him. Brock was about to set his phone down when, within an instant, he got a response:
"Bro, you read way too much. You're going insane," Brock's friend said smugly.
"Maybe I am insane," Brock muttered, wiping the upset look off his face.
Still unable to shake the image engraved in his brain, he decided to go online and do some research to see if there were any other sightings.
With a click of the mouse, he found one possible result—but he didn't believe it, as it didn't match well enough.
"I already know this will take a while to find… but I'll make this worth it—just to figure out who the silhouette is."