Some rooms have a way of making space for someone who was never invited.
It was a Friday night, and I had been studying nonstop for my accounting exam in my dorm, One Morayta Residences. My notes were scattered across the desk, with a half-empty cup of coffee sitting beside my calculator. I had been staring at the same problem, occasionally rubbing my temples whenever the numbers stopped making sense.
Across the room were my roommates, Belle and Angela, getting ready to head out for McDonald’s. Belle was fixing her hair while Angela searched her bag for her wallet. The two started discussing what to order, then turned to ask what I wanted. I gave them my usual Mix and Match combo without looking up from my notes, still trying to figure out the problem in front of me.
“Don’t take too long,” I said, glancing up. “I still have to finish these practice tests.”
“Miss us already?” Belle teased. Angela rolled her eyes, clearly used to her nonsense. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. Between Angela’s endless commentary and Belle’s patience being tested every five minutes, I sometimes wonder how I ended up being the most reasonable person in the room.
“Just get the food already please.” I sighed in defeat. They laughed before finally stepping out.
Ten minutes later, the metal frame above my bed groaned. I glanced up at the upper berth of my bunk which had remained empty, its thin mattress undisturbed since the day I moved in. I stared at it before returning to my notes, letting the loose screws rattle themselves into silence. It was probably just the plumbing or the loose screws. Nothing worth losing sleep over. I barely had time to convince myself before a faint rapping from the bathroom broke the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Nothing seemed out of place when I checked inside the bathroom. The faucet was dry, the floor untouched by water. Only the small window above the toilet remained slightly ajar. My eyes settled on it, wondering what could have made contact with the glass. A bird, perhaps. Or a branch scraping against the frame.
I stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what had happened, when the sound of the front door opening made me jump. Belle and Angela were back.
I hadn’t realized how tense I’d become until I heard their voices. I quickly stepped away from the bathroom, trying to make my movements seem casual.
“Why are you standing there?” Belle’s eyebrows furrowed.
I displayed an awkward grin when Angela glanced toward the bathroom. “Did something happen?”
Unsure of how they would react, I hesitated before telling them what had happened. Belle burst out laughing, blaming the temperamental pipes, while Angela pointed out our notoriously noisy neighbors. I laughed along, relieved to have them back, even though the knocks still lingered in my thoughts.
Before going to bed, I dragged a chair across the floor and wedged it against the bathroom door. Belle watched me, raising an eyebrow. It was childish, I knew, but I needed to feel like there was something I could do.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of metal scraping against metal. It was the upper bunk. The mattress above me shifted, the frame groaned, and something pressed against the metal slats overhead.
Frozen, I searched the dim room for someone else who had heard it. I wanted to call Belle, but my voice refused to come. From the opposite bunk, I caught the sight of her on the upper berth, shifting beneath her blanket as she peered into the darkness. Even from below, I could make out the fear on her face.
“Leon?” Belle whispered from the other bed. “Did you hear that?”
Before I could answer, three familiar knocks came from the bathroom. Belle and I didn’t sleep much after that. By daylight, the chair was still against the bathroom door. Nothing had been moved. Nothing was missing.
The following evening, we ordered dinner and talked about usual things — classes, deadlines, what we wanted to eat the next day. Nobody mentioned the chair or the creaking of the bed, and I was grateful for it.
My grandmother used to tell me that whenever you hear three knocks at night, you should count the people in the room. She never explained why. She only said it was better to know who was there. I had always thought it was one of her typical Lola superstitions.
“Belle. Angela. Me. Three.”
“Okay?” Angela asked, looking up from her phone.
“Nothing. Just checking.”
She gave me a strange look but didn’t ask anything else.
As night fell, we agreed to keep the light on. At 2:17 a.m., three knocks came from the bathroom, followed by slow, uneven footsteps across the tiles. The footsteps grew louder with each step until they stopped beside my bed.
The blanket crept up to my chin, keeping my eyes on the metal slats supporting the upper berth. Right across from my bunk, Belle held her breath, interrupted only by shallow gasps in the upper berth. Below her, Angela whispered a trembling prayer beneath her blanket.
I thought keeping the lights on wouldn't make much of a difference. Whatever we thought we were imagining was still there, so I decided to turn them off. Then the upper bunk creaked again. The mattress dipped, and the bed frame rattled softly above me. I had grown used to the sound, but never to the thought of what might be up there.
I opened my eyes, waited for one of the girls to say something, but neither Belle nor Angela moved. Instead, a single knock came from directly above my head. I didn’t move. For a few seconds, the room was quiet again. Then the upper bunk creaked, and the old metal frame rattled softly above me.
I held my breath. A voice came from the darkness overhead.
“Four.”
- Genina Izabelle Bulan
(Photo by Zean Atienza/FEU Advocate)