THE KNOCK
A house wrapped in stillness. The quiet amplifies the soft creaking of floorboards as an 18-year-old boy enters his dimly lit bedroom. A large bag hangs from his shoulder, and fatigue pulls at his face. He throws the bag onto the floor carelessly. The thud it makes sounds louder than it should, but he doesn’t give it much thought. Sighing, he closes the door, walks into the adjoining bathroom, and turns on the shower.
Steam fills the small space as he washes away the day’s exhaustion. His mind begins to drift—first to mundane things, then to the strange sense of unease lingering in his gut. Something feels… off.
After finishing, he steps out with a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his messy hair. The mirror is fogged, but he catches a glimpse of himself through the condensation. For a second, it almost looks like his reflection isn't moving the same way he is. He blinks, and shakes his head, leaving it up to fatigue.
Opening the closet, he pulls out a fresh pair of clothes, but something nags at him. His eyes flick to the door, half expecting to see it ajar, but it's still shut. He dresses quickly, avoiding his reflection this time, and heads downstairs to the kitchen.
The house is eerily silent—almost too quiet. He feels as though he’s being watched, but when he glances around, nothing’s out of place. After making a coffee, he returns to his room, the feeling of unease intensifying. He closes the door behind him, sits at his desk, and scrolls through his phone aimlessly.
Minutes pass.
Knock. Knock.
A sudden knock breaks the stillness. He freezes, staring at the door. "Come in," he calls, but no one responds.
After a pause, he repeats, louder this time, "It’s open, come in."
Again, silence.
Annoyed, he sets the cup down and stands up, moving to open the door himself. No one is there. He steps out, peering down the hallway. The house is quiet, almost too quiet. He checks the stairs—nothing.
Confused, he descends the steps, but before he reaches the bottom, another knock echoes from upstairs. And this time, there’s the distinct sound of something shattering. He halts mid-step, heart hammering in his chest. His breath catches as the sound registers—it came from his room.
He hesitates before slowly climbing the stairs again, each step heavier than the last. Upon re-entering his room, his gaze is immediately drawn to the floor. His coffee mug lies shattered, dark liquid seeping into the carpet. But he’s sure he left the cup on the desk. His pulse quickens.
He leaves the room to think and descends the stairs.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Suddenly, the door slams behind him. He spins around, but there’s no one there. Panic surges through him as he rushes downstairs, heart thudding in his ears. His mind races, trying to make sense of the events.
Terrified, he climbs the stairs once more. The door is closed now. Every nerve in his body screams to run, but something stronger—a horrible curiosity—drags him forward. His hand trembles as he knocks on the door.
From inside, a voice responds: "Come in."
His stomach drops.
Frozen in disbelief, he hears the voice again, louder this time: "It’s open, come in."
He backs away, trying to make sense of the impossible. Footsteps shuffle from inside the room, and before he can react, the door opens. A version of himself, dressed in the same clothes, walks out. He watches, stunned, as he double repeats his actions—glancing left and right before heading downstairs to investigate.
Panic sets in. What is happening?
Desperate for answers, he hides in the shadows, his heart pounding. Then it dawns on him—the knock. He had heard it when he was downstairs. It’s all happening again.
Frantically, he tries to make sense of it. He knocks on his door, triggering the same sequence of events, and hides as his double begins to return. He knocks over the coffee mug in his frantic rush to conceal himself. His double re-enters, confused by the broken mug.
But then, something changes.
A gunshot rings out as the other turns to leave the room again. The double crumples to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Standing in the doorway is a man dressed in black, his face obscured. The man steps forward, pulls out a phone, and takes a picture of the lifeless body.
Then, his phone vibrates. With trembling hands, he pulls it from his pocket. A message notification appears—it's a picture of his own dead body.
Horror paralyzes him. Why was the picture sent to him? Who is this man? And why did he kill… him?
Before he can process it, the man in black slips out of the room. The front door clicks shut, leaving him alone. Shaking, he emerges from his hiding place, staring down at his corpse. His breath comes in ragged gasps. What is happening?
Suddenly, footsteps echo again from downstairs. He panics, grabbing the body and dragging it to the wardrobe, shoving it inside and he hides just in time as the door to his bedroom opens once again.
Another double enters, throwing the bag onto the floor, The cycle continues. He watches in horror as the new version of himself goes through the motions—going into the bathroom, taking a shower, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist.
But when the double opens the wardrobe, he finds the body. The scream that follows pierces the air. The double bolts from the room, leaving the door wide open, the towel barely hanging on.
As the scene replays, he realizes with sickening dread: that he’s not the only one trapped here.
And then it dawns on him—the clock hasn’t moved. It’s still 2 PM.
Time itself is frozen.
His breath comes in ragged gasps as he watches the latest version of himself bolt out of the room, screaming in terror after discovering the dead body in the wardrobe. The door swings shut in the chaos, leaving him alone once more. He sits in his hiding spot, wiping sweat from his brow, his mind barely able to comprehend the nightmare he’s trapped in.
But it’s worse than that.
He glances at the clock again—still 2 PM. His phone is frozen at the same moment. He opens an app, but it won’t load. He tries to send a message—nothing. Panic takes root deeper. There’s no escape. The only thing that works on his phone is the photos that are getting sent to him. How?
He rises cautiously from his hiding spot, slipping out of the bedroom and going after his latest double. His gaze sharpens as he spots him at the bottom of the stairs, slowly walking into another room— a look of sheer terror etched across his face. Just as he considers approaching, his hand hits the banister making a noise
A second too late, reality hits him—he’s now in direct sight of the double. The two lock eyes, and before he can think of what to say, his double’s voice cuts through the tense silence, panic lacing every word.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" the double shouts, his voice trembling with both fear and confusion, eyes wide as if struggling to process what he's seeing.
He feels his chest tighten, the air between them thick with tension, almost like the gravity in the room has shifted. Every breath is hard to take, every second drags on, stretched by the weight of their shared existence.
He grabs his double's arm and pulls him into another room downstairs and slams the door. 'Don’t touch me!' the double shouts, yanking his arm free.
“Calm down, let me explain”
“Okay, listen,” he stammers, his voice breaking under the pressure, “I know this is messed up, but I’m you... or you're me from the future... or, no, wait, I'm you from the past.
“I don’t believe you” the double retorts
“What do you mean you don’t believe me? I look like you.”
“Where was I born?”
“London”
“Where in London?”
“Oh my god, fine, your name is Ethan James, you were born in London in 2005, in Hillington hospital, you were born in the early hours of December 29th, you like movies, you like watching them, just today you came back from film school, very tired because it was a hectic schedule now we are stuck in a time loop, do you believe me now?”
“A time loop?” The double’s voice cuts through his rambling, sharp with disbelief. His expression turns into something between confusion and suspicion.
“Yes,” he exhales, trying to steady himself. “Something happened when you found the body. It changed everything. I don't fully understand it, but it’s like we’re stuck in a repeating cycle. Time isn’t moving forward for us, it’s collapsing, folding in on itself.”
“But... why is there a dead body in my wardrobe?!” the double interrupts, his voice rising with mounting panic.
“I put it there,” he admits, wincing as the words leave his mouth.
“You what?” The double’s confusion deepens, anger starting to flicker behind his eyes. “So, you know the dead person?”
“Yes,” he says, taking a breath before delivering the impossible truth. “Because it was me. Or, another me... one from a past loop.”
The double’s eyes widen in horror. “You’re saying the dead person is... you?”
He nods, swallowing hard. “Yes. It’s another version of me.
The double just stares at him, eyes wide in shock.
“He was killed,” he explains, pacing now as he tries to piece it together, “by someone—or something—wearing all black. This guy, he showed up out of nowhere and shot him—shot me—in the head. But it’s like... every time we reset, one of us dies, and another version is left to figure out what's going on.”
There’s a long pause. Both versions of him stare at each other, the weight of what he’s just said sinking in. Time loops, multiple selves, a killer in black—it all sounds like something out of a nightmare. But the science of it, the twisted logic of time distortion, echoes in his mind.
“If time’s looping,” the double says slowly, thinking out loud, “then... every moment, every choice we make, is just resetting. We’re trapped, but the moment we’re stuck in isn’t static—it’s recursive. If something happens that changes the course of events—like finding the body—the loop adapts, creating another version of us to fix it.”
“Exactly,” he replies, a flicker of hope in his voice.
We need to figure out when he’s going to show up. We need to outthink the loop.”
A thud echoes from upstairs interrupting them, and both of them freeze. They exchange a quick glance, and the double speaks, his voice low.
“It’s another loop,” the original says.
Now another sequence is about to begin. They have to let it play out until the man in black appears and kills the latest double.
Both of them go and hide.
Cautiously, they peek from their hiding spot, aware of the growing tension but uncertain of the dangers lurking ahead. They watch as another version of him, another double descends the stairs, move quietly to the kitchen, makes a cup of coffee, and then returns upstairs. The door shuts softly behind him, triggering another cycle.
The two of them exchange a glance, both unnerved but determined. Quietly, they follow the sequence back upstairs and knock on the door, the familiar voice of the double inside calls out, “Come in, his words, though routine, echo eerily through the hallway. The voice repeats, almost shouting, “It’s open, come in.”
Then they hear it—the shuffling of footsteps nearing the door. They quickly hide, hearts pounding as the door creaks open. The double steps out, going through the same motions, unaware of their presence. The tension rises as both of them stay out of sight.
Once the double is out of the room, they knock again, louder. This time, something feels different. The mug shatters on cue. The double walks back into the room again and looks at the shattered mug. As he is about to walk back out, the man in black appears and shoots him, takes a picture of the body and sends it to the original.
The phone buzzes on cue, he takes it out and sees the picture. Both he and the double look at it in shock. They are still hiding in the wardrobe, as the man in black leaves the room.
“Where does he go?” The original asks the double.
“I don’t know,” the double says, breathing heavily.
The weight of this overwhelming situation is bearing down on the two people sitting in the wardrobe. They breathe heavily as they exit the wardrobe slowly and walk toward the dead body.
They look at it, sweat dripping from their brows. The tension grows, drawing the walls closer. They drag the body and stuff into the same wardrobe where the other dead double is.
The other double wears a new set of clothes and they both sit on the bed, trying to think of a possible solution out of this dreaded situation.
“What in the hell is happening right now?!” the double suddenly wails.
“I don’t know,” the original says. “I need you to calm down, we cannot let our emotions get in the way, we need to think our way out of this”
“I CANNOT BE HERE RIGHT NOW. I DO NOT WANT TO DIE” The double shouts, echo through the room
“HEY!” the original grabs his shoulders, “Look at me, the only way we escape this is by thinking straight, we cannot let our emotions get in the way, do you understand me?”
The double takes some time to calm down.
“Yeah you are right”
“Okay,” the original says with a little bit of determination in his voice.
“I think the killer—the man in black—he's not just some random attacker. He’s part of the loop, like a constant, forcing the timeline to reset. Every time one of us gets killed, it resets. But we haven’t found a way to break the cycle yet.
His double stands still, absorbing the words, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The silence between them feels heavy as if the weight of the truth is too much to bear. He finally speaks, his voice tinged with uncertainty, “So… if we stop the killer—if we stop him from killing one of us—does that break the loop?”
The original runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting nervously around the room, searching for an answer that may never come. “I don’t know. It’s a possibility.
The double shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the door. “But why? Why us? Why does the loop centre around the man in black and…and why does he send you the pictures?”
“I don’t know, maybe there is an answer to that I don’t know about. Maybe I’m something different. And when he shoots, the timeline folds on itself, resetting everything and we are back at square one.
The double takes a deep breath, the reality of their situation starting to sink in. “If we can’t stop him, then we’ll be stuck here forever.”
“There’s got to be a way to stop it,” the original mutters, more to himself than to his double. “If we could ambush him—if we could get to him before he has a chance to strike, maybe... just maybe... we can break the cycle.”
The double’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope mixing with doubt. “But what if we fail? What if we aren’t strong enough”
“We don’t have a choice. It’s either try, or we’re trapped in this nightmare. Forever,” the original snaps, his desperation rising. His eyes lock onto his double’s. “We need to ambush him before he gets a chance to kill the new double. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“Alright. Let’s do this. But we need to move now. A new cycle is starting, and the next version of us will be here any minute.”
Both of them go and hide in the wardrobe. A new double appears, throws the bag on the floor, takes a shower and goes down. Both of them knock and trigger the events until everything happens on cue.
When the double is about to leave the room after seeing the coffee spill, the man in black appears again but this time both of them are ready.
As expected, but before he can act, they burst from their hiding place, tackling him to the floor just as he raises his gun.
A violent struggle ensues. The three of them tumble down the stairs in a chaotic brawl. Fists fly, kicks land with bone-jarring thuds, and the sound of shattered glass fills the air. The man in black is quick and relentless, but together, they manage to pin him down, tearing at his mask.
As the fabric slips away, revealing the man's face, they see another man. They move back in shock.
Not just any other man, but another version of him. A twisted, aged version, his face lined with deep scars, his eyes hollow with the weight of endless cycles. This version of him—cold, calculating—stares back at them with a dark, knowing gaze.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” the man in black says with a bitter smirk, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes, dark and hollow, fixate on the original with a look of grim satisfaction. “There’s no breaking the loop. Not for you... not for any of us.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence. The realization crashes over the original like a wave of ice—this isn’t just a time loop. It’s something far worse. They’re trapped in an infinite recursion, an endless cycle where every version of himself is doomed to either kill or be killed. The timeline isn’t merely broken; it’s shattered, splintering into countless versions of him, all endlessly repeating the same twisted, deadly pattern.
The original steps back, his mind reeling. “But... why? Why us? How did you escape it?”
The man in black wipes the blood from his lips and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sends chills down the original’s spine.
“Escape? You think I escaped?” His eyes gleam with something almost like madness. “I didn’t escape. I adapted. I’m not just part of the loop anymore. I became something more.”
The original shakes his head, confusion flooding him. “What do you mean? How?”
The man in black steps closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I was one of the doubles—just like you. I tried to fight it, tried to break free. But the more I tried, the more the loop tightened its grip. Until I realized...” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “The loop doesn’t want us to escape. It’s not just a trap—it’s a system. A cycle that feeds on our actions, and our decisions. And I found the cracks.”
“Cracks?” the original echoes, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man in black nods, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Yes. Tiny fractures in the timeline. Moments where the loop falters, where it hesitates for just a fraction of a second. I went into hiding and watched... calculated everything. I learned when the loop ends and when the new one begins. And I found a way to slip between those moments—just long enough to hide.”
The original’s heart races. “Hide? But... that’s impossible. You can’t just hide from the loop.”
“Oh, but I did,” the man in black sneers. “While you and the other versions of us kept repeating the same mistakes, I stayed hidden, watching, learning. I waited for the perfect moment, the exact sequence of events when you enter the room the second time... and that’s when I make my move.”
“The second time?” The original’s head spins, trying to make sense of it all.
The man in black’s smile widens, his eyes glinting with a sinister light. “Yes. The loop resets every time one of us is killed. But there’s a window—when you go back into the room the second time. That’s when I appear, when I come and shoot you. Only when I shoot you is the loop complete, and it resets again.”
The original stares at him horrified. “So... you’ve been manipulating the loop? You’re the reason it keeps resetting?”
The man in black shakes his head slowly. “No. I’m not the reason it resets. I’m just the only one who’s figured out how to control it. How to time it. I don’t want to kill you, but if I don’t, the loop breaks me and pulls me back into its cycle. I’m stuck in this hell just like you. But I found a way to survive—to slip between the cracks.”
“Survive?” the original’s voice wavers, his disbelief palpable. “What kind of survival is this? Living through endless loops, killing yourself over and over again?”
The man in black’s smirk fades, replaced by a haunted look. “It’s not living. It’s barely existing. But it’s better than the alternative—being trapped in the loop with no way out. At least I have control, some semblance of power over the madness.”
The original shakes his head, anger rising in his chest. “There has to be another way. We can break the cycle. There has to be something we’re missing.”
The man in black’s eyes narrow, his expression hardening. “You think I haven’t tried? You think I haven’t searched for an answer, for a way out? There is no escape. No matter what you do, the loop will always find you. It adapts. It changes. Every time you think you’re close, it resets, stronger, more twisted.”
The original clenches his fists, refusing to accept it. “Then what are we supposed to do? Just keep killing each other for eternity?”
The man in black steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t get to choose. You’re part of the system now, just like I am. The only thing you can do is survive... or die.”
A cold silence settles between them, the weight of the truth suffocating. The original stares at the man in black, the reality of their fate sinking in. There’s no way out. No end to the loop. Only endless death... and survival.
“But why did you send those pictures to me?”
“You could have just killed me”
The man in black looks at both of them with intensity.
"Because..." the man in black says, his voice rasping as he struggles to speak, "I needed you to realize... it's not me you should be afraid of."
He coughs, blood spilling from his lips, but a twisted smile remains on his face. The two of them stand frozen, waiting for him to explain. His eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto theirs.
"It's you."
Confusion twists in their minds. "What do you mean?" the original stammers, dread creeping through his veins.
The man in black's smile widens, his breath rattling with each word. "The loop... doesn't exist to torture us. It's here... to contain you."
A tense silence follows, their minds racing. "What are you talking about? I’m trying to survive this. I’m trying to stop this madness!" the original protests.
The man in black wheezes a laugh, shaking his head as if disappointed by their ignorance. "You're not the victim. You're the source."
The realization hits them like a ton of bricks. Their hearts race, pounding in sync as fear overtakes every thought. The original steps back, his voice trembling. "That’s impossible. You’re lying."
The man in black shakes his head weakly, eyes narrowing. “The loop began because of you—the original you. Every version of you, each new iteration, is a safeguard. The loop isn’t broken because it can’t be broken. It’s resetting to prevent what you’ve become.”
His double stares at him, eyes wide with the weight of what’s being said. "You're saying that... we're not trying to escape?"
The man in black coughs again, blood trickling down his chin.
"You think you're trying to break free? No. The real you—the first version—became something else, something far worse than anything you’ve seen. The loop... it’s meant to contain your true self. Every version, every copy, is here to stop that from ever happening again."
The air thickens with horror as the pieces finally click into place.
"The picture," the original whispers. "It wasn’t a warning from you... it was from me."
The man in black nods, his breathing shallow now. "You’re not the victim of a killer. You’re... the one who set this in motion. The real you is trapped outside the loop, waiting... until every version of you has killed each other off. Once that happens, you'll be unleashed—the true you. The unstoppable version."
"No," the original shakes his head, stepping back in denial. "No, that can’t be true. I didn’t do this. I’m just—"
"—another version, a fragment," the man in black interrupts, his voice fading. "You’ve been killing off your own selves, hoping to be the last... to finally become... what you’re meant to be."
Panic grips them both. "How do we stop it?" his double asks, desperation in his voice.
"You can’t," the man in black whispers, his final words echoing in the suffocating silence. "The loop... never ends. The only way out... is if you accept who you really are."
With that, the man in black goes still, the life leaving his eyes. The room falls into an oppressive silence.
The two of them stand over the body, their minds reeling from the revelation. Every cycle, every loop—they had been fighting against themselves. They weren’t victims of some external force. They were part of a deeper, darker plan—one that they had set in motion from the very beginning.
And then, it happens.
A faint hum fills the air. The clock on the wall ticks forward—just one second.
But it’s enough.
A shiver runs down their spines as the room darkens, the walls seeming to close in around them. The truth weighs heavily on their shoulders. The original stares at his reflection in the mirror, his hands trembling.
"I’m the cause of all this," he whispers.
Suddenly, a low, sinister voice fills the room. It’s not from his double, and it’s not from the man in black.
It’s from inside his own mind.
"You’re almost ready," the voice says, dark and malevolent. "You’ve been fighting it... but soon, you’ll become what you were meant to be
The original's breath hitches as a new realization dawns: the man in black wasn’t the real enemy. The real enemy had been inside him all along, waiting, biding its time.
And now, as the loop begins to break, that enemy is getting stronger.
His double looks at him, eyes filled with fear. "What do we do now?" His voice shakes with dread, eyes wide, pleading for some kind of escape.
But the original knows the answer. His eyes harden as he turns to face his reflection one last time.
"We stop fighting."
“We stop fighting against this force, we have to accept this force as a separate entity.
“For this entity to be warded off, I must make a tough decision.
The original looks around the house, taking it all in, remembering what he had to do to get here.
He then takes the gun from the man in black.
He looks at his double, “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he says, his voice cracking as he forces a weak smile. “But this is the only way.”
With those final words, he grips the gun and places it on his temple, and pauses. For a moment, the weight of his decision hangs in the air, the gravity of his actions sinking in. With a final, steady breath, he pulls the trigger, feeling a mix of dread and relief.
As he falls, the room’s oppressive darkness begins to lift. The remaining versions of himself start to fade, and the clock moves from 2 PM to 2:05 PM. Outside, the sun begins to shine brighter, casting away the shadows.
The cycle is over. The loops are no more. The protagonist’s final moments are a bittersweet mix of relief and regret, leaving a lingering question: what now?
Written by: Avyay Skanda Udupa
