Pulling up in the driveway the car came to a halt. It let out a loud croak as Niamh pulled the handbrake. She sat still, resting her head on the steering wheel. A 10 hour shift later, and she was finally back home for the night. “I just really need a cup of tea… maybe a whiskey”. A bundle of her red curly hair was coming undone from the bun at the nape of her neck. Her skin pale, mapped with freckles, was more transparent than usual with dark grey circles creeping up under her hazel eyes. “Man, I need to stop taking these late shifts” she mumbled into the cold plastic. 

The petrol station in town where she worked was run down and filthy, but the pay was decent - occasionally the local crackheads would pay her the most over the top compliments. The likes of “HOT MAMA! How you doin’ love?” and “If I had any money, like I mean any, I’d buy you a beer, but I spent my last on one for myself” did add some flavour to the otherwise uneventful and stale job. 

Niamh brought her pale slender fingers to her face, pushing her cinnamon crows-nest back into its bun. She touched the smoky quartz pendant resting against her chest and let out a long breath. Grabbing the keys from the engine and the small bag from the passenger seat, she pushed the door open with her dirty combat boots and hopped out of her car.

She hurriedly made her way to the oak door, only the hollow sound of her boots filled the cool midnight air. Her house was at the end of the lane, all small brick cottages - thatch roof, white walls - unassuming and surprisingly normal. Key in lock, Niamh glanced over her shoulder as she turned the key. Inside was dark, except a dim shine from the outdoor lamp next to the door. Rushing inside, she quickly locked the door and turned on the small light in the hallway. 

She listened. 

Her relieved sigh was swallowed by silence. 

Niamh sunk together at the door, her hand trembling at the lock. One breath. Two breaths. She stood up, pushed her shoulders back to turn around. She fumbled to put her keys on the small shelf - they rattled when they hit the small dish, resting against a few obsidian pebbles. Again, she listened. 

She was alone. 

The living room was dimly lit, shining on the little furniture she had. After saving up for several years, she finally had her own space, albeit still a work in progress. Pulling her grey uniform from the small bag she shook it out, sniffing it to see whether she needed to wash it before tomorrow’s shift. Niamh shrugged and threw it over at the ramshackle armchair in the corner; it croaked at the impact. She did not like to go home in her uniform, so she always changed in the back before leaving the petrol station, especially during night shifts. Maybe she was just paranoid, but she did not fancy hosting an unwanted crackhead.

She ran the shower, staring at herself in the mirror. She noticed the circles underneath her eyes had become more pronounced, her face had sunken into itself. I really need to sleep more.  The warm water made her feel rejuvenated. To drown out the silence she started humming a song she did not remember the lyrics to.  Carefully untangling her hair, she twisted it into a big wet knot at the top of her head. Emerging from the bathroom, hair wet and in big flannel pyjamas, she made her way to the kitchen. 

As she passed the bay window in the living room, she stopped. Thick green curtains were drawn, a bay seat tucked away behind them. When Niamh first moved in, she loved reading in the bay window, snuggling up with a good book watching the trees at the edge of the forest. Now she usually kept the curtains drawn. A small shiver crawled down her spine. Setting her jaw, she turned to the kitchen. Kettle on, the feeling of unease did not fade. Her fists were clenched, knuckles white. 

Knock. Knock. 

She froze. The shiver was back, sending electric shocks up and down her body. Her eyes watered, breath quickening. The loud whistle of the kettle made her jump, letting out an owl screech. Niamh scrambled to turn off the stove and silence settled once more. 

Knock. Knock.

Niamh turned around, hands shaking. The living room was empty, still lit by the dim ceiling light. Her eyes scanned the room, finally resting on the obscured bay window. Her pale hand immediately went to the pendant around her neck. Mumbling to herself, she went over to the curtains. They were cold to her touch, yet she retracted her hand as if she had been burned. She shut her eyes tightly. Reaching for the curtain again, she tore it aside. Expecting it empty, she opened her eyes. Shock possessed her, pushing her backwards falling to the floor. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”. Her scream bounced off the walls in the small room. In the bay seat sat a black cat. Salem swatted at his own reflection in the window; an innocent act for an ominous sound. Exasperated Niamh picked him up and hugged him tight to her chest.

“You stupid little cat. You almost gave me a heart attack”. The small creature struggled against her grip, but settled as she kissed his nose. Slowing her breath, she glanced from the window to a small table beside it. Scattered with candles, sage and small stones - rose quartz, selenite and black tourmaline - it was a small altar; a protection altar.

Knock. Knock.

Snapping her head back to the window, she stared in horror. A loud hiss came from Salem, alert in her arms. Holding her breath, her petrified reflection stared back at her. Outside there was no one. Nothing. Only moonlit silhouettes of trees waving in the dark. Niamh let Salem out of her embrace, his back arched to the ceiling with spikes of raven fur. With her gaze fixed on the window, she quickly stood up, redrawing the thick curtains in the process. Taring away from the bay window, she glanced at the altar, letting out a panicked breath she reached over for an incense stick. Carefully, she lit the incense; smoke rising in a thin stream. 

Knock. Knock. 

The sound was louder now. Hollow. As the incense rose, the knocking intensified. Niamh moved away from the window. Salem stood beside her, ready to pounce if he had to. “Shhhh, it’s alright. We’re alright.” Her voice came out with a tremble, as if she could not quite convince herself it was true. The knocking continued as the incense snaked upwards.  Her breath hitched in her throat. Touching her pendant, she began to mumble again, trying hard to steady her breathing. With her eyes glued at the altar, she chanted through the knocking. Slowly the smoke began to disperse, becoming wide and free. 

The knocking slowed. 

Knock. 

Her hair had come undone, dripping quietly onto the wooden floor. Pushing her hair back, she whispered – “It’s alright. We’re alright”. Fumbling with her pendant, she made her way back to the kitchen. We’re alright. She picked up her headphones from the small kitchen table, turned on the noise cancellation and poured her tea. I’m alright. In the living room Salem settled in the armchair - laying on top of Niamh’s uniform - still cautiously watching the green curtains. She sat down on the couch, opened her laptop, and turned on a movie. Her hand trembled slightly as she brought the warm cup to her lips; she was not going to get much sleep tonight.

Knock. Knock.

She let out a shaky sigh. 

I wish the knocking would stop.