Open it...

 As a child, I was often tormented by one nightmare: late at night, my mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, and then there was a knock on the front door. I go to open it, go to the door and hear a quiet but distinct whisper from there: "Open it." My hands are shaking, it's getting so scary... The whispering continues: "Come on, open it... Be brave... I'm going in anyway... Come on, open it... open up..." I run to my mom, pulling her sleeve. Mom reluctantly comes to the door, but she doesn't hear any knocking or whispering — she turns around and goes off to do her own thing, and I stay at the door. Exhaling with relief, I turn around to go to my room — and then there's another knock and an insinuating whisper: "See? Open it...".

But it wasn't just in my dreams. Sometimes at night I would wake up to a soft knock on the window. We lived on the eighth floor without a balcony. Sitting up in bed, I saw a thin long finger tapping softly on the window. And I heard a familiar whisper: "Open up...".

Don't believe me, laugh, come up with explanations. But I know it's true, even though now even I sometimes feel like a stupid fear inspired by a child's imagination. But lately, this half-forgotten fear has been haunting me with renewed vigor, making me shiver under the covers on dark nights. Because this is the third night my daughter wakes me up, with tears in her eyes, telling me about a creature that knocks on the window and whispers: "Open...".

And I do not know how to help her...