Macy

All right.

Our next story is from Kumi.

Hello, please call me Kumi.

Growing up, my parents did what they could to keep a roof over our heads, even if that meant being uncomfortable sometimes.

We stayed home alone a lot of the time with our oldest sister, who couldn't have been more than 15.

Back then, we were renting out a big garage that was slightly modeled to resemble a small house.

We shared a one bathroom, and you couldn't reach it without passing my parents' bedroom.

The bigger room that acted as me and my siblings' living room, bedroom, and kitchen had the only entering point in our so-called tiny house.

I don't remember exactly how we ended up there, but once again, we were left alone with our oldest sister.

We chose to sit on our parents' bed with both doors locked.

I also remember we had mice and I hated being around them, and so did my siblings.

Usually, it was always a rule to lock the front door, and something I think you should also be checking on from time to time.

My sister, for whatever reason, was retelling a story to us about what had been going on around the family in the main house.

She was explaining how one of their oldest sons was home alone on his games when the glass door in the living room were knocked on, shaking with each strike and no one on the other side.

Before she could finish, she was silenced by three unevenly spaced knocks on our parents' bedroom door.

It sounded like an attempt to sound normal, copying us in a way how it had seen us knock on that door before.

But it sounded very off.

It felt surreal, sitting there, not being able to rationalize it with my tiny mind.

The four of us all looked to the door automatically, quietly listening, and as we began to speak and share our awe,

It tried it one more time.