Knocking on my Door

Maybe I'm superstitious or maybe I'm too sensitive to the things I watch on T.V. either way here I am scared out of my mind.

A few months back I was walking through some neighborhood on the far side of the city trying to find a bus stop when I see a garage sale at the end of the block.  I could see a stack of CD's on a table so I decide to check it out.

I didn't notice anyone out front.  No one browsing.  Just a few tables set up in the driveway of some house.  Old clothes on one table.  A few cassettes, a blender, some old appliances and a stack of a hundred Sony CD-R's on another.

The CD's weren't wrapped in plastic.  Just on the spindle with the lid.  I wondered if they were even blank at all.  Then finally from inside the garage someone says in an old raspy voice, "seventy-five cents."  I look over to the back of the garage.  There sitting in a yellow greenish recliner was on old man with deep wrinkles on his face.  He had soft white hair that pointed every which way from his head.  He had on a red and black mothball infested flannel and a walking cane leaning next to him.  He looked like he was in seventies.

"Are they blank?" I asked.
"Blank?" he replied, "oh yes, definitely blank."  I couldn't tell but he was either unsure or apprehensive to tell me.
"Seventy-five cents you say?"
"Yes and they're all yours."
I pondered for a moment doing the math in my head of what I needed for my bus ride home.  "Do you know where the nearest bus stop is?"
"Oh no, the bus doesn't run through here," he said as he coughed to clear his throat.
"It doesn't?" I asked slightly surprised.
"Oh no.  Hasn't for some years now.  Last bus I saw was..." he said as he rubbed his chin and closed his left eye as if thinking real hard, "probably five years back.  Yeah, that sounds about right.  No, I tell ya, no buses coming here.  No one really leaves here anymore.  Some come for visits but never really leave.  At least not the same."
I didn't know what he was talking about.  "Okay, well, I guess I'll take the CD's then."  I reached in my pocket and pulled out three quarters.
"Oh son, can you bring them here.  Not so good at walking these days."
I didn't really want to go into the garage but I didn't feel right making him walk over to me.  I walked in slowly.  There were more tables inside with random stuff laying in boxes.  There were two old fridges lining the wall and old chains wrapped around the wooden ceiling girders.  Old hoses and bikes with no wheels hanging from the walls.

Back behind him were four giant pickle jars with yellowish liquid.  There were things floating in them but I couldn't really tell what they were. I handed him his three quarters and he said, "its ectoplasm."
"What?" I replied.
"The jars.  I saw you looking at them.  Its ectoplasm."
"Ectoplasm?" I said, "isn't that like supposed to be ghost residue or something?"
"Yes, that's right.  They leave it behind when interacting with the physical plane. I noticed you looking at 'em. You want them?  I'll give you a good price.  I'm ready to be rid of them."
"Oh no, its okay.  Not really into that stuff,"  I said as I put the CD's into my backpack.  "How do you know its ectoplasm anyway?"
"We had a few things happen here a few years back.  Probably around the same time the buses stopped running through here.  Things didn't go too well."  His voice sounded frail.
"You had ghosts?" I asked mildly intrigued.
"Oh yes."
"Really?  Did something happen?"
"Oh most definitely."
"Were you scared?" I felt myself getting too excited at the prospect of a ghost story.
"Surely was but it wasn't the ghosts I was afraid of, it was something much more sinister."
"Like what?"
"Well the psychic told us it was a poltergeist."
"Us?'
"My family," he said looking to the ground.
"Do they believe it was a poltergeist too?"
"Well," his voiced got quieter.  "My family didn't fair too well I'm afraid.  My wife, well, she's in an asylum now.  She couldn't get over our son dying."
"Oh no, I'm sorry."
"Oh, its alright."
"How did he die?"
"Well, the doctors tell me that his heart just stopped.  Crushed from the inside they said.  Like it imploded on itself.  Not sure what to make of that but after all the things that happened I know what I want to blame it on."
"I'm sorry."
"Its okay son.  Its gone now.  Went through hell and back but its gone now and I'm at the end of my wits anyway.  These jars are all that's left of what happened."
"Why do you keep them?"
"Good question.  I'm not quite sure anymore but maybe...hopefully so someone would believe me about what happened I guess.  It's taken a toll on my life.  I've aged dramatically.  Looking at me you would say I was in my seventies but I'm only forty seven."
"What? No way you are forty seven," I said in disbelief.  The way he looked showed a frail beaten and battered old man.  I couldn't believe him.
"Oh yes.  I had a moment there where the spirit or whatever it was grabbed hold of my soul and I fought to hold on.  I came away with my soul but as you can see my life is most likely reaching its end."
"How did you get it to leave?"
"I'm sorry son but I don't believe I have the strength to tell the tale," he said coughing again in his raspy voice.
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be a bother.  I'll just be on my way then.  Have a good rest of your day sir."
"You too son.  Enjoy your CD's."
"Thanks. I will."

A few weeks pass and I have burned through about a quarter of those CDs when I encounter one that wasn't blank.  It had some data on it.  A single folder labeled  {om66145-AB-197-ef}.  Inside was a video file.  It was just labeled '0'.

I was apprehensive at first to open it so I ejected it and left the CD on my desk for a few days without watching the video.  Didn't really think anything of it. Then the knocking on my door began.

At all hours, doesn't matter what time it was but there would be knocking on my door and when I go to answer it no one is there.  I live in an apartment building so at first I'm thinking maybe its a neighbor fooling around or people going to the wrong apartment.  But it doesn't stop.  Over and over at all hours.  Even when I'm sleeping.  Three knocks usually.  Knock, knock, knock.

Annoyed of the knocking, the neighbors or whatever it is, I sit at my computer and notice the CD again.  I pop it in and open the video file.  Its starts playing and its of a teenage kid staring at me.  Its a webcam video.

He grabs the camera and moves it to the edge of his desk. I'm now looking at him from his left.  There seems to be no sound.  After he situates the camera to where he wants it he starts typing and looking at the screen very intently.

About thirty seconds pass and suddenly he turns to look over his shoulder.  I realize there is actually sound in the video just very low because I heard what sounded like a knock.  I turned up my speakers as far as they could.

The kid then gets up from his chair and slowly makes his way out of the room.  As I'm watching the empty room a low bass starts emanating from my speakers.  His monitor starts vibrating very slightly and a dark black mass oozes out of the screen.  Like a gas. It floats out softly and hovers for a moment before attaching itself to the far wall.  Then I hear some knocking again from the video. Three knocks.  As if keeping him away.  Finally, the boy comes back and sits back down at his computer completely oblivious to the black mass hovering above him.  It disappears and then the kid starts clutching his chest in agonizing pain.  He keels over and falls to the ground and doesn't move.  The video plays for another minute before stopping.  Before it ends I could see on the monitor screen a message typing itself.  I've played it back and forth and I'm fairly certain it says.  "You were meant to watch this."

So here I am, scared out of my wits after watching that video.  I can't move.  I keep feeling like someone is watching me.  But the most terrifying thing is that I keep looking over my shoulder because the knocking on my door keeps getting louder but I don't want to move.