The New Neighbor Knocks Every Night at 3 AM, He Doesn't Want to Come In | Part 1
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Ever get that chill when you're alone in the dark? After Dark is a brand new horror podcast that fully embodies that feeling with a soothing female narrator that draws you in before leading you into the shadows. Each week, After Dark tells some of the most terrifying tales that feel a little too real. The kind that make you glance over your shoulder or leave a light on at night. If you're already hooked on Dr. No Sleep, you'll feel right at home with After Dark.

Well, if home had shadows that whispered back. Tune in to After Dark today by clicking the link in the episode description. Just one warning, don't listen alone. The knock comes as I lay here waiting. I knew it would come. It always does. Without even looking at my watch. A gift from my wife on our third anniversary that I wind every night. I know what time it is. 3 AM. On the dot.

The covers tangle about my legs for my usual fitful sleep. It's impossible to go deep knowing the knock is on its way. And there it is again. Dealing with this for what feels like forever, I know I have one more knock before it turns into pounding. I've never let it go beyond that. It would be a mistake if I did.

I free my legs from the covers, glance at where my wife would have slept, and swing them over the side of the bed. While rubbing my face with one hand, I reach down and find my sweatpants with the other. I stand up and slip on my sweats, grab my t-shirt off the back of the chair over by the closet, take a deep breath, and shuffle out of my bedroom toward the front door. The third loud knock echoes down my hallway. "Hold your horses!" I shout. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

With a tired sigh, I reach the front door, type in the code, listen to the locks release, grab my baseball bat from next to the coat rack, and slowly open the door. "Didn't think you were gonna answer this time," the man says with a smile. "Morning, Ralphie." "Morning, Chuck," I reply. "Right on time." "You know me," Chuck says. "Always punctual, especially for some FaceTime with my favorite neighbor."

"As usual, Chuck." I'm flattered, I say, gripping my bat tightly in my right hand as I stand just inside the threshold. Chuck smiles at the bat. "It's funny how something made for a game so easily becomes a weapon," Chuck says. "At least in your hands it does. I'm sure you understand." "Not really," Chuck shrugs.

"But I suppose that's why I'm here. Although, I was wondering if we were going to skip out on our nightly chat?" I don't respond. "You wouldn't do that, would you, Ralphie?" he asks. "Skip out on our nightly chat?" I wouldn't think of it. "Oh, Ralphie, Ralphie, Ralphie," he says and shakes his head. "Lying gets you nowhere but a world of hurt. You know that." "I'm not lying."

"Oh, Ralphie," Chuck responds, his head still shaking back and forth. "I'm here, aren't I?" I snap. "Yes, you are, Ralphie," Chuck says. "But I don't like that tone." I shrug an apology, not wanting him to think he has me scared. Like I said, Chuck has been coming by at 3 a.m. every single night or morning, or whatever the time is, every night for a very long time, not a second earlier or later, 3 a.m. precisely.

I check my watch and it's already 3:20. Damn, I'm not moving as fast as I used to. No wonder he's up my ass. I got lucky tonight. Could've thrown a total shit fit on my front porch. And it's never good when Chuck has a shit fit. I've averted a couple of them, but I'm not sure if I can avert many more. Or any more at all, to be honest. He turns and looks out at the street, his back to me. He's been doing that more and more lately.

I don't know exactly what he's playing at. It's like he wants me to brain him with my bat, but we both know what happens if I leave my habitat, or if he tries to come inside. "The quiet is what I like about this place," he says, back still to me. "And the dark. No noise pollution, no light pollution. Just peace and quiet everywhere." "These burnt-out shells don't exactly scream peace," I thought, staring out at what we used to call "the street."

I always let Chuck have his little musings. Arguing with Chuck is almost as bad as not opening the door. "What are you up to today, Ralphie?" Chuck asks. "Gutters need cleaning," I say, playing the game. I glance past him at the gigantic oak tree that fills my front yard. They even got that part right. "That time of year, you know?"

"That time of year," Chuck repeats to himself. "I've gotten good at knowing when he's talking to me and when he's not. We've had a couple misunderstandings in the past. I sorted those out fast, though. Real fast." "Come out and have a seat. I'd love to hear one of your Marine Corps stories, Ralphie. Those are always the best. I'm fine where I am." He laughs. "One day you'll step outside," he says, and nods toward the burnt-out shells.

just like they did. "Care to come in and have some coffee?" I respond, ignoring his barb. "Coffee does sound nice," Chuck says, even though I know for a fact he's never tasted coffee. "But I'll have to pass," he continues, turning to look at me before studying the door. "You understand, right, Ralphie?" "I do," I say. "Just like you understand, I can't step outside." His response is to turn back around and face the street,

We stand in silence for a few minutes. Chuck breaks it first. "Sure would like one of your stories tonight, Ralphie." "I think I've told you all of those, Chuck." "Don't matter. They're just the best. I could hear them a thousand times over. Tell me the one about the kids on the bikes. You know that one, right? Where they rode up to your squad and then came the boom?" He says "boom" casually, like it's just another word. No onomatopoeia for Chuck.

Boom is simply a description, not a sound to describe the horror of what happened. "How many of your buddies did you lose that day?" he asks. "You know how many," I reply. "Listen, Chuck, I-" "How many of your buddies did you lose that day?" he asks again. It's gonna be one of those nights. "Hold on, let me grab a hoodie and a chair." "No need for that, Ralphie," he says. "Just come on out here, only for a minute, that's all."

"I'm good," I say. "I'll be right back." "Don't take too long, Ralphie," Chuck calls after me as I turn and walk to the kitchen for a chair. I snag a hoodie from the coat rack on the way back and set the chair down just inside the threshold. Always just inside. It has been a long, long while since I've crossed that threshold.

"Ralphie, I'm getting bored," Chuck says in a sing-song voice. "Cram it sideways, Chuck," I say, taking a huge risk as I sit down. He laughs. That's a good sign. The risk paid off. Chuck glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. "Now that you're settled," he says, "how about you tell me about how many of your buddies you lost that day? You know the day, right? The kids with the bikes?" "I know the day," I reply.

What's up? It's me, Don Toliver. If I could describe the Bose Ultra Open Earbuds, I think I would describe it as very seamless. It can definitely be something that you can style. It's like earring candy. Check out Bose.com for more. "Jenkins!" I shouted. I watched the dumbass saunter over to the cafe where the young woman sat and giggled. Their purple skin absorbed the light from three suns, glowing and sparkling.

Their diaphanous dresses were part of the local style and revealed a lot more of their anatomy than a kid like Jenkins was used to seeing. Even if the anatomy was a little different, the body language told Jenkins exactly what the young women were looking for. "Jenkins!" I shouted again. "Huh? Oh, sorry LT," Jenkins said, finally tearing his attention away from the purple beauties. They turned their faces to me, hissing something in their native language.

Behind the tinted visor, I rolled my eyes even though I knew they couldn't see my face. "Sorry, ladies," I said, and the mic and speaker duo in my helmet instantly translated my words. "This young stud is on duty and can't play today. Maybe some other time." They hissed at me again. I could hear the translation in my earpiece, but I didn't need the AI to translate. "Fuck off, you're ruining our fun."

It was a fairly standard exchange between us Marines and the locals. "Sorry again, LT," Jenkins said as he jogged up. "I know," I replied. "Just watch yourself. You know how the locals can get in our heads. Don't let them." "Right, LT," he said. He cleared his visor so I could see his eyes. "Really, I am." "Chill out, Jenkins," I said. "I'm not writing you up or anything. Just pay the fuck attention is all."

"Will do, LT," he responded as the rest of Fireteam Congo joined us. "Nothing much to report," Sergeant Cabot said as she cleared her visor. "Locals could give a shit about us for all I can see." "Which is when things go sideways," I said. "Understood, LT. We have eyes on, sir." "No sirs with me, Cabot. Not while we're outside the wire like this. LT works just fine." "Yes, sir," Cabot said, then smiled. "Yes, LT."

Two more Marines stood behind Cabot, and I moved them away from the cafe and over to the mouth of an alley a few meters down the street. "Okay, the situation hasn't changed," I said. "Long range comms are still down, so no contact with the other fire teams. The last I heard was from Boca, and they were checking out a village about 75 clicks northeast of here. That was at 0600, and it's now 1300." "Worried LP?" Cabot asked. "Not yet.

"What about FTs Laramie and Toledo?" Corporal Mosfah asked. "Nothing yet," I responded. "But they were heading over that pass south of here. Comms will be even worse than with Boca." Everyone nodded like they understood. But except for the constant mortal danger, none of us knew what was going on. It had been three standard years since the fleet found the planet. Two years since diplomatic talks were set up.

And one year since those talks broke down and the fleet decided occupation was the answer, it was the fleet's answer to everything pretty much. The funny thing was, the native name for the planet translated easily into neighborhood. Everyone was neighbors, no matter how far apart they lived. The problem was that the neighborly vibe did not translate easily into tolerance for us Marines. Far from it. With that always in mind, I scanned the immediate area.

The street was analogous to a street back home, with obvious differences. But in essence, it was a thoroughfare that the locals traveled, lined with shops, food, and other essential businesses. None of us were welcome in any of those establishments. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and I swiveled my helmet for a quick scan. A bunch of adolescent natives rode down the street on what we'd started calling bikes.

They weren't anything like the bicycles back home. More like multi-wheeled frames that wrapped about the adolescent's body's exoskeleton style. Kinetic energy powered the contraptions, generated from multiple movements the kids made across their bodies. While they were bipedal humanoids like us, their musculature was very different. "Oaks incoming," Mosfuh said. "On it."

Mosfus stepped away from our huddle and made himself easy to see with his plasma rifle casually held across his armor's breastplate. He nodded to the gang of kids as they slowly rolled past us. Their eyes narrowed, their blue and red splotchy skin glowing in the sunlight. Once past, we relaxed a little. The run-ins with adolescent gangs had been increasing lately. Nothing dangerous yet. The kids were testing boundaries as kids do.

"Bras wants us here for the next 72 hours," I say when Mosfa returns to the huddle. "72?" Cabot asks. "Is that enough time for the other fire teams to return to the FOB, LT?" "I don't know," I said and shook my head. But the Brass isn't budging on the timeline. Even with the visors tinted, I knew there were worried and skeptical looks on my team's faces. It was never a good thing when the Brass set deadlines.

Usually, shit went sideways fast when that happened. "Hold on," Chuck says, interrupting my story. "I think I know what sideways means, but the way you use that word has me confused. You've told me to cram it sideways, which I believe is an insult, although your tone isn't necessarily hostile with violent intent when you say that."

But you also have used the phrase "shit goes sideways" or "shit went sideways", which seems to have a different meaning. Explain." "I've explained this before," I say, so tired of these exchanges. The repetition is almost as hard to deal with as the dread that comes with the implied violence. "Explain it again, Ralphie," Chuck says. He doesn't bother looking back at me. I can tell by the way he holds his shoulders that he knows I'll comply.

"Cram it sideways is an insult that suggests that someone will shove something up another's rectum," I explain. "And that is bad. Why?" "Because technically, human rectums are a one-way orifice," I say. "So cramming anything up them can be very bad. Cramming something sideways can be catastrophic." "Catastrophic?" Chuck echoes and laughs. "I like that word. It has drama attached to it." "It usually does, yeah.

"And shit going sideways? That just means something goes wrong. Very, very wrong." "Catastrophic even," Chuck says. He turns this time to gauge my reaction. "Exactly," I say, throwing him the bone he wants from me. And that's what these nightly exchanges tend to be. Me throwing him bones so his ego is properly fed. I keep him feeling superior, and he keeps me alive. Fair trade? I'm not so sure anymore.

Ego stroking a being that can end your life with the snap of his fingers is exhausting. Some nights I wonder if I should let him keep knocking until the knocking turns into pounding and the pounding turns into... well... I glance past Chuck to the burnt out habitats. I know what the pounding can turn into. "Cram it sideways," Chuck mumbles to himself. "Shit goes sideways." I wait while he muses. Then, with just the hint of a nod from him, I continue with my story.

"I don't know," I said and shook my head. "But the brass isn't budging on the timeline." The members of FT Congo keep their body language tight, but I knew their stress levels each went up a notch. "I'll leave shift assignments to you, Sergeant," I said to Cabot. "Understood, LT," Cabot replied. She moved in front of me to address the rest of the team.

Jenkins and Shun have first shift. Six hours. Then Mosfuh and myself will take the next six hours. You are expected to rack out during your downtime. No mingling with the locals. No exploring by yourself. You hit your cot in the FOB and you rest.

The gravity here is stronger than home, so the stress on our bones is adding up every day. Yes, our armor helps, but that only goes so far until our cardiovascular systems can adjust. Am I understood? Yes, Sarge. The team responded. Anything else, LT? Cabot asked me. Nothing now, no. I responded. I'll be in one of the rovers at the crossroads east of town, waiting for Boca, Laramie, and Toledo to return.

"You need ragtime too, LT," Shun said, his thin voice a total disconnect from his massive body. Nearly seven feet tall and over 300 pounds, Shun had to be feeling the increased gravity more than any of us, yet he showed no signs of tiring.

"Don't worry about me," I responded. "Sitting in the Rover is easier than patrolling the streets here. I'll be just fine." My attention jerked back to that gang of kids on their bikes. They've all congregated about 50 meters down the street outside a shop that we believed was for clothing and household items. Although none of us had ever stepped foot in the place, that would have been catastrophic.

While none of the kids looked our way, my gut told me they weren't only talking about us, but would do something soon. "I'm feeling it too, LT," Cabot said without me even having to turn my head. "Sorry to interrupt again," Chuck says. We both know he isn't sorry at all. "But I need more clarification." "The gut thing," I say.

"Yes," he replies and laughs. "Are you sure you cannot read minds, Ralphie? Humans don't have that skill. What we do have is instinct. That's what I mean when I say my gut told me, or I felt it in my gut. That's instinct. And instinct is when your subconscious mind tries to tell your conscious mind to be aware of something, even if you aren't sure what that something is, yes?" he asks, basically reciting back to me the definition I have given him several times.

"Yes." "Excellent," he responds, very pleased with himself. "Continue." I told Cabot and the rest of the Congo to hold tight. We weren't leaving the street to start shifts until we knew what the little gang's intentions were. Minutes ticked by as we watched the kids pretend to ignore us. "What are they waiting for?" Jenkins asked. "No clue," Shun replied. "But they are waiting for something."

We all nodded in agreement. None of us were rookies. We'd been deployed in way worse environments, so we knew the signs. "LT?" A voice rang out over the comms in my helmet. "Congo? Anyone?" "That's Kansky," Cabot said. "Sergeant? I can hear you." I replied to the comms call. "Go ahead." "It's all gone to shit, LT," Sergeant Kansky reported. "What's the sitrep?" I asked, stealing myself for the answer.

We got ambushed heading over the pass. Toledo is gone, Sergeant Kansky reported. We're limping into you now. Who's with you? Olive Laramie, sir. How far out are you? Six mikes from the crossroads, Kansky replied. Guerra and Walton are in bad shape, though. Negru is solid like she always is. And you, Sergeant? I've been better, LT, Kansky says. But I'll pull through.

"Six mics," I said. "We've got a situation here that we're observing, so I'll send Jenkins and Shun your way. They'll assist in getting you back to FOB. I'll alert the medics ASAP." "Copy that, LT," Kansky said. "Listen, sir!" Before I could tell Jenkins and Shun to get going, I switched channels to my personal frequency. "Go ahead, Sergeant," I said once our line was secure. "I said it was an ambush, but it was more than that, sir.

I let the Serpart go. Not the time to play buddy-buddy. "Explain," I said. Kanski continued. "Tolita was on point, and Laramie had their six. A sniper took down Tolita before any of us knew what was happening. Guerra and Walton went in to retrieve Morgan and Histoli, and got taken down immediately.

Did you have them right? I asked, my eyes on Cabot as her eyes watched the bike gang. Yeah, and that's what I don't get, Kansky said. It went quiet when Nagru and I went in to retrieve Guerra and Walton. The sniper didn't use them as bait? That would have been standard procedure. We'd witnessed it during every occupation we'd been deployed on. Didn't matter the species of the natives, the sniper trap was a sniper trap.

"We expected them to, and tested it several times," Kansky continued. "The last test we just went ahead and pulled Guerra and Walton out of their positions and got them cover." "Conclusions?" "They were studying our responses. They were watching how we operated during a sniper attack and during a rescue attempt." I could tell by the long pause Kansky took that his story wasn't over. I let him take his time, despite the urgency I felt.

He needed to compose himself so he could get me the most accurate information possible. "Once we had Guerra and Walton stabilized," Kansky continued, "we prepped for immediate exfil." Kansky laughed a laugh that made my nuts shrink. "Which is what they wanted! I don't know if they had eyes on us the entire time or not, but as soon as we started our retreat, they let it fly." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

When I opened my eyes, I spied Cabot taking a couple of steps away from the alley. I turned my attention to where she was looking. The bike gang. A couple of them had separated from the pack and were inching toward us. "LT?" Kinski called. "Sorry," I replied. "Something fishy is up here in town. Keep talking." "Nothing else to say," Kinski replied. "They let it fly, but they didn't hit a single one of us." "I don't understand. Explain."

"Scare tactic?"

"No way to know for sure, LT, but it makes sense. I think they were just fucking with us." "Are you sure Toledo is gone?" I ask, knowing it was a rough question to throw at the man. "One hundred percent, LT," Kanski says. "We saw their armor get pierced, and the blood spraying into the atmosphere. It instantly turned to flame, just like always. There were too many holes for the armor to auto-patch and keep with. Then the bodies exploded within their suits.

His words made me glad my helmet was sealed tight. You wouldn't have known that we'd combust in the atmosphere if our armor developed even a pinhole rupture just by looking around at the landscape. The place looked normal, and I could easily see how more than a few Marines had gone stupid and forgotten that their armor was all that stood between them and a painful death. Although, I had to wonder if maybe the Marines hadn't gone stupid and had been coaxed instead.

"No, no, no," Chuck says, interrupting me once again. "You wouldn't have had that thought back then. Not yet, at least. Don't start embellishing the stories, Ralphie. I need to hear them exactly as they happened. Including your internal thoughts. Forcing your now thoughts into a then story is not helpful. Why not?" I ask, taking another risk. "I'm taking a lot tonight. Need to be careful and watch myself."

"The why is not your concern, Ralphie," he says. "The doing as I ask is your concern. What happens if I don't do as you ask?" "Jesus, what's wrong with me? I need to zip my lips or I'm going to find out the answer the hard way." "Ralphie, come on," Chuck laughs. "Do you truly want to find out?" "Not really," I say. "But I'm not sure I'm telling the truth. I'm so tired." "Get on with the story," Chuck orders.

"LT," Cabot says. "Not liking this." The two adolescents were getting closer and closer. Their attention definitely focused on us. I glanced past the two incoming and at the rest of the gang. Some of them were missing. "Get ready for exfil," I said to the team.

"Sir?" Kansky asked. "Not you," I said into the comms. "Our situation is changing rapidly, Kansky. We'll meet you at the crossroads. We have two rovers there. Load up in one and lock it down. We'll be there shortly." "Copy that," Kansky said, and the comms went silent. I gave the kids my full attention. "Talk to me," I said to Kongo.

"Two of them went around that building there," Shun said, indicating the shop the gang had congregated in front of. "Two crossed the street and went down the alley there." I swiveled in that direction and could see an alleyway similar to the one we stood in. "We got the two coming at us and six still holding tight in front of the shop," Shun finished.

"We booking out, LT?" Mosfah asked. "Yeah," I said. "Shun, see if you can slow down those two coming at us." "On it, LT," Shun said and stepped out into the street. The two adolescents didn't even give Shun a second look as they turned around and rode off back to their gang. "Weird," Cabot said.

"Let's go, all of us, now!" I said, and struck off toward the crossroads and our rovers. From there, it was about 15 clicks to the FOB. Once we were secured at the FOB, then I'd go back over the helmet footage from each of Congo and see if I could extrapolate