The knock came just before midnight.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't urgent.
But it was precise.
Three regular knocks on the door.
John slowly opened his eyes.
He had just fallen asleep without realizing it.
For a moment, he didn't move.
The room was dark, filled with that pale gray light that precedes sunrise.
The kind of light that makes everything seem distant... unreal.
Then the sound returned. Three knocks.
The same rhythm. The same quiet persistence.
John sat up, his heart racing.
For a brief moment, he considered ignoring it.
Pretending he hadn't heard.
But something inside told him that wouldn't work.
Whoever was outside knew he was awake.
He sat up slowly.
The room felt cooler, perhaps
Because he had fallen asleep in the chair by the window.
He glanced at the table.
The disk was still there.
Silence. Quiet. As if nothing had happened.
The knock came a third time.
Closeer this time.
More deliberate.
John moved toward the door, each step calculated.
His hand hovered near the handle.
He hesitated for a moment.
Then he spoke:
"Who is it?"
Silence.
Then a voice came.
Low.
Quiet.
Familiar.
"Open the door, John."
His breath caught.
He knew that voice.
Slowly… he opened the door.
The old man stood there.
Exactly as before.
Same calm eyes.
Same composed expression.
As if the chaos of the night had never touched him.
"You shouldn't be here," John said immediately.
The old man tilted his head slightly.
"And yet… here I am."
Silence stretched between them.
John tightened his grip on the door.
"What do you want?"
The old man didn't answer right away.
Instead, he glanced briefly past John… into the room.
Then back at him.
"You saw it," he said.
John's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"And now you understand."
"No," John replied sharply. "I don't understand anything."
For a moment, the old man studied him.
Then he spoke again.
"Good."
John frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," the man said quietly, "you're still thinking."
Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped forward.
Into the room.
John instinctively stepped back.
"Hey—"
But he stopped himself.
Something about the man's presence made resistance feel… pointless.
The old man walked slowly toward the table.
His eyes settled on the disk.
For the first time—
his calm expression shifted.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Something else.
Recognition.
"So," he murmured.
"It found you."
John's voice dropped.
"What do you mean it found me?"
The man didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out—
and almost touched the disk.
But stopped just short.
His hand hovered above it.
As if he knew better than to make contact.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
John hesitated.
"In a dream."
The man closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
"Yes… that would make sense."
John stepped closer.
"No, it doesn't make sense," he said. "None of this does."
He pointed toward the door.
"The blackout. The sea. That man last night—"
The old man opened his eyes again.
"Which man?"
John paused.
"The one who was watching me. He was in the lobby. He—"
The old man shook his head slowly.
"You're being watched by more than one man, John."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
"What are you talking about?" John asked.
The old man turned toward him fully now.
"For a long time," he said, "people have been waiting for something to return."
John felt a chill run through him.
"The flood."
The man nodded once.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then John asked the question that had been growing inside him since the beginning.
"Who are you?"
The old man looked at him.
Really looked this time.
And when he spoke…
his voice was quieter.
Almost tired.
"I told you my name."
"Elias."
"Yes."
John shook his head.
"That's not enough."
Elias didn't respond.
Instead, he walked toward the window.
The sea looked calm again.
But now—
John knew better.
"It doesn't start with a wave," Elias said softly.
John frowned.
"What?"
"The flood," Elias continued.
"It doesn't begin the way people expect."
He turned slightly.
"Not with destruction."
"Then how?" John asked.
Elias looked back at him.
"With silence."
A sudden noise broke the moment.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Running.
From the hallway.
Both men turned toward the door.
Then—
a shout.
Muffled.
Cut short.
John moved immediately.
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
Elias followed.
The corridor was empty.
Too empty.
Then they saw it.
At the far end.
Near the stairs.
A body.
John's breath caught.
He rushed forward.
It was the same man from the lobby.
The one who had been attacked.
He lay on the floor, motionless.
Eyes open.
Frozen.
John knelt beside him.
"Hey—can you hear me?"
No response.
But something was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
The man's face…
was calm.
Too calm.
No fear.
No pain.
Just… stillness.
John reached out slowly—
and touched his neck.
Cold.
He pulled his hand back immediately.
"What the hell…"
Elias stepped closer.
He didn't kneel.
He didn't touch the body.
He just looked.
Then he said quietly:
"He saw something."
John looked up at him.
"What?"
Elias didn't answer.
Instead—
he turned his gaze toward the end of the corridor.
Toward the stairwell.
John followed his eyes.
And that's when he saw it.
Water.
A thin line of it.
Creeping slowly across the floor.
Seeping from beneath the stairwell door.
John stood up slowly.
His heart pounding.
"That's not possible…"
The water continued to spread.
Silent.
Unstoppable.
Elias spoke.
Calm as ever.
"It's closer than I thought."
John turned to him.
"What is?!"
Elias met his eyes.
And for the first time—
there was no calm left in his expression.
"Run."
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the sound came.
Deep.
Vast.
Unmistakable.
From below.
The door at the end of the hallway began to tremble.
The water forced its way through the gap—
faster now.
Stronger.
A crack echoed.
Loud.
Violent.
The door burst open.
A surge of dark water exploded into the corridor.
John stepped back—
his heart racing—
his breath caught in his throat—
The water rushed toward him—
And just before it reached his feet—
Knock.
John opened his eyes suddenly.
He went back to his room.
On the chair.
Breathing heavily.
Cold sweat trickled down his skin.
Silence.
For a moment, he didn't move.
His mind struggled to process what had happened.
The hallway.
The body.
The water—
Gone.
Another knock.
Real this time.
John turned his head slowly toward the door.
The early morning light filled the room.
Everything was in its place.
The table.
The window.
The disk.
"Sir?" came a voice from outside.
Clear.
Ordinary
"Cleaning the rooms."
John rose slowly, still trying to catch his breath.
His eyes slid down to the floor.
Dry.
No water.
But a strange feeling remained.
He stood up and walked toward the door.
He hesitated for a second…
Then he opened it.
A hotel employee stood before him,
Holding a small trolley, a casual smile on her face.
"Good morning, sir."
I apologize for the inconvenience.
There was a temporary power outage last night.
I just wanted to check on you."
John stared at her for a few seconds.
He tries to distinguish between dream and reality.
"Did… anything unusual happen in the hotel?" John asked slowly.
The chambermaid seemed surprised by his question.
"Unusual? No, sir. Just electricity. This happens sometimes."
John didn't reply immediately.
Then he shook his head slightly.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Of course, sir. Let us know if you need anything."
The employee left quietly.
John closed the door slowly.
He stood still.
Silence.
Then he turned slowly toward the room…
His eyes suddenly stopped.
On the floor.
Near the door.
A very faint trace…
Almost invisible…
Water fingerprint.
John didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on the faint mark near the door.
For a moment... he almost convinced himself it was nothing.
Just a shadow.
Just his own imagination, refusing to let go of the dream.
Then...
More drops appeared.
A faint sound.
Barrely audible.
John's gaze moved slowly down the door.
From its bottom edge... precisely.
A thin line of water began to form.
He caught his breath.
A voice echoed in his mind.
Quiet.
Familiar.
"It doesn't start with a swell..."
The water spread... slowly.
Silently. John took a step back.
And for the first time—
He didn't doubt it.
He believed it.
....
"If you liked the chapter, leave a comment ❤️"