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The Sound Behind the Locked Door

There was no one inside… but it wasn’t quiet.

Hobbies are things we do in our free time — collecting stamps, antiques, pieces of the past.

But not every hobby brings good.

Some collections carry more than just history.

Because not everything old… was meant to be kept.

And sometimes, the things with no known origin —

should have stayed forgotten.

Azmi had always been obsessed with collecting old things. Say anything — he had it. Dolls, clothes, antique vases… even weapons.

He lived in a rented house with two friends, Badrul and Adam. Three rooms, three occupants. Simple.

One day, a stranger showed up.

An old man.

He offered Azmi a keris (malay dagger). Old, worn, but strangely beautiful.

“Not many like this left in the world,” the man said. “Whoever owns it… is fortunate.”

Azmi didn’t hesitate. His eyes lit up the moment he saw it.

He paid a high price.

And brought it home.

He hung the keris neatly on his wall, admiring it like a prized possession.

For a week, everything was normal.

Until one night —

Badrul spoke up.

“Lately… you’ve been bringing friends over?” he asked.

Azmi frowned. “No. I come back from work and sleep.”

Badrul hesitated. “That’s weird… Around 11 every night, I hear whispers from your room.”

Azmi laughed it off. “You’re just imagining things. Probably half asleep.”

Badrul nodded, convincing himself the same.

But things changed.

Azmi began to lose weight.

Fast.

His once solid build turned thin, almost sickly.

Adam and Badrul noticed.

“You okay?” they asked.

“I’m fine,” Azmi replied.

But he didn’t look fine.

One night, Azmi finally admitted it.

“I keep having nightmares,” he said quietly.

“And when I wake up… my body feels scratched. My toes… bruised.”

He swallowed.

“It started… after I bought that keris.”

Badrul and Adam exchanged glances.

“Just throw it away,” they suggested.

Azmi’s reaction was instant.

“No. I paid a lot for it.”

His voice… sharp. Almost defensive.

The conversation ended there.

A few nights later —

Around midnight —

Badrul woke up again.

This time, it wasn’t whispers.

It was loud.

Heavy thudding sounds.

From Azmi’s room.

Like something being slammed against the floor.

Again.

And again.

Badrul pulled his blanket over his head.

He didn’t want to know.

The next morning —

Badrul saw Azmi entering the house.

From outside.

Pale. Tired.

“Wait,” Badrul grabbed him. “You weren’t home last night?”

Azmi shook his head. “I stayed at a friend’s place. It got late.”

Badrul’s stomach dropped.

“Then… what was in your room?”

Azmi went silent.

Badrul stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“I heard loud banging. I thought I imagined it at first… but I went to your door.”

Azmi’s eyes locked onto him.

“And?”

Badrul swallowed.

“The door was locked. I knocked. No answer.”

A pause.

Then, quieter —

“So… I looked under the door.”

Silence.

“I saw feet — hairy, with long, sharp nails… dripping with blood.”

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This story is part of my horror collection: 10 Real Malaysian Ghost Stories. Get the full collection here: https://asnawikamaludin.gumroad.com