Knock On Any Door Book Novels & Stories

"Knock" "Knock" I hear someone at the door and wonder who on earth it could possibly be. When I open it, I am even more curious because I have no idea who this woman is. "I am Ms. Goodberry your wedding planner. Your soon to be husband hired me to help you out. He said you were undecided on many things and he wants to make sure you have the most beautiful wedding money can buy, as it will be your last."

His small heart was thundering inside his delicate chest that even he could hear his heartbeat rushing through his ears. He banged on the door for hel- "Ahhh." I flinched and almost fell back with the chair when I heard a harsh knock on my boutique's door. I frowned and gazed at the door intently until I heard the knock again. I picked up the book from the floor which just fell off my hand a few seconds ago and put it on the counter as I walked towards the door with timid steps. The knock was desperate and I wonder who it was in this heavy rain.

I have to go on a business trip for a week, so I get a cat-sitter to come over and feed my cat Muffin while I'm away. But on the second day, when I check the live footage from the living room surveillance camera, I see my fiancee, Kate Swanson's childhood friend Samuel Lambert enter the password for the front door and walk into the house. Then, he throws a grape into Muffin's bowl. Samuel Lambert raises an eyebrow in the direction of the surveillance camera. "Hey, Jonathan. Muffin is a smart one, isn't it? It's not touching the grape at all." Then, as I watch in horror, he unplugs the surveillance camera. I feel my heart sink, and I immediately ask the cat-sitter to head back over and ch

Knock. The knock was abrupt, insistent, shattering the peaceful bubble Dan's phone call had wrapped around. Three sharp raps on the solid library door. My eyes flashed open. Reflexively, the smile still on my lips, I pushed back from the bookcase. The afterglow of Dan's words, the precarious sense of calm, propelled me forward on the faded Persian rug. My hand, almost by itself, felt for the cold brass doorknob. Maybe it's one of the workers with a question, I thought.

They were so confident that the universe would bend to their will as the stock market always had. But the Door was not a machine you could force. It had a will. It had a memory. It was an ancient, intelligent phenomenon that had waited a hundred years for the King and his General. It had accepted the raw Uwezo and the emotional Hekima it required to bridge the dimensions. It had no need for parasites. It had no tolerance for the small-minded men who built cages of glass and steel to hide from the rain. Just as the first man’s fingertips—a billionaire with manicured nails and a frantic scream on his lips—brushed the violet surface, the Door blinked.

There is always the silent tally board in your head where you keep the score of the lives you have touched and destroyed. He knocked once first, three hours after noon. A single, soft ring that could have been anything: the mail carrier, a neighbor, the universe continuing in its small, civil way. I heard it from the kitchen. My body moved before my mind. Hands in pockets, eyes at the door, every small muscle waiting for the first move of someone who meant to end us or control us. A single knock is a key because it always promises a response. I walked to the door with a calm I cultivated like armor and pulled it open.

And when the sun comes up the next morning— KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Someone’s at the door.

Ann was so engrossed in the book she was reading that the repeated knocking on the door barely registered at first. She blinked once, twice, her eyes still dancing over the printed words as if her brain hadn’t quite processed the external noise. It wasn’t until the knocking grew persistent—louder, firmer, with an urgency that pulled her out of the quiet world of fiction—that she jumped slightly, startled by the intrusion.

“Drink this for me, Leo. It will make the fire go away.” ​He swallowed it with a grimace, his small face scrunched up. To wash the taste away, I reached for a tall glass of water I’d just poured. I was halfway between the sink and the table, my mind already calculating how to hide the pediatric records, when the world exploded. ​BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. ​The knock didn’t just rattle the door; it felt like a physical strike to my chest. It was slow, heavy, and carried the unmistakable rhythm of a man who owned the ground he stood on.

I was about to read on to find out what was the final outcome when a knock sounded at the door, pulling me from the page. “Come on in, the door isn’t closed,” I said, pausing my reading. I didn’t even need to say it. The door was never locked; whoever was knocking knew that. The door opened, and my mates walked in. All of them were there—except Kavian.