2 Knock Three Times

Every child in nishant has had a monster in their closet at some point or the other. Every child in nishant has had a monster under their beds. For the most part, these creatures are illusory things. Insubstantial boogeyman born from scraps of magic and childhood anxiety.

However, every so often, it will turn out that the monster is something a little more substantial, a little more real, a little more of a threat.

Amongst this category of so-called "real" monsters, there were countless varieties ranging from your common ghost or nightghast, to your low level demons, to a few stranger entities.

The tintenklopfer was one such strange entity. Its origins were unknown. Its true form was unknown. It was one of a vast number of creatures that fell under the canopy of the label known as "shadow monster."

Like most other shadow monsters its presence would be announced by a sudden pressure in the room and a sense that one was being watched. One would turn around, or look into the darkness of one's closet and suddenly find oneself locking eyes with a glowing eyed...something.

There weren't many stories told about the Tintenklopfer. For the most part it was simply known as the inky, or shadowy, knocker. There were, of course, a few bog standard "and they were never heard again" tales told of the creature but besides that not much else had passed into current record.

One thing that was known was that this particular monster was a marchen. One of the saner, more capable, denizens of the distortion. It was a being that could be reasoned with, bartered with, and contracted. If one were to chance into an encounter with the tintenklopfer so long as one was polite and the entity's mood was amiable, a bargain could be struck.

In fact, one could even go out of one's way to contact the creature by enacting the tintenklopfer ritual. All one needed was a dish or bowl, ink of any kind, a candle, and a closet.

Once all the components were gathered, all one had to do was wait for witching hour, the eerie time between the hours of 12AM and 4AM. The period where the magics of the distortion flowed most powerfully, and mankind's self-protective scepticism was its thinnest.

Then one would sit before the closet with the dish full of ink and a candle. You lit the candle and had it stand in the dish. Then you waited. Waiting till the night got quiet, and the air grew thick and cold.

Right when all the hairs on the back of your neck were standing you'd hear a knock. A single knock with three short raps.

After that first knock the ritual would have officially started. Ten minutes later, there would a second knock, again with three short raps. Ten minutes after that there would be a third knock, with three sharp raps that would come one after the other. Knock-Knock-Knock!

Now it was your turn. You knocked once with one rap, and would have to wait ten minutes. Knocking sooner than ten minutes could either break the ritual or lead to suboptimal results. You knocked a second time, with three short raps, and then after another ten minute wait, it would be time to knock for the third and final time. Knocking three times in total with three short raps. Knock-Knock-Knock.

It was important that one only knocked three times, three raps each. Doing less would lead to the failure of the ritual. Doing more would lead to death. As to why this was, no one knew.

However all the tales of the tintenklopfer agreed that knocking more than the prescribed three times within each set of knocks, or issuing an additional set of knocks...always resulted in death. Gruesome, painful, disconcertingly bloodless, death.

If the ritual was successful, the candle would sputter out and then relight itself, its flame having turned a dim blue-green. This was the sign that the tintenklopfer was present. At this point one could open the closet door and expect to find a figure standing there. A seemingly human youth, with an ordinary appearance, a shadow that seemed like it could drown entire worlds in its depths, and eyes that were black, lifeless, and colder than a winter's night.

This was the mortal guise of the tintenklopfer. After an initial exchange of pleasantries, it would ask why one had come knocking on its door, and ask if one knew the rules of the exchange. It would then explain that one had a choice between asking three questions, or asking for a single request.

For everything one asked of a tintenklopfer there was a price. Answers were paid for with answers. If one asked a question of the tintenklopfer, it would ask a question in return. One could choose to lie or make up an answer, but there would be consequences after the bargain was done and the night was over.

Special requests made to the tintenklopfer were a little more expensive. The price for such requests depended on the request one had made. Like all bargains struck between marchen and mortal, once the marchen had fulfilled its end of the bargain, prompt payment was expected.

Under-payment, supplying less than one had promised would result in the marchen claiming its due in other ways. Dragging one's feet or attempting to renege on the bargain would usually result in death.

In the case of over-compensation, where one gave more than was agreed, there was a chance, albeit a small chance, that the marchen would decide it owed you a boon. Such instances were rare, and purposely overpaying in an attempt to gain such a boon would generally come to naught.