The Space Between — by Ava Tickle
Winner of the QWC Youth Writing Competition 2026.
There’s a space between the first knock and the second. That’s where it lives. The first knock is polite. Curious. The second one is certain. I never answer the first one.
Tonight, the knock comes at 9:17 pm. I am sitting at the kitchen table with my hands folded, staring at the pale scratch in the wood where the knife slipped last Tuesday. I have memorised the mark. It looks like a lightning bolt if you tilt your head.
Knock.
There it is. My heart doesn’t race anymore. It used to. The first few nights, I’d scramble for the hallway light, check the peephole, hold my breath. There was never anyone there. But the second knock always came.
Knock.
More deliberate. More patient.
I stand slowly. The house is silent except for the hum of the fridge and the soft tick of the clock above the stove. I don't check the peephole this time. I already know what I’ll see. Nothing.
I open the door—the porch light flickers, casting yellow shadows over empty concrete. The street is still. No cars. No footsteps. No witnesses. It’s almost disappointing. I step back inside and lock the door carefully. Deadbolt. Chain. Handle. I press my forehead against the wood.
“Go away,” I whisper.
The third knock never comes from outside. It comes from inside my head.
Knock.
I see it again — the way his eyes widened, not in fear but in confusion. As if he couldn’t understand how I was capable of it. The knife had slipped, just like it did on the table. That lightning-bolt scratch. I hadn’t meant to push so hard.
His body made a dull sound when it hit the floor. Softer than I expected. Everything about murder is softer than you think. No dramatic music. Not screaming. Just breathing. Then not.
Knock.
I open my eyes. The kitchen is still. The scratch in the table looked deeper tonight. There was never anyone at the door. There doesn’t need to be.
The first knock is guilt.
The second, memory.
And the space between them — that’s where I wait.
Ava Tickle is a youth member of Queensland Writers Centre.
