It was 3:30 a.m. when the pounding began.
Not a gentle knock. Not the kind you assume is accidental. This was firm, deliberate, and confident—like whoever stood outside truly believed this was a perfectly reasonable time to wake someone.
The man in bed squinted at the red glow of his alarm clock and immediately decided this was not his problem. He pulled the blanket higher and shut his eyes.
The knocking returned, louder and more insistent.
His wife shifted beside him. “Are you going to answer that?”
With a groan, he sat up, muttering about crazy people and regrettable life choices. Barefoot and half-asleep, he crept downstairs, every step creaking under his weight. When he opened the door, the smell hit him first—stale alcohol.
A man stood on the porch, swaying slightly, eyes unfocused, smiling far too broadly.
“Hey there,” the stranger slurred. “Could you give me a push?”
“A push?” the homeowner repeated.
“Yeah. Just a little one.”
“No,” he snapped. “Go away. It’s the middle of the night.” He shut the door without another word.
Back upstairs, he told his wife what happened, expecting agreement. Instead, she frowned.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “He was drunk. Probably doesn’t even know where he is.”
She sat up. “Do you remember when our car broke down in the rain while we were going to get the kids? You knocked on a stranger’s door at midnight. What if he’d slammed the door on you?”
“That was different,” he argued. “We weren’t drunk.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied calmly. “Someone needed help. You got it. Now someone else does.”
Defeated by both logic and marriage, he sighed, got dressed again, and went back downstairs.
The porch was empty.
“Perfect,” he muttered. “Now he’s bothering someone else.”
He stepped outside and called into the dark. “Hey! Do you still need a push?”
A cheerful voice answered, “Yeah! Please!”
“Where are you?” he called.
A pause.
“Over here,” the voice said. “On the swing.”
Halloween had always been his favorite holiday. That’s why he answered the door himself. A young boy stood there holding a plastic pumpkin.
“Trick or treat,” the kid said.
The man smiled. “So what are you supposed to be?”
“A werewolf.”
He looked the boy up and down—jeans, hoodie, sneakers. No costume in sight.
“You’re not dressed up,” he said.
The boy nodded seriously. “It’s not a full moon yet.”
The man dropped extra candy into the bucket. Fair enough.
Elsewhere, another man was having a far worse night.
He crept through a dark house, confident he was alone. He unplugged the TV and lifted it carefully—then froze.
“Jesus is gonna get you.”
He stood still, heart racing. Old houses made noise, he told himself. He took another step.
“Jesus is gonna get you.”
He swallowed and whispered, “What the hell?”
He reached for the TV again.
“Jesus is gonna get you.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped.
He spotted a parrot in a cage. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Moses,” the parrot replied.
“Moses?” the man scoffed. “What idiot names a parrot Moses?”
“The same idiot,” the bird said, “who named his Rottweiler Jesus.”
In the darkness, claws clicked softly on the floor.
The burglar decided the TV wasn’t worth it.
Back in the backyard, the homeowner stood as his eyes adjusted. There it was—a swing set. And sitting on it, gently rocking, was the drunk man.
“You wanted a push?” he asked slowly.
“Yeah,” the man said happily.
There was no car. No hill. No explanation. Just a grown man on a swing at an unreasonable hour.
Without speaking, the homeowner stepped forward and gave the swing a firm shove.
The stranger grinned. “Thanks, buddy.”
The homeowner went back inside. Some problems didn’t need fixing—just a push.
Later that week, he found himself thinking about it. Not just because it was funny, but because of how quickly he’d dismissed someone who needed help simply because it was inconvenient.
He didn’t tell his wife that part.
The man with the candy told the werewolf story at work. No one believed him. That was fine. The kid knew.
The parrot kept warning intruders. The Rottweiler stayed patient.
Some nights are noisy. Some are strange. Some just remind you that people ask for small things at the worst times.
A push. A favor. A moment of patience.
And sometimes, the right answer isn’t caution or logic.
It’s stepping into the dark, sighing, and helping anyway.