June 2025 The Black Eyed Kids (BEKs)

You didn’t come this far to stop

“They Knocked Twice” – A Black-Eyed Children Tale

As told by a man who swears it's true.

You want a scary story?

Alright. Just remember, you asked for this.

I'm not giving you one of those made-up yarns like the Hookman or the Lover’s Lane ghost. What I’m telling you tonight happened to me. In the real world. Just like this campfire is real. Just like that cold creeping up your back is real.

It was the winter of 2010, the kind of winter that slips into your bones and sets up camp. I was twenty-four, working the graveyard shift at a rundown gas station in the outskirts of Taos, New Mexico. I’d taken the job because it came with a free trailer out back, and I didn’t have much else going for me at the time. The gas station was a skeleton crew operation, which meant it was just me most nights, a single pump that worked when it felt like it, and enough flickering fluorescents to drive a man mad.

That night, the night it happened, started like any other. I had the radio on low, it was playing old country songs that didn’t mean much to anyone anymore. Outside, the wind was howling down the empty desert road, sweeping dust across the pavement like ghosts searching for a way home.

It was just past midnight when the power flickered. Not enough to knock it all out, but enough to let you know it could. I figured it was the wind. Happens all the time. But then came the knock.

Not from the front door. Not even the emergency door on the side of the building. The knock came from the back—on the solid steel fire door that no customer should ever be near. It was loud. Hard enough to echo and make the room feel hollow.

Three slow knocks. Like the booming beats of a heart.

I froze. We don’t get deliveries at that hour. No back entrance use. And I mean, never. We weren’t within walking distance from anything unless you were maybe a coyote. And the last time I checked, coyotes don’t knock.

I waited. Seconds ticked by after stretching out for an eternity. Then another set of knocks. They came slower this time.

I grabbed the baseball bat from under the counter and made my way towards the back. The hallway to the back door was dark. The motion sensors should’ve lit it up as soon as I stepped into the hall, but they didn’t. My breath was loud in my ears.

I unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.

And there they were.

Two kids. A boy and a girl. Couldn’t have been older than ten. They were standing side by side, dressed in faded clothes that looked wrong for the weather. Thin jackets. Torn jeans. No gloves. No hats. But they didn’t shiver. Didn’t even look cold.

The girl smiled up at me. “Can we come in?” she asked.

Her voice was flat. Robotic. Like she’d memorized a line but had no idea what the words meant.

I felt it then. You know it. That spike of fear that shoots up your spine and clamps your mouth shut. The fear you feel when you realize that you’re too late and you should have been scared thirty seconds ago. It comes with a mix of embarrassment and humility.

I didn’t answer. Just stood there, staring. And that’s when I noticed their eyes.

No whites. No irises. Just black. Like oil-slick marbles. Endless. Empty.

The boy stepped forward. “Please. It’s cold.” His voice had no inflection at all. And the longer I looked at them, the more I realized something was wrong with their faces—not just the eyes. It was subtle. Like their skin didn’t quite fit. Like a mask stretched too tight.

I slammed the door and locked it.

They didn’t scream. Didn’t bang on it. Didn’t move.

They just stood there.

I backed away, heart pounding. Called the sheriff’s office, told them there were two kids trespassing. They said they’d send someone, but it’d be at least half an hour. I hung up. Looked at the monitors.

The camera above the back door? Static. Of course it was.

I flipped to the front camera, thankfully that one was still working. I could see the pumps, the entrance and a wide sweep of empty asphalt.

And then, out of nowhere, they were there. Standing at the front door now, peering in. I hadn’t heard them move. Hadn’t seen them move. And yet… there they were again. Staring. Still as corpses.

I killed the interior lights. That left just the buzzing red “OPEN” sign and the soft glow of the coolers humming behind me. I crouched behind the counter and waited.

That’s when the knocking started again. This time, at the glass front door. A rhythmic tapping. Like fingernails. I peeked over the counter. The girl was closer now. Face almost against the glass. Eyes like two wet pits of coal. Her mouth moved.

“Let us in.”

I said nothing. Then she smiled. If that's what you can call it. Her lips spread into a wide, unbroken smile that stretched too far, like her skin was splitting to make room for it.

The boy raised his hand. Knocked again. Three taps. Then he paused and rapped twice more

Knock… knock… (beat)… knock knock.

I didn’t know why, but that second knock—those two short ones—felt wrong. Like a signal. Like a key turning in a lock.

I stood up slowly. I didn’t take my eyes off them, not like I could anyways. There was nothing in this world more terrifyingly important than these two children. I went to the circuit breaker in the back and hit the switch. It cut all the power to the store. No lights, no hum of the refers or the air conditioner.

I was in total darkness and total silence. I waited in the black.

Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. And then I heard footsteps inside the store.

Soft sounds, like bare feet on tile. Like a kid that thinks they are sneaking around but hasn't figured out how yet.

I wasn't alone.

My grip tightened on the back as I tiptoed through the dark, holding my breath. There were no lights, no camera feeds. No help.

Then I heard breathing. Not human breathing. Too slow. It sounded wet, like something was trying to breathe through a damp sponge.

I turned toward the sound and saw them. They were inside. I hadn’t heard the door open, there was a bell and chime to let us know when someone walked in. There were no open windows for them to crawl through. I don’t know how, but they were just there. Standing ten feet from me in the candy aisle.

And they were smiling.

The girl spoke again. “You didn’t say we couldn’t come in.”

Her voice wasn’t flat anymore. It was gleeful.

The boy added, “You didn’t finish the knock.”

My body moved before my mind caught up. I ran out of the back door. Through the dark. Into the open desert behind the station. I didn’t go for my car. I didn’t bother to grab my coat. Fear drove me to put one foot in front of the other and not stop.

I didn’t look back. Not until I reached the old, broken-down truck I used to tinker with behind the trailer. I ducked behind it and waited. My arms and legs were shaking, but I didn't know if it was from fear or from the cold.

Eventually, the lights of a cruiser pulled up.

Sheriff Martinez got out. I ran to him, shouting about the kids, about the knocking, about the eyes.

He searched the whole building.

Nothing. No kids. No signs of entry. No footprints on the back lot or inside the store. Nothing. Not even camera footage. It was all erased. Like they’d never been there. But I know what I saw.

I quit that job the next morning. Moved back east. Never set foot in New Mexico again.

But here’s the thing. That wasn’t the last time I saw them. Three months ago, just before dusk I heard a knock at my apartment door. I live alone. No one ever visits.

I looked through the peephole. There she was. Older now. Maybe sixteen. Same coal-pit eyes. Same too-wide smile. And behind her? Him.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t breathe. They waited. Then they walked away.

And I know they’ll come back. Because I didn’t say not to.

Because all of those years ago, I didn’t finish the knock. Because they know I remember.

Are you cold? Here, take my blanket. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Just promise me something

If you ever hear them knock—don’t open the door.
Don’t finish the pattern.
Don’t say yes.
And whatever you do… don’t look them in the eyes.

Because once you do? They’re yours. Forever.

WHO ARE THE BLACK-EYED CHILDREN?

Black-Eyed Children are mysterious, unnerving childlike entities who appear to be between the ages of 6 and 16, usually traveling in pairs or small groups. They are said to approach people at night, often at their homes or in parked cars, and ask for help—typically to come inside, use a phone, get a ride, or ask for food.

The most distinctive feature? Their jet-black eyes—no sclera, no iris, just pure black.

COMMON TRAITS & BEHAVIOR

• Pale or olive skin, sometimes described as "waxy" or "plastic-like"

• Outdated or ill-fitting clothing, sometimes resembling 1950s-90s styles

• Flat, expressionless speech patterns—emotionless or monotone

• Anxiety-inducing aura: witnesses often report overwhelming fear or dread even before realizing their eyes are unnatural

• They insist on being let in, often saying things like "We can't come in unless you say it's okay"

• They disappear abruptly when denied entry, and no trace is left behind
  

ORIGIN OF THE LEGEND

The legend is largely traced back to Brian Bethel, a Texas journalist, who posted a personal encounter in 1996 on a message board. Bethel claimed two boys approached his car late at night in Abilene, Texas, asking for a ride to see a movie. He was immediately gripped by irrational fear, then noticed their black, soulless eyes. The story went viral, and soon more reports surfaced across the internet.

INTERPRETATIONS & THEORIES

Various theories try to explain what BEKs might be:

Theory Description

Aliens or Hybrids Their unnatural behavior and eyes suggest they could be alien-human mixes.

Demons or Evil Spirits The need for permission to enter parallels demonic or vampiric lore.

Ghosts or Lost Souls Some say they're the spirits of deceased children, stuck in limbo.

Fae Folk in Disguise Tied to older folklore—faeries mimicking humans, using glamours imperfectly.

Tulpa Phenomenon They may be thought-forms, created by belief and the internet's attention.

NOTABLE ENCOUNTERS

• Vermont (early 2000s): A couple reports two children asking to use their phone during a snowstorm. After letting them in, strange electrical activity began, and the couple became seriously ill afterward.

• Ohio (2012): A man saw two BEKs outside his door, staring silently. His dogs refused to go near the door, and his power flickered

• U.K. Reports: Similar stories began emerging in Britain by the 2010s, especially around Cannock Chase—known for ghost and cryptid sightings.
  
  

CONNECTIONS TO OLDER MYTHS

The BEK myth borrows heavily from older folklore:

• Vampire myths – the need to be invited in

• Changeling lore – imperfect human mimicry

• Djinn or demons – subtle mind influence, fear projection

• Men in Black – same cold demeanor and disturbing presence
  
  

CULTURAL IMPACT

• Creepypasta Stories & Reddit (r/nosleep) – Thousands of fictional and "true" BEK tales have been written

• TV & Film – Featured in shows like Monsters and Mysteries in America, and horror movies like Let Us In (2021)

• Podcasts & Paranormal Media – BEKs are a frequent topic on shows like Lore, The Black Tapes, and Paranormal Witness
  

THE CREEPIEST PART?

Most BEK stories end without resolution. The witness refuses entry. The children vanish. But there's always a lingering sense that they’ll be back—or worse, that next time, they might get in.