The Coin in the Lock
I had just come home after a long and exhausting day at work. I was terribly tired – all I wanted was to take off my shoes, crash on the couch, and maybe even doze off for a bit. The dull ache in my lower back reminded me of the hours spent hunched over my computer.
The city traffic had been worse than usual, and even the elevator in my building seemed to crawl slower than ever.
So when I finally reached my apartment, I didn’t think about anything except getting inside. I walked up to the door as usual, automatically reaching for my keys… and then I noticed something strange.
There was a small coin stuck in the lock. Really tiny — almost invisible unless you looked closely. But it was definitely there, wedged just deep enough to prevent the key from going in. It looked deliberate, not the kind of thing that could happen by accident.
I frowned. I live alone. I’m cautious. I always double-check my door before leaving. And I certainly hadn’t left anything in the lock. At first, I assumed it was a dumb prank. Maybe some kid thought it’d be funny. Or maybe a neighbor had dropped it, and it got stuck somehow. But even as I tried to rationalize it, a strange unease crept over me.
Something about it felt… wrong. Too specific. Too deliberate.
Then a chill ran down my spine. What if it wasn’t random? What if someone had been here — not just passing by, but watching, planning something?
I quickly pulled my hand away from the door handle. My heartbeat accelerated. I looked over my shoulder, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the hallway was. The lights overhead flickered slightly, as if mocking my tension. I stepped back from the door, swallowed hard, and did what instinct told me to do — I called the police.
While I waited, pacing nervously near the stairwell, I began searching online for anything — anything at all — about coins in locks. It seemed absurd. But within seconds, I found articles, forums, even police bulletins.
And what I read terrified me.
Apparently, it was a trick used by burglars — or worse. The coin, or sometimes a piece of paper or matchstick, was inserted into a lock to test whether someone lived in the apartment. If the object remained untouched for a day or two, they’d assume the place was empty — and that’s when they’d break in.
But that wasn’t the most disturbing part.
In a few specific cases, criminals used this technique not to rob a place, but to wait for the occupant to return… so they could confront them. Some reports mentioned stalkers. Others described home invasions that escalated into violence. The idea was horrifying — that someone had marked my home, and might even be watching to see what I would do next.
The police arrived quickly, thankfully. Two officers came up to the apartment with me. One of them examined the lock and nodded grimly.
“Yeah, we’ve seen this before,” he said. “You did the right thing calling us.”
They did a full sweep of the apartment before letting me enter. Nothing was stolen. Nothing was disturbed. But they warned me to be extra cautious. Change the locks. Install a camera. And, if possible, stay with someone for a night or two.
I didn’t sleep much that night. Even after the lock was fixed, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every creak, every sound from the hallway made me jump. I kept imagining a pair of eyes on me from the shadows, just beyond the reach of the streetlights outside.
The next day, I installed a smart lock, a peephole camera, and motion-activated lights in the hallway. I changed all my passwords, and I started double-locking every door and window — even during the day.
It’s been weeks now. Nothing else has happened. Maybe whoever it was got scared off. Maybe the police showing up was enough. Maybe I’ll never know what their true intentions were.
But I still think about it — the coin in the lock. A tiny thing. So easy to miss. But it changed everything.
And here’s the scariest part: if I hadn’t been tired that day, if I hadn’t looked closely, I might’ve just unlocked the door, walked right in… and never known what was waiting for me on the other side.
