I’m pulled out of a dreamless sleep to Bailey, my two-year-old German Shepherd, barking wildly at the door that leads to our small backyard. I click the home button on my phone to see what time it is. The screen lights up, momentarily blinding me. It reads 2:35 AM. I fell asleep in the living room, again.
“Hey! Bailey! Stop it!” I jump out of the chair I fell asleep in, try to untangle myself from the blanket I’m wrapped in, and rush over to Bailey. “Hey, Bailey you have to be quiet, girl! You know Ms. Jones hates it when you bark in the middle of the night!” Bailey won’t stop barking, and she’s clawing at the door. “Do you need to go out? Because this is kinda over kill.” I unlock the door to the backyard and realize why Bailey is barking. Not standing a foot away from me is a man, just staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to open the door. I scream and slam the door shut and lock it again. I grab a nearby chair and prop it under the door handle to jam it.
I run over to grab my phone, but I can’t find it. It’s lost in the river of the blanket that slept in. Bailey hasn’t stopped barking. She’s snarling and foam is starting to collect around her mouth when the door is thrown off its hinges. I look back; dreading the sight I know will meet my eyes. The man has come into my house. He’s wearing a dress suit that hangs off his small frame. It’s at least two sizes too big. He’s soaking wet too, as if he jumped into the neighbor’s pool in a $2000 suit for kicks. He’s ancient. His skin sags awkwardly off his face, as if gravity is slowly sliding his features off his skull. His wrinkles crisscross across his skin leaving deep creases in his facial features, making him look even scarier than any old man standing in the middle of my living room soaking wet. I start to back away from the old man, inching towards the kitchen to grab a knife. I’ve given up on finding my phone to call the authorities, when Bailey, who has been going bat-s*** crazy since the man burst through the door, lunges at the old guy. “NO BAILEY! STOP GIRL!” I shout. The man looks at Bailey, unfazed. He makes a small swatting movement with his hand. Bailey, who was halfway through a powerful lunge, is flung across the room, hitting the far wall, making a bone crushing sound. I shriek. She’s making a small whimpering noise that breaks my heart, then, she goes limp.
The old man turns his attention back to me. He looks at me, and the way he’s looking at me, it seems like he is looking into my soul, recalling every memory, and feeling the pain or devastation or happiness that I felt in that moment. But I don’t know how he can do that. He shouldn’t even be able to look at me. His eyes are the light blue color of a blind man, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him. I make a break for the kitchen but for an old man, he’s pretty nimble. He beats me there and blocks the doorway. I punch him in the face with all the force I used when I punched my cousin Bobby and knocked him out for 2 hours, but I’m the one who comes away hurt. He’s like solid rock. That’s when I know. They’ve found me. “No! You can’t be here! How did you find me?” My voice comes out in a terrified whisper even to my own ears. He gives me a sympathetic look and puts two fingers to my forehead, and I blackout.