My head is pounding… and apparently so is my door. Or someone at my door? I blink, trying to orient myself, but it’s dark and everything is soloud. I rub my face and yell “Coming!” swinging my legs off the bed. My blanket—my throw blanket from the couch—falls away, and I remember that I have to get clothes on.
Shit.
“Ugh,” I groan, because my head is thumping and whoever is outside won’t stopbangingon my fucking door.
“Hold on!” I scream, grabbing my fluffy white robe from the back of my bathroom door. I slide it on, taking a second to luxuriate in the softness in contrast to how horrible everything else is right this second.
The assault on my front door hasn’t stopped, so I go barreling out of my room. Whoever thinks they can fucking bang my door down before dawn is going to get a piece of my mind—several pieces.
Pieces that say things like “what the fuck is wrong with you,” and “leave me alone,” and “I’m calling the cops,” and “get off my property!”
The noise has apparently woken Henry, because now he’s at the front door, barking his head off.
I’m like the Grinch complaining about “noise, noise, noise,” right now, and I can just imagine those little cymbals clanging in my brain.
By the time I stomp to my front door, my jaw is clenched and my five-foot-nothing ass is ready to attack whoever is on the other side. At the last second, I remember the bat I keep in my umbrella stand and clench it in my left hand, even though I’m shaking.
My knuckles are white on the deadbolt and doorknob as I turn them and rip it open, glaring out into the darkness. Next to me, Henry growls and before I can stop him, he launches himself outside.
He tackles the door-banger to the ground and plants his feet on their chest, growling down into their face. Whoever they are covers their face with their arms, screaming and whimpering.
“Who are you?” I demand, anger deepening my voice. Hopefully I sound more intimidating.
“Ada!” they scream. “It’s me! Tom! Help!”
“Tom? Jesus!” I duck outside and grab Henry’s collar. “Come on, boy, it’s just Tom.”
He’s annoying, not dangerous.I add mentally.
Henry allows Tom to get up, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it. Listen, dude, I’m not pleased about being woken up this way either, but that’s life.
Scrambling up, Tom wipes his hands on his pants frantically and looks at me, wide-eyed. “We’ve gotta get you out of here!”
“What?” No, Ada, we arenotletting him boss us around. “What the hell are you doing here, Tom? It’s—well, I don’t know what time it is because I wassleeping!”
“The trail cams! Someone came out of your house!”
“No way, I’ve been asleep.”
“Well, I got an alert and then there they were, right there on the footage!”
“I am telling you I—” I stop, because suddenly, vague memories filter into my brain.
Noise, in the kitchen.
A masked man—my nightmaremasked man.
Baking.
I remember grabbing the knife… and then… nothing.
But no, that was a dream, it had to have been… I mean, nightmare guy isn’t real.
“I was asleep, Tom. Look at Henry, he’d never let anyone in the house.”
His eyes lock onto my dog who would clearly happily tackle him again at a moment’s notice. “I’m serious, Ada. You are indanger.” Tom frowns at me, like he’s disappointed. Like I’m stupid. “I’m sorry for waking you, sweetheart, but you can’t stay here.”
“Are—are you sure?” I can’t stop my voice from cracking, because as angry as I was a second ago, it’s all drained out and icy, cold fear grips me. My eyes search the darkness beyond him, and everything in me tells me to retreat inside, lock myself in, and fortify. I shrink back, from him, from the darkness, from the world, and try to close the door.
