Angie

I woke to the sound of water running through the pipes on the other side of the wall next to my bed. My first thought was to obey the cries of my bladder and shamble over to the restroom. Only after I was done and had made my way over to the sink did I begin to think through what I'd heard. That wall faced the front yard. There was no way I could hear pipes through it.

Returning to my darkened bedroom, I cupped an ear to the smooth plaster. Nothing now. The neighbor's motion-activated light was on. With all the cats roaming around, that happened a lot. Rubbing my eyes and figuring the sound had just carried through the house from the bathroom or something, I checked the clock.

It was after 1 AM. I glared at the clock, but it refused to change its digits. I'd only slept ten minutes. Which was pretty good for me at this time of night. I needed it after my unsettling trip home.

Cracking my wrists a few times, I rubbed at the abrasive sheen of hair along my cheeks. I could shave, but I would probably have to shave it again in the morning.

I worked stocking at an always-open big-box store from early afternoon to midnight. I sometimes took a nap after work and had something around the early morning for a meal. Usually, it was a longer nap than this. I plopped down on my wrinkled covers and rubbed at my eyes. I could probably try for another ten.

My sleep hours were weird long before this job. Blame quirky roommates in college and even stranger ones soon after. I sometimes missed those long, philosophical debates about the nature of the universe at two in the morning. I shut my eyes, but my mind stayed right where it was and nudged me gently with a lingering thought: The pipes only made running noises when the washing machine turned on or the dishwasher was finishing its cycle and had to dump the waste water. Neither of those things should be happening, especially with my current roommates (except for Matt) visiting family up north.

My throat gave a groan to my brain as my body bent up and rose from the bed. The dishwasher looked cold, clear, and dry on the inside with no sign it had been used all evening. The washing machine was also dry and even had some of Matt's forgotten dirty clothes within. I dumped a little soap in and started it up.

When the cycle came to the point I would've heard the water flowing, I was sitting on my bed. What I heard wasn't quite what I'd heard then. The flowing was far off and clearly on that side of the house, not next to my bed. Then came the epiphany moment for my brain: The yard!

I bolted from the bed, flipped on the outside light, and rushed out the front door. I expected to find deep pools of water saturating the lawn and spilling in torrents on the sidewalk. But it was completely dry. I rubbed my head and shrugged. At this point, I figured the only explanation was a half-waking state where I imagined it. I glanced across the yard. The fog was much better now compared to earlier.

The light only lit an area near the porch. It dimly touched the vast front bushes and the massive tree which cloaked the front of the house. Hazy, tendril-webbed shadows from the branches laced their way across the grass. The gray, diamond-patterned metal fence separated this house from the one next door. Their tree had been cut down some time ago to expand their porch into an area where they often had meals. The harsh light from their side blasted through the fence and made another pattern which bent away.

I frowned. A bit of shadow shifted along the far edge of the house, at a small path which led back about ten feet to a large gate which separated the front yard from the back. I figured it was just the wind playing with a bit of branch, but the air was still. Then I heard the gate creak, as though slowly, achingly opened.

I ran back inside, locking the front door behind me, and immediately went for the large flashlight which was always on one of the living room couches. I cradled it in my hands and stopped to listen. In picking up the light, I was sure I'd heard movement around the back of the house. Clicking the switch made the light cast a wide, harsh beam on the far wall. Motes of dust drifted in its path. I clicked it off.

I took a deep breath and approached the rear window. The drapes were drawn, as always. Moving to the side, I looked across one and to the backyard with a sliver of drape pulled aside. The back light was off. So the whole area was wrapped in darkness, aside from an amber glimmer from a nearby streetlamp. I clicked the light on and panned it across.

The beam cut through the dark, exposing malnourished grass and brick columns. The leftover beams of the previous owner's doghouse looked like mottled mud and ice. The dense light made me jump a few times as it cast harsh, false shadows. Slowly, I approached the window and edged back the drape enough to get a better look. I idly wished I'd bought a gun or at least grabbed a long knife.

My tension ebbed as the beam traced and showed nothing out of place. I scouted the side window where I could see the garage. The door was secure. Well, secured meaning it was closed by the small boulder we always used to keep it shut because it never seemed to close any other way. But the boulder was propped right up against the door.

Dipping my shoulders, I gave a few more shines out the window and made my way around the small bar area and into the dining room. I was about to turn back and set my light down when I noticed there was a small gap in the side sliding door. This sometimes happened because it was old and usually only secured with a loose latch and a long, wooden bar in the metallic rail. Pulling aside the thin, manila blinds and being careful not to disturb the loose one, I glanced at the latch and down at the depression. The narrow bar wasn't in all the way, it was to the side with enough space to push the door open. I put my hand on the security latch, it was also undone.

I took a breath, tried to avoid looking through the openings in the door to the carport outside, and pressed the latch together as securely as I could manage. Then I tucked the bar in so firmly that it looked almost impossible to remove. I dusted my hands and smiled at my handiwork.

Nagging thoughts plagued me. If this door was open, then it was quite possible someone could've gotten into the house. It wasn't as though this was a scary neighborhood, but I had plenty of horror stories from Matt and his family about always locking your doors. To set my mind at ease, I made my way around the dining room and over to the side door, which was right next to the computer room. The room itself was dark. Flipping the switch on, I glanced around. All seemed in order. The door was at the far end.

I gave the knob a test turn. But it slipped in my grasp. I stared at it. I shook my head and tried to rationalize it. Maybe Matt went out this door when he left and just forgot. Didn't seem likely. The small cloth we put in front of the bottom to keep out the cold in winter was still there. No one could've used it lately. But it was open. I whirled around in place, sure that there had to be something standing behind me, something scary. But it was all computer parts, old jewel cases, and nothing more.

Making my way back to the dining room after securing the lock on that door, I sighed and tried to think of all the ways this could've happened without someone breaking into the house. I cursed to myself, eyed the long knives, and grabbed one as I made my way through the kitchen. I set the light on the drainboard and gripped the knife tightly. As I walked, I started to turn on the lights, one by one.

The one which lit the dining room. The dimmer for the bar area. The overhead fluorescents. I walked towards the living room and gave only a glance at the front. I jerked back on my knees and nearly tripped.

The front door, the one I'd run through and locked, was wide open. A gaping hole of blackness from the front porch was only dimmed by the gray screen and the fuzzy glow of the dusty streetlight. I just about threw up right there.

I rushed to the front and sealed it shut. I turned the deadbolt, hooked the chain, and pushed the latch we never used across. It was fucking locked now!

I squeezed the handle of the knife in my fist so tightly I could feel the rough ridges biting into my flesh. I turned back and looked down the hallway, hoping against all hope I wouldn't see anything else out of order. The lamp over by the couch was blazing, as I expected.

I had to check everything from the front to the back and make sure. I took a deep breath and eyed the front room a little in the dark and quickly flicked on the light. Half of them were burnt out but there was enough to see into all the corners. I checked behind a couch and glanced back to the hallway to make sure no one tried to sneak up on me. Once satisfied, I kept my back to a wall at all times and went room by room. I glanced into the laundry with its single, frail bulb in the ceiling. Clear.

I checked the coat rack and the closet just to be safe. As I made my way through the rest of the house, I felt my heart settle down and I only kept my knife at my side instead of pointed out in front of me.

All the bedrooms and bathrooms were fine and undisturbed. I kept glancing to see if someone doubled back on me. I eventually rechecked the side doors. The rod was firmly in the same place and the deadbolt set. Another check of the front door gave me just what I hoped for, a sealed and locked door.

I settled onto the edge of the hallway and bent my head down. Tiredness crept over me and I clenched shut my eyes a moment. I sat there, half-expecting to hear something terrible. But the house was still. It didn't even make any settling noises. I cracked my neck and sighed.