Lock All Doors and Windows

It was a nightmare. 

My four-year-old self nervously paced the dining room floor. I frequently returned to the windowsill for another peek. Standing on my toes, I just barely saw up my neighborhood street as it rounded the corner. The familiar scene of clean sidewalk, green lawns, and near-identical houses could not instill the normalcy I sought. Something was wrong. My mother and older brother left to check the mailboxes. It was supposed to be a brief trip otherwise they would not have left me alone. To make it worse, the sunset quickly approached and the night would soon creep from the east. The empty house was too vast. I strained to look over the windowsill again. Still no one. 

I stared past the bland houses for any movement that was not from the wind outside. My eyes drifted above to the last beams of daylight illuminating an approaching storm. I remember thinking it was terribly perfect timing for a dark and stormy night. My fingers tapped the wall. I heard the roof groan under the mounting wind. Wherever they were, they needed to hurry or they would get caught in the storm. They did not even take their jackets. 

Finally, I saw my brother rounding the corner in his characteristic run. Palmer was a fast runner even though he was only six and never bent his knees. A giant sigh escaped from my tiny frame. I knew my mother was not far behind. Palmer always raced her to the nearest tree or street sign but she always lost. As he neared the house, I realized something was different this time. He ran slightly differently—desperately. 

He was alone. 

Cold fear chilled the room. I bolted towards the front door as he entered the house. He breathed heavily as he latched the door with trembling hands. He then rushed around the front of the house closing windows and curtains. I thought I heard him repeating something just under his breath. I peeked back out the front window before he came over and shut the curtain. Our mother was still nowhere to be seen. We were never home without a grown-up. Palmer still ran around without any explanation so I spoke up, “Where’s Mommy?” 

He did not even look at me when breathlessly responded, “She told me to run home and lock all the doors, windows, and curtains in the house—everything!” He pushed past me and rushed to another window. 

I wanted to cry. Palmer noticed me still standing by the door and ran back over. He grabbed my shoulders and said, “Hurry Tommy! Mommy wanted us to go and lock all the doors and windows in the house!” 

Tears lingered as my questions bubbled up. “Why? What happened? Where’s Mommy?!”

Palmer’s wide eyes seemed odd. They had a glassy look as he stared through me. After being too still for too long, he finally replied, “Something came out of the bushes. Mommy said she would handle it but she told me to go and lock all the doors, windows, and curtains in the house just in case…” 

We both turned towards the front door before he added, “…just in case it might still be coming.” 

I remember feeling my tears freeze as fear fell away to terror. The world was cold even though we worked-up a sweat closing the curtains. My small stature, little fingers, and childhood clumsiness slowed me to a feeble pace. It was like treading in molasses to keep from drowning. Everything was a nightmarish blur. 

Then there was a knock on the door. 

We stopped running. Palmer motioned for silence and we crept towards a front window. He slowly, cautiously peeked through a crack in the curtain towards the front stoop beyond. I knelt on the carpet beneath him. Without reacting, he slowly leaned away from the curtain and bent down to me. “Be quiet. That’s not Mommy. It’s here.” 

My curiosity evaporated. I did not want to know what it was. I only wanted to hide. My brother grabbed my hand and silently led me towards the phone in the kitchen. We had to pass the door and I cringed as it knocked again. The knocking was odd. It sounded more like someone was beating the door. I thought I heard a coarse breathing coming from the other side. It sounded huge. I pushed against Palmer as we slipped past. 

The kitchen landline hung on the wall out of our reach so we hurried towards an old and rusty stool. It was very heavy to lift. We had to carry it high or its rubber feet would loudly squeak against the linoleum floor. My socks allowed me to easily glide my shuffling feet but Palmer was still wearing his shoes so he had to walk slowly. Just as we were rounding the counter towards the phone, Palmer leaned forward and whispered, “We need to call 911.” 

I almost protested because we were barely allowed to use the phone—let alone call the police! This was bad. 

It beat at the door again. 

Apparently, I froze to the spot but my brother blew air at my face to get my attention. We needed to hurry. I shuffled faster while my brother tried to quicken his pace. We were almost to the phone! I wondered what we were supposed to say when calling 911. 

The pounding grew more insistent. We were running out of time. I felt my hands sweat. Just then, Palmer’s thigh bumped the stool and my grip faltered. The stool squeaked against the kitchen floor. We halted. 

The knocking went silent.

Moments later we heard heavy footsteps and labored breathing walk the perimeter of the house towards our location. The rusty side-gate loudly swung open and the lumbering steps neared the kitchen wall. The heavy breathing intensified. We were still frozen holding the stool. Then we looked up at the kitchen window above the sink and our heads. 

The curtains were still open! 

Before I could react, Palmer ducked under the counter’s overhang and pulled me with him out of sight. Soon the steps stopped and only the breathing remained. It sounded like a wheezing moan. Then we heard a fleshy face press against the glass pane. The fading glow of day was blocked by the enormous shadow filling the window frame. For an eternity, the face continued blocking the light. I could almost feel its hot gaze piercing the counter. As its breathing calmed, we then heard an odd scratching sound—no, it sounded more like crunching. It almost sounded like it was chewing on something. Even now, I still dare not ponder what it possibly chewed. I prefer to keep that a mystery forever. 

Finally, it moved from the window and plodded away. My brother and I remained under the counter. We feared moving the stool again since we did not know how far away it was. It might hear the phone or look through the window again. The only other phone was in our parent’s bedroom at the opposite end of the house. We crawled along under the counter back to the kitchen entrance. When we arrived at the end of the counter, Palmer slowly peeked out, stood, and motioned me to follow. We rushed down the hallway towards the back bedroom. 

The carpet muffled our steps so we made quick progress. Natural light illuminated the hall through a couple open doors. I hoped Palmer had closed the windows I had missed. Suddenly, my brother grabbed me just before crossing an open doorway. A peculiar shadow cast from the adjacent room’s window against the hallway wall. 

It was looking through the window! 

Had we not stopped, it might have seen us through the thin curtain. Some motion caught my eye. I looked against the wall opposite the door and I could see a weird shape reflected in a framed photo. Then I realized the shape blinked. Fortunately, we were invisible in the shadows but I could see it reasonably well. That was my mistake: I looked too long into the photo’s reflection. The horrid details oozed into my comprehension. To this day, I am not certain how much of what I witnessed was imagination or realization—it was too surreal to tell for sure. I thought I saw red slits scrutinizing the room while half buried in a wide and darkly wrinkled face. Black hair hung long down the sides of its head. A huge, meaty hand rested against the window as the slits searched the room. Its jowls shifted slowly as its jaws worked in a rotating motion. It must have been holding its breath because it was eerily silent. Then I realized the enormity of this monster. It was gigantic! Did it also have horns?! 

My vision blurred and narrowed as this abomination began to fully weigh upon my young mind. I heard a silent scream begin hiss out of my frozen face before Palmer covered both my eyes and mouth while holding me close.

Another eternity later, it shuffled away. As soon as it was clear, Palmer dragged me past the doorway and into the bedroom. He rushed over to the phone and lifted it with both of his hands. The dial tone was deafening. He muted the phone by holding it to his stomach and paused to listen. There was a slow, heavy march heading towards the far side of the house. Feeling this was the moment, Palmer dialed and quietly spoke with the police while I stared unblinking at the bedroom drapes. The daylight quickly died away, likely because of the storm clouds choking the last glow of sunset. I hoped the rumbles were distant thunder. It should have been a calm evening. Everything had stilled except for a breeze that swayed the sliding door curtains. I walked closer. 

The sliding door was ajar! 

Just before I could throw back the curtain and secure the door, I noticed a gigantic shadow glide across the far side of the curtain towards me. It lingered by the open door on the opposite side of the curtain cloth. The breeze turned hot. I heard Palmer also go silent and we heard it slowly start tearing at the screen door. Palmer dropped the phone and we rushed into a guest room down the hallway. We did not even have a chance to close the door before we heard the monster squeeze through the metal frames and enter our parent’s bedroom. The whole house groaned as the palpable terror intruded our home. Palmer pushed me up against a wall opposite from the doorway. I was hidden in darkness and out of direct view so long as it did not look or step into the room. Palmer tried his best to hide behind a small desk nearby. A crushing trudge started down the hallway towards us. 

It was very dark and my vision started to blur again but I remember seeing a giant hulk walk past the doorway towards the house’s front. Its leathery hide contained large, dull spikes as its skin loosely hung over its massive body. It stopped. I expected it would turn and look at us. A low growl permeated through the walls before it resumed its march away from us. After it left, Palmer stepped from hiding. When the stomping was quietest, we hurried towards our bedroom and hid under our beds. I slid boxes and bags in front of me so I was barricaded against the back wall. I think Palmer did the same. My dizziness worsened and I tried to calm down. We waited for a very long time. Every sound was muffled by the fabric and boxes so I could not tell if the footsteps were my imagination or the thing searching each room. Eventually I realized my pounding chest supplied some of the phantom stomps. The storm broke outside and heavy rain washed the house—further diluting my hearing. I closed my eyes and waited for it all to end. 

Then I woke up. It really had been just a nightmare. My eyes scanned the bedroom. It all looked somewhat normal. My sleepy confusion was quickly fading. I thought I had slept in since it felt later than it appeared. The morning sun was muted by an overcast of clouds. I looked over at Palmer slowly waking in his bed. Somehow, even though I knew it was only a bad dream, I did not feel the relief of reality. Everything was still eerie. It was too dark to be morning. The day did not feel like it was freshly starting, it already felt old and decrepit. We heard the sounds of breakfast and slowly ambled towards the kitchen. 

Our Aunt Sarah looked over from her phone conversation and greeted us as she finished scrambling eggs. Since she just lived up the street, our aunt visited quite often. It was a comfort to see her kind face but I was still shaken from my nightmare and wanted my mother so I promptly asked about her whereabouts.

“I’m sorry Cindy can you please hold on a sec—what was that, Tommy?” 

I asked again, “Do you know where Mommy is?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, she probably went to work early again. Go sit. I’ll have breakfast done in a second.” Aunt Sarah again pinched the phone on her shoulder and returned to conversation while the eggs popped. 

Palmer and I sat dumbly at the kitchen counter. Something was also bothering him but he refused to talk about it and rested his head on his folded arms. I looked out at the cloudy morning outside. It was a downpour of rain. Thick droplets loudly pelted the kitchen window. It was a familiar dark and stormy scene—too familiar. The similarity was too much. Unease gnawed at my mind. When I could no longer stand it, I blurted, “This storm looks like the one from my nightmare last night.” 

I felt Palmer looking at me. Turning back around, I saw him staring with glassy eyes that were familiar somehow. I wondered where I had seen that look before. 

He carefully questioned, “Did you say… Did you have a nightmare about a storm?”

I nodded. 

His eyes bulged slightly. “Did—was it just a storm? Or was there something else?”

“There was something else.” 

Our aunt leaned over the counter. “Where did those marks come from? Did you boys smudge the windows?” 

We both turned towards her. She was trying to clean the kitchen window above the sink.

The smears were on the outside.

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Timothy’s interests in science and storytelling are both professional as well as personal. Having  studied marine science, he spends most of his time in scientific communication. His personality is largely constructed from a childhood of fantastic science fiction and explorations into the natural environment of his central California coast home.