I was in bed when I
heard you banging
on the door.
You’ve locked yourself out, again, I thought.
I got out of bed,
and still half asleep,
walked through the
apartment,
the blue LED
above the stove
my sole source
of illumination.
The pounding became
more desperate
as I got closer.
I opened the door to a
long dark hallway;
the only light came
from the connecting hall
half-way down.
My eyes were
drawn to it
as it flickered in a
nicotine stain
coloured
florescent.
How mysterious, I thought.
I then turned toward the shadow,
by the fire exit,
to the left of our door.
I thought you were
hidden there
in the gloom
having come back in
after you snuck
out for a smoke.
Someone was there.
It wasn’t you.
There was no one
to be seen,
but I could feel them
and they felt like
rage.
I jumped back,
tried to
close the door,
but the someone,
who wasn’t there,
stuck their foot against it.
It was then that I saw
something
in the darkness,
but there
was no one there.
It brings to mind all those times when you think you see something, but then, nothing. I was walking the dog late one night, when she would suddenly stop and look behind us. Of course I look and see nothing. She kept doing this so we turned around and backtracked home. She stopped looking back but instead was straining to see ahead. Now this was a Pug, not the most ferocious of beasts. We finally get back to the house and as we start walking down the steps to the front door, she looked to her left. I followed her gaze, and sitting at the top of the driveway was a rather large coyote. Good dog.
That’s a good story. And a good dog. And good on you for listening to her.