 Sometime within this past year, my parents suddenly started to leave the back door open. At first, I didn't really notice it. I spent most of my time in my room with my cat, door closed, doing important stuff, browsing web forums, chatting with friends, playing nostalgic games from high school. I have better things to do than subject myself to my parents getting on my ass about my lack of job, never mind the fact I've applied just about everywhere, but this isn't about that. This is about the back door. I live in a relatively safe area. I'm pretty sure the worst thing that could happen to anyone in this town is tripping and spraining your ankle out on a back road. That doesn't make my parents' actions any less disconcerting. When I first tried to ask them about it, during the day, they were their usual defensive selves. I think I phrased it something like, hey, what's up with the back door hanging open? You trying to let all the AC out? I'd gone to close it, only to have my dad come speed walking at me to yank it back open before the thing could touch the frame. They gave me some dumb excuse about the dogs. God, the stupid dogs. We have five of them, which, might I just say, is just over the limit of what is considered legal in my state without a kennel license. I think I remember rolling my eyes about the flimsy excuse and waiting for my dad to go sit down before closing the door. I retreated to my room with a drink and toe before they could say anything further to me. When I went to go put my dirty cup in the wash later, it was open again. It wasn't until a couple days later that I saw it was open at night, too. Just hanging a jar. I'd gone out for a cup of coffee. I drink the stuff like it's gone out of style. It helps me focus on my writing. I'd stopped in the entryway of the kitchen and just stared. In all my life, I had never, and I mean never, seen the back door open at night, not when nobody else was up. I caught a glance to my parents room, blackest pitch, door also open. It was eerily quiet as I stood there. I couldn't even hear them snoring, which they did a lot of despite their claims Otherwise, I closed their door first, not all the way. Just enough that my rustling around in the kitchen wouldn't wake them up. My mom's always been a light sleeper. Next, I tackled the bigger problem at hand. The damn back door. Why was it open? The dogs were in their crates for the night. I remember thinking as I stared out at the porch. I closed the door then slowly. I don't consider myself a pansy, but there's something about the dark that can still put a chill down my spine. Much less the dark where anything could be hiding. I tried not to think about it too much as I made my coffee. Maybe they just forgotten to close it before they went to bed. They were getting older, so it wasn't out of the question them forgetting every once in a while. While I was stirring my sugar into my drink, I got this feeling. I'm sure you know the one. The one where you feel like you're not alone anymore. I knew I was just freaking myself out stupid door, but I jumped when I turned around. It was my dad. He was just standing there staring at me in total silence. I'm not ashamed to say I yelped a bit. Anybody would have. Okay. I didn't even hear him come out of his room. I remember licking my lips and smiling nervously at him in the low light. He didn't smile back. He didn't say anything. Just turned away from me after a second and went and opened the door. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped at some point as I watched him slowly pull the door open and then stand there for a moment before turning almost mechanically and just walking away back to his room. I didn't even stop to put milk in my coffee. I just went back to my bedroom. It's on the opposite side of the house and I'd never been so glad for it. I wanted to get as far away from the back door as possible. It's completely stupid. It's just the backyard out there. But there was no dismissing that the midnight encounter I'd had with my dad was definitely bizarre. It was going to get so much worse though. I had no idea. Is it childish that I stopped coming out of my room more? I mean, I never did much anyways. I don't know how clear it is, but my folks and I, well, we don't get along very much. I don't hate them or anything. They're there my parents, you know, but the stupid back door is always open now. Every time I tried to close it, one of them would just show up behind me somehow and stop me. Tell me the dogs needed to be open. I hate it. I hate the stair they've started fixing me with. Every time I go to the kitchen now, watching me. I got used to bringing my phone with me to the kitchen at night. I used it to just flip the switch over by my room and use the light that made it across the house to get by. That was before. Again, I don't like to say I'm afraid of the dark. I don't. I'm not. This is different. Every time I go out at night, which is more often than I care for, I take my phone with the flashlight app on. This doesn't help with the door situation, but at least I can see if anything has gotten into the house. That night, God, that night, I was making myself a cup of coffee and some food. I was doing my damnedest to ignore the feeling I wasn't alone. I hadn't touched the door. I didn't want to go near it. But after that weird incident with my dad, I kept telling myself to cut it out and relax. I was getting myself worked up over nothing. Then I heard something hit the counter of the kitchen island behind me. My heart immediately started to race. A million thoughts going through my head. Rabbit bat, raccoon, a really confused bird, a particularly big moth. Is someone else in my house? I don't know what exactly I was expecting when I turned around, but it wasn't this. It was a dog, I think. Its face was wrong. I don't know what about it was wrong, mainly because I was too busy vividly recalling the events of the movie Kujo to really bother with pinpointing why this strange dog that was standing on the counter in my kitchen at who knows what time looked bad. The staring contest I had with this thing was legendary. I stood there feeling faint and wobbly, yet too terrified to let myself faint. I couldn't look away from its eyes. They were these. They were like pits. They seemed to just swallow the light of my flashlight. I don't remember passing out. I don't remember anything actually. Just that one second it was dark and I was having a staring match with a pooch from hell and next it was morning. I was covered in cold sweat. My phone was dead. My mouth was dry and the damn door. It was still wide open. The dog, if that's what it even was, had disappeared. I remember swallowing painfully and trying to remember how to breathe. It felt like I'd stopped at some point and my lungs hurt as I forced air back into them. When I looked towards my parents bedroom, they were just standing there, watching me. I abandoned my long since cold coffee and food and retreated to my bedroom, mainly to write this, partially to pet my cat until I could calm down enough to write. That dog, is that why my parents have been leaving the door open? For that thing, I don't know how I've never run into it before. I don't know if I want to again. I can't stop thinking about its face. What the hell was wrong with its face? I don't want to leave my room anymore and I just wish my parents would close the backdoor.