I came out of the liquor store feeling like the lottery ticket I had just bought was a winner. I slid into the driver’s seat of the Subaru and put the key in the ignition. It was at that moment that I sensed that something was not right.  You know the feeling? Suddenly you take more notice of a moment of discomfort as it starts to become more than a just a moment. Without any warning, I became hypersensitive to something that invaded my peripheral vision.

It was a situation that had no right to be anything but normal. You come out of a store. You climb into your vehicle. If there’s someone in the next car along it’s usually a much older guy who would consider it too much trouble to accompany his wife shopping. Or it’s a teenager who went along for the ride but decided that it was much more enjoyable to stay in the car and listen to a favorite rock station while the old parental units did some lame grocery selection. No matter, someone being in that car next to you may not happen all of the time, but it’s certainly not abnormal. And if you happen to catch that person’s eye, you generally offer a friendly nod or an insincere smile and continue with the task at hand. As you pull out of the parking space and proceed along your way, that insignificant incident fades from your memory almost immediately – almost as quickly as the notion that the lottery ticket would get you more than three bucks on a good day.

But this time, it just wasn’t right. I got into the car. I started the engine. I glanced into the old Pontiac parked next to me. What looked back at me wasn’t right. I was certain that my insignificant (and poorly timed) glance had just cost me my life. What I saw could have been a young human. It could have been an old human. But it couldn’t have been completely human. The head was canted at an odd angle as if to address someone or something in the back seat. But its eyes were fixed on mine.

And it wasn’t right.

To say I was afraid would be a monumental insult to the definition of the word.

To say I was terrified would be closer to the truth, but I don’t know if terror is even capable of seizing you that deeply, that quickly. I don’t know if terror can lay a frozen grip on your throat and your heart and your groin with that amount of pressure without something splitting apart. There was so much anger and so much hatred and so much violence built into that otherwise calm and appraising look that I’m not sure that it falls into the category of eye contact. It was more like knowing that you were going to hell and you were getting a special sneak preview at the coming attractions and your ticket has already been reserved for the trip.

Even more amazing was the way that my eyes remained locked in that gaze even after I had flown backwards from the parking space. Remained locked after I had spun on the gravel of the parking lot for an eternity before the wheels caught. Remained locked after I blew through the stop sign and launched steadfastly towards home.

I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was driving directly into the depths of whatever bone-disintegrating, flesh-peeling horror was behind those eyes. The worst of it was the most disturbing and blinding realization of all.

I knew it knew where I lived.

There was nothing I could do. This vile and deadly creature had taken up residence somewhere in the lockbox of my mind and it had no intention of letting go until it was finished with me.

I pulled into the garage after three miles of constant glances into the rear view mirror. I knew that there was no one, nothing following me but I needed to constantly validate that fact as I sped toward the safer port of home. While the logical part of me insisted that the event had come to an end, the instinctive survivor part sensed that this was only the beginning.

Nevertheless, as the evening wore on, I somehow managed to put the incident somewhere behind me. There was still something way down inside my cortex that felt like a small splinter trying to work itself to the surface, but it faded into the woodwork as the hours passed.

It was when the dog started screaming in the early evening hours that it all came back to the front edge of my life.

I know – dogs don’t really scream. But Manfred found a completely different vocal range to express his displeasure with something outside. Manfred is a Great Dane-sized German Shepherd who generally only fears that I might forget to feed him. However, I would only expect this level of panic and absolute loss of control from him in the event that he was engulfed in flames or cut in half by a chain-saw. The odd thing is that under most circumstances, dogs will howl or bark while they look through a door or window. Manfred was making an effort to avoid any chance of being near any portal that might offer an outside view. His tail was tucked between his legs to a point where it appeared that it had been removed, and he was trembling uncontrollably.

I, on the other hand, was inexplicably drawn to the set of French doors that looked out over the patio and onto the acre of yard on the north side of the house. At first I saw nothing, because nothing was exactly what I wanted to see. But as my eyes adjusted to the lighting change, I realized that the yard was far from empty. I realized that the full moon was not providing the additional visibility that I had come to enjoy on a clear autumn night. It was as if the thing in the yard had control of nature.

It didn’t matter.

The only two things that I could see were the eyes. The only two things that I could feel were its eyes. The only thing that I could taste or I could smell or I could hear was anchored in that dark being and those glaring and decayed twin beacons that had latched onto mine. Time refused to advance. I was caught in the vacuum generated by the absolute and complete presence of this creature.

Being the loyal and selfless servant he is, Manfred slowly made his way to a point beside me – though I could feel his absolute desire to be anywhere else but here.

And then, as if to communicate ownership of unquestionable power, the thing aligned its gaze to capture my poor dog. At first, it seemed as if Manfred would just start screaming again and try to escape. But there was no escape. I watched helplessly as violent spasms gripped his body and his eyes began to bulge, and I saw him lose control of his bowels and his bladder, and I watched him retch and I watched him fall and try to rise and fall again, and I saw him look to me for comfort just before his eyes gained too much pressure and exploded from his skull and I watched him drawn into an involuntary dance on his rear legs and I watched him go around and around as his blood and brains and teeth and skin painted the windows of the French doors, and I stood there wanting to scream uncontrollably.

But I could find no voice among the carnage that surrounded me.

My natural instinct encouraged me to turn away. I had the overwhelming desire to run blubbering through the house and lock myself behind as many doors as possible.

But what I wanted didn’t count. What it wanted counted for everything.

I saw it approach and my legs refused to function. I saw it reaching for the door handle and could not turn. I saw the door torn from its hinges and felt the tendrils of the cool night repeatedly attempting to slap me into action. But I remained as fixed in my position as if my feet had been nailed to the floor.

In a flash, I was staring directly into the eyes. On its breath I could smell a thousand dead and decaying animals. I could feel the hopeless despair of a thousand more. Though it appeared to be about my height, I felt as if I were standing in the shadow of a mountain.

But something was just NOT RIGHT.

It was then that I found my voice.

“What in the HELL leads you to believe that you can come here and destroy my home? What gives you the right to put my dog into an invisible blender and cover me with his entrails? Do you know how much it will cost to replace these doors, paint the walls and ceiling, scoop up all these dog parts, clean this rug and the extra heat I’m going to have to generate to keep the friggin’ house warm tonight? Who, and in what part of retarded nature, are you to stand in front of me and threaten me with your bad breath and impolite staring?”

And it also found a kind of voice of its own.

“Because you have shown disrespect to the circle. Because you have caused the elders to look at each other with fear and distrust. Because you have brought shame to the name of our fathers and have betrayed our society through your dealings with the Mugli. You have consorted with those who would sooner see us mutilated and beyond repair. It is for these crimes and for the betterment of our world that we must stop you once and for all, Michael.”

“Michael?”

“Yes, Michael Forrester. I have come to stop you from doing any more damage. I have come to end your deception and your betrayal. I have come to break all of your bones and strip your flesh from your body and burn your remains so that you can never threaten our kind again~.”

“Michael lives next door.”

“Pardon me?”

“Michael Forrester. He lives next door at 2321. This is 2319.”

“You sure?”

“Lived here for 15 years. Know my neighbors.” I dug out my wallet and pulled out my driver’s license to illustrate his apparent geographic error.

“Um, he has a car like yours, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. It’s a year older and the color tone is a little different. But I suspect someone who wasn’t paying close attention might make an error in identification.”

“He’s about your size and height, right?”

“Well, I’ve been working out a lot and I would say that I’m probably a lot more of a chick magnet than he’ll ever be.”

“Uh, Kevin, hopefully you understand that this was an honest mistake. You do, don’t you? I’m really sorry about the dog. You know, there are times when you just have a kind of bad day, like a day from hell like, and well, it’s pretty much been a really screwy kind of time, you know, like not right. All the stress of the hunting and destroying can really pile up. Do you think we could, maybe, forget this unfortunate incident?”

“You might want to take a look around, champ. I think that it might be a bit much to ask to overlook the carnage that you have delivered unto me. I mean, I have a bunch of dog parts on my walls and my shoes. There’s glass everywhere and heaven knows, months from now I could find one sharp, shiny splinter wedged into my big toe. You scared the dickens out of me back at the liquor store and literally brought it home to me. In fact, I’ll probably have a heck of a time finding my dickens for a few hours. All I wanted to do was come home, have a beer and watch the tube. But you pretty much blew away prime time for me and I’ve probably lost what little buzz that I had.”

“Well, if it’s of any value, I have this pretty neat trick I can do to correct any damage to organic matter. Hold on a sec.”

The creature posed and thought for a moment, then drew his hands in a counter-clockwise direction. I felt like I was watching a video in reverse. Dog guts flew from the walls and floor and my clothes and my face and found their way back to the twirling remains of Manfred. Once the reconsolidation was completed, the poor dog’s only discomfort seemed to be his confusion over the entire incident. Fortunately, he was smart enough to understand that he wasn’t the Alpha wolf in the house at the moment, and he was satisfied to retreat to his spot on the rug.

“That seems to have done the trick. He doesn’t seem too much the worse for wear. Unfortunately, I’m not capable of doing the same for inorganic objects. I’ll be sure to have a team come by to replace that door and clean up as much of the mess as possible tonight. Sorry about the, uh, inconvenience.”

“Hey, stuff happens. Give my regards to Michael.”

“Thanks for understanding. I’m really sorry about the mix-up.”

He turned west towards poor Mr. Forrester’s abode. I couldn’t imagine what an unexpected surprise this was going to be for Mike.

Didn’t much matter to me. No love lost there. The sorry SOB still hadn’t returned my snow blower. I could probably get a good deal on his property given the mess that was going to be made.

The thing turned and spoke once more just before disappearing into the haze. “Hey, best of luck on the lottery.”

I won 47 bucks.