Dark Night, Black Rain

Don't Open the Door

"There's gonna be lots of weirdos and perverts out tonight, too," my sister told me. "So don't open the door to anyone."

"Oh, I won't. I never do. I'm just gonna turn off all the lights and just watch a scary movie or play a video game." Just like every Halloween. There aren't many children in my neighborhood, and I live alone, so I never bother to buy candy to give out to trick-or-treaters.

"Good. I'll see ya tomorrow. "

"Yep. Nighty night," I say in our usual way before hanging up.

Night was falling - a phrase I love for it's melancholic and ominous tone - so  I closed the living room curtains and turned on the TV. But first: dinner. A frozen pizza fresh out of the oven, potato chips, and a can of Coke, my traditional Halloween fare. I got my plate and glass and settled onto the couch with Sammy sleeping on the narrow back of the couch in the way only a cat can, and Perdy taking up her post to beg for a bite of pizza in the way only dog have perfected.

"No people food, you know the drill," I tell her, patting her speckled head. I had named her after the dog in 101 Dalmatians even though she wasn't a full-blooded Dalmatian. Her mama was Dalmatian and her daddy was Black Lab, so she was mostly black with a few patches of white with black spots. Close enough for me.

Sammy chirruped a sleepy purr and opened one green eye to see if there was anything worth waking up to beg for. I guess he decided pizza wasn't worthy and stretched his black and white chubby body and went back to sleep. Yes, I do have matching pets. "Get up here and lay down," I told Perdy, patting the couch cushion. Seeing she wasn't going to have a successful beg, she climbed up onto the couch and plopped down with her back to me and, with a sigh of infinite woe, went to sleep. Chuckling at her melodrama, I picked up the remote and began the tedious process of deciding what to watch or whether to just play a video game instead.

It had literally just gotten all the way dark and I had only just navigated to the Horror section on Netflix when there was a crunch of someone's shoes on my gravel driveway. Perdy flew into guard dog mode, springing from the couch and rushing to the front window with a growl. She'd kicked the TV tray on her way off and I'd had to grab it quick to keep it from tipping over and spilling my dinner everywhere.

"What is it, girl?" I asked, standing.

Her response was a torrent of loud barking. Sammy, freaked out of his hibernation, flew from the back of the couch to the tray and then to the floor, skittering away to the bedroom. Again, I had managed to keep my food from spilling, but his escape had sent my phone flying. Dropping to my knees, it became obvious even in the gloom that the phone had slid under the couch.

"Great," I muttered, momentarily more frustrated by this turn of events than worried about whoever was in the driveway. 

But all that changed when Perdy's bark turned to the fever pitch snarling one she reserved for delivery  people as they approached the front door. I froze, peeking over the arm of the couch to watch the door. Perdy left her post at the window and now stood before the door,  sniffing the crack underneath it and growling.

And then we heard it, quiet at first but unmistakable: the fussy cry of a baby. The sound of feet going down the porch steps was followed by the crunching of the driveway gravel. Perdy went back to the window,  barking her head off again. Did someone just abandon a baby on my porch?

I had to find my phone to call the police.  I went to the lamp on the end table but just as I was about to switch it on, it was like someone physically restrained my am before my hand reached the switch and a thought echoed through my mind: Don't.

I learned a long time ago that listening to that warning voice in my head was the right call. Ignoring it... doesn't end well. So I didn't turn on the light. Instead,  I felt my way to the kitchen cabinet where I kept my tool box and grabbed the flashlight. The baby was still crying on the porch but, again, when I stepped toward the door to open it, the same warning shouted in my mind. Don't.