Use the Back Door

When I was a kid, it was standard practice to always use the back door. The front door was for visitors. The only time a child used the front door was if an adult accompanied them. Well, I’m an adult, so why are my instructions telling me to enter through the back door?

The first thing I notice while walking to the back of the house is how well manicured the lawn is. The same goes for the bushes and flowerbeds. Intricately laced pavers lead me to the rear entrance, where a blue canopy contrasts well with the white house. The house looks like it belongs in Home and Garden magazine. So why am I getting creeped out the closer I get to the door? There are several reasons that come to mind.

Reason number one is the door doesn’t open directly into the house, but into a garage attached to the house. Second, is the fact that curtains obscure the view of the interior. Third, I haven’t seen any movement from inside the house or around the neighborhood. There isn’t even a dog barking. Does anyone actually live here?

Okay, maybe I’m letting my paranoia get the better of me because I’ve been instructed to use the back door. After all, shouldn’t I be the guy that gets the royal treatment for making it rain money for these people? What a snub! Hell, if it wasn’t for me, they’d be living in a used camper, not a luxurious house like this.

Once again, I carefully scan the area, searching for any unpleasant surprises, but find nothing that looks out of place. I’ll be glad when I’m far away from this house. As I approach the door, I notice a junction box with two switches. My explicit instructions say to flip the right switch up and the left switch down to unlock the door. Just for the heck of it, I try the doorknob before flicking any switches, and the knob turns. What are the switches really for? Do they activate or deactivate an alarm, or possibly trigger a booby trap? Only one way to find out.

I’ve decided that the best way to open the door is to stand by the switches, flip them as instructed, and pull the door open, letting it swing away from me. It’s now or never. I turn the knob and forcefully pull the door fully open. It flies out and crashes into the flowerpot opposite me and—nothing: no explosion or blaring siren, just dead quiet. Exhaling a sigh of relief, I peek into the open doorway to see sunlight-resistant darkness revealing nothing of the building’s interior.

There is no way I’m setting foot in this black hole that’s masquerading as a garage without some light. My phone has a flashlight app, which I immediately turn on and shine into the blackness. The tight, bright beam of light pierces the darkness, but cannot illuminate the entire room. Moving the light from side to side, I realize this part of the house is empty. It’s time to go in.

Before stepping in, I pick up a good size rock and place it in the doorjamb. The last thing I need is to have a strong breeze slam the door closed while I’m on the other side of the room. Every nerve in my body feels as though it’s about to explode as I cross into the darkness, my trusty phone-light showing me the way forward. Normally, I would have never come here, but these people owed me a lot of money and it was time to pay up.

From the far corner, I hear a muffled thump, like a sack of potatoes dropping from the rafters. There are three more thumping sounds from different parts of the room. I train my light toward the last sound and freeze. A large, humanoid figure rises from a crouching position and strides purposefully toward me.

Without hesitation, I bolt toward the door. I can sense the other creatures heading to intercept me. Just then, a cloud moves aside, allowing a bright ray of sunshine to illuminate the doorway. My pursuers hesitate, frightened by the light. It is the only advantage I need to burst through the entrance into the light.

Raindrops splash on my face, waking me from my nap in the hammock. I look at my back door and shiver. What a dream!