Barking in the Night

BARKING IN THE NIGHT

BARK! BARK! BARK!

I sat bolt up in bed, confused, looking at Barkley, my dog … pony … whatever. He’d just roused me out of a pretty sound sleep, and my heart was hammering in my chest. My head swung around, taking in my room. In the dim light from the street, everything seemed to be as it should be.

Except Barkley.

“Barkley! Quiet!” I hissed.

He looked back at me quickly, acknowledging, his head then swivelled back to look toward the darkness of the hall.

BARK! BARK! BARK!

“Barkley! Shhh!”

He stopped barking. A fierce, deep growl escaped his muzzle. A sound so low, I could feel it in my chest. I had never heard this sound from Barkley before. I looked at his posture — rigid, hackles up, tail straight out from his body. There was something, someone, out there. In my house.

I strained my ears, listening intently.  I heard nothing. Just the silence of a winter night, the furnace slowly ticking down. But I trusted Barkley. Dogs hear things that humans can’t. And Barkley had heard something. His posture said it all — taut, vigilant. Somewhere out there, in the dark house, something had alerted my dog. I was terrified.

I grabbed my phone and checked the camera feeds. Nothing. No one had come to either the front door or the back door. The front of house camera showed the attached garage doors, closed. Everything seemed normal. But it wasn’t. Barkley made sure I realized that there was danger. And it was close.

I considered getting out of bed, taking Barkley downstairs, and checking the house for intruders. But I didn’t. Every horror movie ever made included stupid people going to find out into the dark to see what made the noise.  

NFW.

Instead, I took the coward’s way. I quickly shut my bedroom door, and pushed the armoire in front of it. Then I grabbed the hair-cutting shears I kept in the bathroom, and sat stock still in bed, listening, waiting.

I looked at the clock — 3:42 a.m. The witching hour.  I hate the witching hour. Nothing good ever happens at three in the morning.

I tried to coax Barkley up onto the bed, but he was having none of it. He was standing guard.

I’m not usually this paranoid. But, to be honest, I’m not particularly brave either. When I hear about the fight or flight response, I’m one hundred percent flight. I will run away from danger. Even pretend danger, like when someone sneaks up and scares me — I will run away, like I’m being chased by the demons from hell.

Or barricade myself in my room with my dog and a pair of scissors. I sat there, in my bed, with the lights off, shears in my hand, staring at my barricaded bedroom door. At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, it was daylight.

Thank God. Things always look better in the morning.  

I don’t know if Barkley moved all night long, but he was still watching the door with every fibre of his being.  

He’s not a guard dog, he’s more of a really big couch potato, who barks at squirrels in the backyard, but never the way he had last night. I felt both thankful for his guarding behaviour, and fearful of what had caused this behaviour.

I dressed quickly, and shoved the armoire away from the door. That sucker was heavy, and I was a bit winded. I must have had a full-on adrenaline-rush last night when I moved it. Catching my breath, I stood in front of my still-closed bedroom door. Rational me said, “Open the door, and get on with your day.” Horror novel aficionado me, said, “Nope, stay in your room until someone comes to rescue you.” As a compromise, I grabbed up the shears and slowly opened the bedroom door. Sticking just my head out, I looked around. Everything was as it should be. Opening the door wider, I let Barkley out. He was so much braver than me, so I let him go first. With the shears held down at my side, I slowly walked down the hall, toward the top of the stairs.  

Before we could go down, I had to check the other two bedrooms and the bath. I searched the rooms, the closets, under the beds, behind anything big enough to hide behind. Nothing. All clear. I took a deep breath, and blew it out, ruffling my bangs. I felt a little better.  

But Barkley wasn’t relieved. He was still hyper-vigilant and on-guard, his body taut. He walked just in front of me as we descended the stairs.

In the foyer, I looked around. Coat closet. Potential hiding spot. I whipped open the doors, shears raised, ready to strike. Nothing. Same for the rest of the main floor.  Again, it was just Barkley and me. Hopefully.

But Barkley started growling again, that same low rumble from deep in his throat. He was staring at the basement door, body rigid.

Again, NFW.  

Instead, I got a chair, and jammed it under the knob. I don’t know if that was really a thing, but I trusted my dog, and my dog said that the problem was in the basement. I ran to the attached garage, and found an old two-by-four, and jammed it between the door to the basement and the wall across from it. I did not care that I had spent the previous summer painting the main floor of the house, and that I had just screwed up the wall by jamming the board against the wall, and pushing down so hard I’d need a hammer to remove it. I did not care. I did not want whatever was in the basement to be my house.  

I did not want to be in my house. I grabbed my keys, phone, and Barkley, and ran into the garage. We jumped in the car and opened the garage door. But instead of tearing away, I just parked in front of my house, and called nine-one-one.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?

“I think there’s someone in my house.”

“Are you in the house right now, M’am?”

“No. I left the house. I’m in my car in front of my house.”

“Did you see the person in your house.”

“No. I heard him.”

“What time was that at?”

“Three forty-two this morning.”

There was a pause.

“It is now after seven in the morning.”

“I know. I was too frightened to leave my bedroom until now.”

Another pause.

“How do you know the person is still in your house?”

“My dog alerted to the basement. I jammed the door, got in the car, and called you.”

“I’ve sent officers to you location. Stay on the phone until they arrive.”

Ten minutes later, a cruiser an unmarked police car, and a SWAT truck arrived within seconds of each other, lights flashing, but no sirens.

Holy carp! I looked at everyone running towards my house.

One of the SWAT guys pointed to the garage door, and I pushed the button on the remote. The door slid up. I watched as six SWAT officers, two uniform officers, and two plainclothes officers entered through the garage. I heard yelling.

“POLICE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

I could hear them banging on the two-by-four to open the door. Time ticked by slowly. I heard more yelling and swearing. And crashing.  

Less than five minutes later, two SWAT officers came out of my house dragging a large, handcuffed man between them. The other officers followed behind.

Oh my God! There had been someone in my house. Barkley had been right. He’d protected me. I looked at the man. I had never seen him before. We made eye contact.

“I could have gotten to you!” he yelled at me.

Barkley barked and jumped through the car window, towards the man, teeth bared.

“Barkey! Stop!”

He skidded to a stop just before he got to the man, but he kept barking after him as the officers dragged him to the squad car and put him in the back. The two uniform officers got in the cruiser and drove away.  

I watched as the SWAT officers got into their truck, and drove away, following the police car.  

The two plainclothes officers came over to me at the same time Barclay pranced over and sat at my side.

“Good man!” I said, bending over and giving him a hug. He repaid my affection by licking my face.

I stood and looked at the two officers.

“I’m Detective Terry Waits and this is my partner Detective Carlos Ito. I understand you’ve had a bit of a scare.”

I told them the story of my night. How Barkley had woken me in the night, and then how he’d alterted to the basement door this morning.

“Can I ask you why you didn’t call us when Barkley first started barking,” asked Ito.

I looked at the detectives, and shrugged my shoulders..  

“I didn’t know for sure if there was someone in the house. I didn’t actually hear anything. It was Barkley. His barking woke me up. I was freaked out, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to be the woman who cried wolf.”

Ito bent over and scratched Barclay’s ears.

“You knew, didn’t you boy?” he said.

Barclay moaned in joy. He loved having his ear rubbed.

Detective Waits looked at me.  

“What made you call this morning?”

“Barkley, again. He started growling at the basement door. There was no way I was going to go down there, alone. I trusted him.”

Waits and Ito looked at each other, then back at me.

“Good thing,” she said. “The guy’s an escapee from the psychiatric hospital, from the secure ward where they keep the criminally insane. He fractured an orderly’s skull, stole his swipe card and disappeared.”

I looked at her, speechless.

“W-what?” I stammered.

“Yeah, his name is Bob Stanley. He escaped yesterday morning.”

I looked at her, stunned.

“But I don’t live anywhere near the hospital. It’s way over on the other side of town.”

“We now know that he targeted your house. One of the nurses helped him escape. We found her beaten a few miles from the hospital. Her car stolen.”

I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying.  

“But why here? Why my house?” I stopped. “And no one told me?”

Now I was getting pissed.

“We didn’t know until you called nine-one-one this morning. I recognized the address from his file. Apparently, this was where his former girlfriend lived. He had tried to kill her, and she testified against him at his trial. He threatened her in court that he’d get her.”

“But I’ve lived here for over five years. I bought the house off of an old woman.”

“Yes, the woman and her mother lived here.”

I turned to look at my house. I loved my house. Maybe not so much now. Would I ever be able to live here again, without worrying about that monster coming back for me? I wasn’t sure.

“How did he get in?” I asked. I have cameras front and back. I didn’t see anything on them. I checked.”

I pulled up the video on my phone to show Waits and Ito. They watched the video a couple of times, then Waits stopped it, and showed me. There, in the lower left hand corner of the screen was a slight movement.

“He got in through the basement window. Apparently it was how he used to sneak in to see his girlfriend. The window was just loose enough to be able to slide a knife in, and unlock the window lock. He just jimmied the lock, and he was in.”

I shivered, thinking about how horrible things could have been without Barkley alerting me.

“Why didn’t he escape that way? Once I’d jammed up the door? Why’d he stay down there?”

Waits and Ito looked at each other, again.

“He was drunk, passed out.”

I must have looked confused.

“You keep wine in your cold cellar, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, he drank four bottles last night, and passed out. We, uh, woke him up.”

“Huh,” I said. “I hope he didn’t drink the good stuff.”

*****

“Do you think she’ll ever feel safe here again?” asked Ito.

Ito and Waits were looking at Beth Crosby, the homeowner, drive away.

They had just told her that she needed to stay somewhere else because her home was now a crime scene. She didn’t seem too upset about not being able to return to her home.

“Probably not,” said Waits. “I bet she sells.”

Ito nodded.

“Especially once she finds out about Bob Stanley. About what he did,” said Waits.

“Why didn’t you tell her what he did to his girlfriends?” Ito asked.

“She’ll find out, soon enough. She doesn’t need me to tell her know how lucky she is.”

“Yeah,” said Ito. “Good thing about the dog.”

*****

I was sitting in my friend Deirdre’s house, curled into the corner of the couch, phone in hand, reading, horrified. I felt dizzy. My hands started to shake.

“Oh my God!” I whispered. Barkley looked up at me, concerned.

“What did you say?” called Dee, from the kitchen.

She came into the living room carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses, as well as a couple of liver snacks for Barkley.  

She looked at me, her eyes going wide.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

I tried to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.  

“That guy? Bob Stanley? The guy in my house? He’s a psycho!”

Dee put down the wine and glasses on the table, and flipped the liver treats towards Barkley, who caught them mid-air. She sat down beside me.  

“He’s crazy,” I said. “And evil.”

I reached over, and poured some Merlot into my glass, and taking a gulp.

“What?” she said, watching my face.

I showed her my phone.

“He eats people.”

“No!” Dee looked at me, horrified.

I read from my phone.

“In 2010 Bob Stanley had was arrested after attacking Jane Houston, his girlfriend. He had kidnapped her and while holding her captive, had bitten her, severely, all over her body, ripping her flesh. She managed to escape, and went to the police. Police later captured Stanley at his house. During a search of his property they found a bag with the remains of small animals in the backyard — cats, small dogs, squirrels, groundhogs. All the bones showed signs of human predation.”

I felt a little sick. No, strike that. I felt a lot sick.  

I read from the article. “Upon further investigation, the police interviewed two former girlfriends who said that the reason they had ended their relationship with Stanley was because he had repeatedly bitten them, drawing blood. He was found criminally insane, and sent to the secure ward of the psychiatric hospital, where, twelve years later, he escaped.”

I looked at Dee.

“That could have been me,” I said in disbelief.

We sat in stunned silence. Then I looked down at Barclay.

“You saved me.” I got down and hugged him. “You’re the best home alarm system ever.”