Sketchers pound erratically on uneven stairs that I take at top speed, flashing a jagged key, twisting an oval knob, heart racing past a pile of summer shoes. I bolt the door behind me and instantly remember a dream I had when my bedroom overlooked Broadway Street. I heard a creature snarling under the porch. It looked like our dog, Bear but he wasn’t fluffy, he was big with black matted fur and cold eyes. I pushed my brother inside before me and I saw the thing going for my mother. Her foot caught on the third stair and she fell forward. The door slammed shut and locked before she could scramble up the stairs and bang on the window. I stared through glass, screen and more glass. I saw my mother’s eye disappear down the monster’s throat. I tried to scream or to move. I tried to shake the bed. The blankets felt heavy on my chest but I saw the ceiling through blurry eyes and heard a familiar voice.