This morning, I was awakened by the doorbell ringing. My first thought was, "Who rings the bell before 6 in the morning?" I rolled over and looked at the clock. 8:37. Right.

I blinked blearily and got out of bed. I looked out the window and saw that there was no car at the curb. From the top of the stairs I could see a man with a dark grey duffel bag holding what looked like a postcard written in blue pen. There was a flag drawn in the upper right corner. I wondered if he was a veteran, or asking for donations or something. I was about to change quickly and answer the door, but something stopped me.

As I watched, the man stepped up to the door and knocked so loudly that the door shook and the noise reverberated through the house. I felt the adrenaline hit my heart like we simulated in physiology lab, my heart instantly beginning to contract rapidly and with great force. The man yelled something about letting him into his house.

Maybe he's drunk, I thought. I've heard stories about drunk people mistaking the wrong house for theirs. Yesterday was a holiday. Lots of people drink for holidays.

In the back of my mind, I realize that I'm familiar with this scenario from nightmares. Being home alone, with someone or something pounding at the door, demanding to be admitted. Trying to call for help and being unable to do so, either by faulty phone lines or an inability to speak. But this was not a nightmare, and I was not going to freak out, even as the man continued to demand admittance.

I walked back into my room and turned on my computer. I stood near the window as it booted up, listening to the man's ongoing conversation. He wasn't yelling anymore, but was ranting about how he was at the door, and he should be let in, come to the door and let me into my house. I thought that maybe he was on the phone with someone. Maybe he would realize he was at the wrong house. I imagined the person on the other end of the phone saying she was at the door, and where was he?

Still trembling a bit from the rush of adrenaline, I pulled up my browser and searched for the local police department's phone number. It took me a moment to find the number on the page, but there it was. Non-emergency dispatch. I typed the number into my phone, and stood at the window, waiting to see if the conversation I was imagining in my mind was actually taking place, and if the man would leave.

As if in response to my thoughts, the man stepped a bit further down the sidewalk and into my line of vision. He had no phone in his hand, just a lit cigarette. He was still mumbling to someone to come to the door and let him into his house. I hit the call button on my phone, now convinced that this was a crazy person at my door.

After two rings, a woman answered my call. Somewhat falteringly, I tried to explain how there was a man--I think he's confused, I said--he's trying to get into my house, he's yelling that it's his house...Wait, he might be leaving. Yes. He's leaving. Never mind. He's leaving.

I wondered if he could hear me on the phone, the way he suddenly picked up his bag and strode down the front walk, across the street, and down the sidewalk until he was out of sight. The woman on the phone asked me if I was sure, or if I wanted them to send a car to drive by. I told her no, thank you, but continued to clutch my phone even after I'd hung up. From the window, I stared down the street where the man had disappeared. For a moment, I convinced myself that a mailbox and planter at one house was him, standing with his bag, still watching my house. Then I shook my head and told myself to snap out of it.

I went downstairs to make sure everything was in order. The front and back doors were locked, the garage door shut, the sliding door upstairs still had the stake in the track to prevent it from opening. I told myself it was silly to be nervous, and made myself go shower and prepare for the day like normal.

I made a point to go out to get the newspaper before breakfast, to establish that the house was indeed inhabited. Forcing normalcy, I sat down and read the comics and ate cereal, then went back outside to water the plants. It was exactly an hour since I had been woken by the man at the door.

Noticing that some of the plants looked a bit dry, I called my mom to see if I was caring for them correctly. She answered as I freed a few more feet of the hose, but the call was quickly dropped. I spent another couple seconds pulling the hose from its own coils, then turned as I became aware of someone watching me.

Across the street, a dark red pickup truck lingered at the stop sign, pausing much longer than was necessary for a complete stop at the empty intersection. I recognized the arm resting on the open driver's side window, still holding a lit cigarette. I stood my ground, staring at the truck until the driver moved on, turning away from me. Slightly shaken, I finished with the plants and replaced the hose before moving on to the plants in the backyard.

The way I see it, he must have made it to the right place in order to get access to the truck, right? Add to that the fact that he didn't start yelling at me when he saw me in the yard. But still, it was a pretty unnerving experience. Stuff like this always seems to happen to me.