My wife, Sue, and I had recently moved to Millville, but I was already rethinking our decision. The house we bought was located in a nice neighborhood and the weather in Florida was fantastic.

Why, then, was I concerned that we had made a mistake by moving? In the three weeks since we relocated, two neighbors had been gruesomely murdered. Before we purchased, I had taken the time to look up the crime statistics for Millville and found nothing which concerned me.

There had been a murder a few years previously where a jealous husband came home from a business trip to find his wife passed out in his bed. That wasn’t so bad, but she was covered with love bites and male ejaculate. Next to her bed was the wallet of her husband’s colleague. The angry husband promptly grabbed his .44, drove to home of his coworker and blew him away in a jealous rage.

Just the previous year a man, incensed that his neighbor ran over his expensive bicycle, had knocked on the neighbor’s door and shot him dead when he opened it. I could understand an occasional crime of passion in any town, but the two recent murders were entirely different.

Bonnie Laskey, a middle-aged wife and mother lived just two blocks from our new home. At least, she used to live two blocks away, on Beech Street. She was buried after a closed casket ceremony the previous week.

Her husband found her bloody body in their marital bed when he arrived home from working the night shift. After a brief search, the police found her head in the back yard.

Two nights before, Jack Hurley’s next door neighbors called the police because they heard blood curdling screams coming from his home. When the cops arrived, they had to break in the door since Jack wouldn’t answer it.

As the police made their way to the bedroom, Jack managed a few final whimpers before dying in front of them. The paramedics that arrived on scene had been unable to save him. That may have been because Jack’s intestines had been ripped from his body and placed on the pillow next to his head.

In both murders, the police thoroughly searched the immediate area. They even brought in a couple of tracking dogs, but they came up empty. Several of the neighbors had heard the horrible screams and watched out their windows as they waited for the police to arrive, but no one saw anyone leave the Jack Hurley home.

Needless to say, this greatly concerned me. I decided to install cameras in our home, in the interest of safety. I had considered telling Sue about the cameras, but I worried it would agitate her even more if she knew I was so worried. I would be able to view videos from cameras placed in every room in my house from my laptop and my phone, in real time. I hoped it would allow me the opportunity to see any threat before it was too late.

I had never been a gun owner and bringing guns into the house would definitely upset Sue, so I eschewed that option. I wasn’t totally defenseless, however. I had been given a scimitar by a business associate from the Middle East a few years back. I really liked it, so for whatever reason, I began to collect various kinds of swords.

I now owned rapiers, broadswords, a few sabers, several scimitars and one cutlass. The house we had moved into was a big Victorian. It was in excellent condition and much of it was original. Unlike many Victorian homes I had seen over the years, the owners of this house had never dropped the ceilings, paneled the walls, carpeted over the hardwood or ripped out the wainscoting.

We had four bedrooms, four baths, a library, a parlor, a living room, kitchen, dining room and two rooms which had no discernible purpose, as well as a large attic. I hung my sword collection on the walls in various rooms throughout the house and spent a fair amount of time committing their locations to memory.

Sue thought I was just being overly proud of my collection. Our two kids were grown and on their own, so she wasn’t concerned about any children playing with the weapons. I had placed them high enough to make them impossible for any small visitors to access, so Sue allowed me my whim.

We were young retirees and redecorating the huge home was our main focus. We painted walls, polished and stained woodwork, and carted away more than a few decrepit pieces of furniture. I secretly placed camera/smoke detectors in each room. I was quite certain Sue would never discover the cameras.

I made it a habit to look at my recordings each day to see if anything unusual had taken place. The cameras sensed motion and only recorded when there was activity of some sort in a given room.

A week to the day after Jack Hurley met his untimely demise, Luke Baker’s body was found in his living room ... in his den ... and the bathroom. There was some speculation that the small red object lodged about thirty feet up an oak tree in front of his home was his heart. Our police department summoned the local fire company to retrieve the object.

The firemen took one look and told the cops they could go piss up a rope. They pointed out that they did not have a ladder truck, so they would have to climb the tree, plus digging possible body parts out of a tree wasn’t in their job description. After a fair amount of debate, the town rented a scissor-lift and a young patrolman rode it up to recover whatever was in the tree. He placed it in a cooler before he returned to the sidewalk.

A few hours later, I was on the phone with our local law enforcement explaining my situation. “I recently installed some surveillance cameras in my home and I saw something that might interest the police.”

“We’re pretty busy working on the three brutal murders in town. I don’t think we have anyone available to watch your home movies,” was the bored response of the woman answering the non-emergency calls to the police department.

“Your bosses have been asking for anonymous tips that might help shed light on those very murders. I think I have one. Send somebody to 423 Hickory Street. I’m Bill Macey and I have information which might interest the police,” I insisted.

“Wait a minute! You gave me your name and address, so this isn’t an anonymous tip,” replied the genius on the other end.

I was extremely frustrated by this point, but I managed to maintain my cool as I recalled tidbits of information I had heard about the local flatfeet. “I’ll have a dozen jelly doughnuts and a twelve-pack of Bud Light on ice. That may interest a few gumshoes down there.”

“You’re asking for Detective Cook? He’s probably surfing porn while he’s waiting for his shift to finish. I’ll relay your message,” promised the less-than-civil servant.

I decided to take a piss while I waited to see if any cops would make an appearance. I was washing my hands when my doorbell rang! I opened the door to see a nondescript man in a shiny, much wrinkled suit on my doorstep.

“Are you really with the police?” was my first question.

“Do you really have some doughnuts and beer?” was his instant response.

“That depends,” I answered carefully. “Can I see some form of identification?”

“That depends,” retorted the slovenly man. “Can I see some doughnuts and beer?”

“Okay, come on in. The doughnuts and beer are in the kitchen. The guys I met at local watering hole described you quite accurately,” I admitted. “At least they were right about the doughnuts and beer. I’m still a bit skeptical about your crime solving skills.”

“Fuck you, too.” The man grinned as he popped a beer open with one hand while stuffing a doughnut in his mouth with the other. “I’m Detective Cook.”

I brushed off the particles of glazed sugar which had flown from Cook’s mouth and landed on my forehead. I shook his hand. I rinsed the jelly off my palm before turning my attention back to Detective Cook.

“It’s a small town and a lot of people are jealous of my deductive reasoning abilities” explained Cook. “Can you tell me what information you have which may help our investigation into solving the recent murders?”

I motioned to my laptop as I answered Cook’s question. “I moved into this house about a month ago. The murders began shortly after that. I was...”

“About to confess?”asked the delighted man. “Damn! It looks like I’ve solved another one!”

“No!” I sputtered. “I installed a surveillance system in the house because of all the murders in the area. I didn’t tell my wife, who is shopping at the moment, about buying the cameras. I’d appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself, unless of course it leads to the arrest and conviction of the murderer. I’d expect to collect the ten grand reward if that should happen.”

“I’m afraid we don’t pay for anonymous tips,” replied the fat fucker without blinking an eye.

“I see. In that case, consider this a tip from Bill Macey of 423 Hickory Street, or would you rather not see the possible evidence I have?”

“That’s the way you’re going to play it?” responded Cook with a small jelly covered grin. “Okay, Macey, show me what you’ve got. It had better be good.”

I proceeded to open my laptop and bring up my video files. First, I played a short clip of a dark colored beast-like creature exiting a closet in one of the extra rooms in my house. The next camera picked up the same creature as it furtively made its way through my home office. It stopped to briefly look at a calendar on my desk before leaving the room.

The next clip showed the same creature descending the stairs, walking to the front door and carefully opening it.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Cook. “Kate Upton is your wife? You lucky fucker!”

“That’s the problem! I’ve never been so much as in the same state as Kate Upton,” I responded somewhat wistfully.

“You’re telling me you don’t know Kate Upton but she was naked in your house? What about that big fucking dog? Is that yours?” asked Cook.

“I don’t have a fucking dog, but that wasn’t a dog. That was Kate Upton,” I attempted to explain.

“I may not know a lot about swimsuit models, but I can tell you this much. Kate Upton is no goddamn dog!” blurted Cook. “I should lock you up just for suggesting it.”

“Watch the video again,” I insisted as I returned to the first video. “If you look a little closer, you’ll notice that the creature which comes out of my closet appears to be walking on two legs. As it goes down the stairs it gradually becomes Kate Upton. It looked at her picture on the calendar in my office before starting down the stairs. How in hell is that possible?”

“How possible is it her tits have no sag?” asked Cook as he grabbed the mouse from my hand and replayed the last ten seconds of the video several times. “We need to take a look in that fucking closet. What kind of shit are you into?”

I led Cook upstairs to the room with the closet whence the creature had come.

“What’s all the scratches and digs in the floor and woodwork in this room?” asked the curious detective. “This room smells like dog shit.”

“Yeah, it does. We’re working on that,” I admitted as I pointed to several boxes of baking soda sitting around the room, as well as air fresheners and a bottle of Fabreze.

“The previous owners wouldn’t allow us to see this room when we looked at the house to buy a few months ago. They kept the door locked, but we could hear the growling and barking of a couple of what sounded like very large dogs in here. Once we closed on the property and walked into the room, we realized why the sellers didn’t want us to have access. It smells a lot better now than it did when we bought it.”

Cook nodded as his gaze swept the room. “What’s with all the big knives on your walls? Are you some kind of Ninja or something?”

“I collect swords. That’s a scimitar forged around fifteen-hundred years ago,” I bragged. “It’s very rare.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Cook as he pulled his gun and slowly opened the door to the closet. I reached over to flick on the closet light switch at the same time.

Cook jumped back and cursed. “What the fuck are you doing? I was all tensed up with a loaded gun in my hand, so you decide to turn on the light as I stick my head in there? You go in first, Asshole.”

With that, he jerked open the door and shoved me inside the three by ten closet. I had checked it after viewing the videos, so I wasn’t concerned. I stepped to the side and watched Cook look around carefully. He ran his hand along the wall as he stepped to the far corner of the closet.

He then moved his hand to the back wall and slowly slid it over the surface as he approached me. Suddenly his hand disappeared into the wall!

Cook cursed as he quickly pulled his hand back. I couldn’t believe what I had seen! There wasn’t a hole of any kind showing where Cook’s hand had been. He looked at his hand and then turned his attention back to the wall. Ever so slowly, he slid his hand along the wall. Once again it disappeared up to his wrist!

This time he moved his hand horizontally for about three feet before his hand made a slight sound as it hit something solid. He then dropped his hand down and it once again struck something solid. He then moved his arm, seemingly minus a hand until it reached about three feet up the wall and once again struck an obstruction.

Cook pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and flicked off the cap. He placed the marker on the wall and carefully moved the Sharpie along the wall just inches from the arm he was moving inside the wall. He reached the far side, moved down about three feet and then back toward me for another three feet before moving the marker back up the wall to the spot where he had begun marking.

Suddenly he gave a startled yelp and quickly pulled his hand out of the wall. Blood was seeping from a cut on the back of his formerly invisible hand.

“I think one of those bastards clawed me or something,” observed the portly detective, far too calmly.

“What bastards? Where did you hand go? How did you run it through the wall so easily? What the hell’s going on?” I demanded a bit frantically.

“I could be wrong, but it appears you have a closet with a portal into a parallel universe,” answered Cook. “It’s too early to be sure, but it’s possible the creature that came out of here is our killer.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I protested. “I never heard of a parallel universal. Is that from outer space or something?”

“It could be from some planet light years away, but I suspect it’s a portal into a different dimension. Scientists have debated the existence of other dimensions for years. String theory allows for eleven dimensions,” explained Cook.

“Where the hell is the guy who was eating my doughnuts and drinking my beer?” I snarled. “Are you a fucking theoretical physicist or something?”

“I wish. I’m just a fan of The Big Bang Theory,” admitted Cook as he appeared to be lost in deep thought.

“I’m going to board this wall up!” I declared. “I’ll use three-quarter plywood. Those bastards won’t be able to claw through that.”

“It won’t do any good,” said Cook. “There’s a wall there now. Portals into other dimensions can’t be blocked like that. They allow passage through solid walls, even concrete.”

“Are you saying walls are not effective?” I asked “Try telling that to Hannity! Why the hell haven’t those damn creatures been killing people for years? Why did it start when my wife and I moved in? This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I bet the previous owners knew there was something wrong here. That’s why they had big dogs locked in the next room. Any of these fuzzy fuckers step into that room while a couple of nasty Rottweilers or Dobermans are on patrol and they’re dog meat!”

“Explain how those ‘fuzzy fuckers’, as you call them, can turn into Kate Upton,” I demanded. “That trick would be worth billions on the open market.”

“It’s quite likely they’re shapeshifters,” reasoned Cook.

“What the hell are shapeshifters, and what do you mean by ‘they’? Do you think there’s more than one?” Now I was getting very worried.

“They’re like rats,” replied Cook. “If you see one, you probably have an infestation. There’s probably a lot more where that hairy bastard came from.”

“Can I call an exterminator or something? Should I buy a couple of big nasty dogs? What can I do to keep safe?” I whined.

“Don’t panic,” cautioned Cook. “We can’t be sure this is a portal to a parallel dimension. We don’t know if there’s more than one blood thirsty ghoul loose in your house. We can’t even prove that a naked Kate Upton killed that poor lucky bastard, Luke Baker. No wonder there was a big smile on what was left of his face.”

“He died with a smile?” I asked in amazement.

“Yeah. Can you think of a better reason? What would you do if a nude Kate Upton showed up in your bedroom?” responded Cook.

“Well, I’d have to feel those amazing tits, then squeeze her tits and probably play with...” was all I managed before Cook interrupted my daydreaming.

“Exactly! You’d be grinning from ear to ear. If she ripped off half your face, it’d be a crooked grin, just like Baker had pasted on what was left of his mug.”

“You’re only making me feel slightly better, Detective. I live in a house where demons emerge from my closet. What should I do?”

“We need to formulate a plan,” determined Cook. “I suggest you keep the closet door locked, as well as the door to this room. It won’t stop the ugly bastards, but it should slow them down, plus the noise they make breaking down the door should alert you in time to run like holy hell.”

“You’re a real fucking piece of work!” I snarled. “I’m looking to the police to keep me safe from these damn shapeshitters and you’re telling me to run like hell? That’s your plan?”

“You might try placing pictures of Don Knotts and Pee Wee Herman in plain sight,” suggested Cook. “You’d be able to kick their asses.”

“Is that a fucking joke?” I demanded angrily.

“No. I thought it was a pretty damn good idea,” countered the enigma known as Detective Cook. “By the same token, avoid photos of The Rock, Chuck Norris, Clint Eastwood and my personal favorite, John Wayne.”

“I can see where that idea would have some merit,” I admitted reluctantly. “Have any more brilliant suggestions?”

“Is there some way you can make it so I can see your security system in real time? I’d be able to monitor it and hustle over here if it looked like another spawn of Satan had made an appearance.”

“Yeah, I can share the videos with you on the cloud. I’ll give you the login information and you can watch videos as well as see the action in real time. That’s a surprisingly good idea!”

Detective Cook hung around a few more minutes discussing various ways to trap the shapeshifters, hopefully before they killed someone else, like Sue and me. He took my last two beers and the doughnut I had been saving for Sue when he left.

While I waited for Sue to get home, I Googled some famous people and printed out their pictures. I went with Don Knotts and Pee Wee Herman first, followed by Joe Pesci, Danny DeVito and Woody Allen. I pinned the pictures to my office wall. I admitted to myself that I was grasping at straws.

It wasn’t easy to behave normally around Sue now that I knew there were murderous demons running amok in the house. It was likely she would overreact to the information and want to sell the house. If we did sell it, we’d take a big financial hit and our retirement plans would go down the drain. If Cook and I could come up with a way to block the bastards from coming through the wall, or if we could domesticate the damn things, we’d be money ahead.

Two days later I was at Home Depot waiting in line to buy some paint when I decided to check my phone to see if anything was going on at home. I began to get a little aroused when I saw Sue walk into our bedroom naked. She was still a fine looking woman in her mid forties. Her breasts were high and firm on her chest and her ass was rounded perfectly. I was admiring her body when a man stepped into the room to join her!