It was the summer of 2017, and I was house-sitting for my aunt on Wisteria Lane in the small town of Harwood, Ohio. The house was old, built in the 1920s, with a long hallway that ended at a closet door. I'd never thought much of it until the third night, when I woke to the sound of the closet latch clicking open. I found inside a child's drawing of a house with four windows, and in each window, a face. The next night, the drawing had changed. The faces were gone, replaced by black scribbles. I began to realize that the closet wasn't just for storage—it was a door to somewhere else, and something was trying to get out. This is the story of what I found in that closet, and what I left behind.