So one time in Minneapolis, I was walking home from school late at night. This wasn't the same night of the demon/angel/whatever incident, it was in the summer. Late, late at night. I was studying in the reading room in the basement of Walker Library. Then I walked home. Got to my apartment building just a few minutes before sundown, which was almost ten-o'clock at night in Minnesota in August. It kind of freaked me out: right in front of my apartment building was my father's car. And yet, he was living in Delaware at the time; what was he doing in Minneapolis? I kind of freaked out. I went into my apartment on the ground floor and shut the door. And I didn't turn the lights on because I was afraid it might be him.
Then there was a knock on the door. I totally flipped out. Quiet, quiet, I tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole. And... yes, it was my dad. In the flesh and all that. So then I was practically hysterical. But I kept my mouth shut and made no noise. We had been on not-speaking terms for quite a few years, and the last few years, we'd been conducting negotiations towards some sort of rapprochement. But I was definitely not able to deal with him in the flesh.
So I kept quiet and waited until the knocking stopped. Then I went and crouched in the corner, peeking out the window around my cat Missy. I saw the orange VW bug start up and drive off. It was almost eleven pm at that point. I was going to call my parents to do a reality check on my mental state, but then I remembered the East Coast was two hours ahead. So I made a sandwich by the light of the refrigerator lightbulb (I still didn't dare turn a light on), and I ate it, and I went to bed.
The next day, I called my parents. and who should answer but my father. So who was at the door? I've never figured it out.