Knock Knock

This used to be a serial killer’s home. It’s been abandoned ever since he died 100 years ago but I decided to sneak in through the kitchen window.

They say the killer cut off little pieces of his victims right here in the kitchen and ate those pieces while he tortured them. He targeted mean rich kids, starting with the ones who bullied him when he was in high school. Those bullies made his life hell – They beat him, mocked him, stole from him, they even sodomized him.

But he got even with every single one of them. But he didn’t stop there. He kept going until he killed himself in the living room while watching TV, which is where I am right now. They say he was watching the weather when he shot himself. When the weatherman said it was going to snow again, he pulled the trigger.

I go upstairs to his bedroom. He actually had a pretty normal family life – Two kids, a dog, a lovely wife. Naturally they all moved out when they found out that he’d killed over 50 people. His first kill was after the birth of his first child. He was very involved in his kids’ school, he made sure his kids didn’t go through what he did.

I look out the bedroom window. Being here makes me feel a little guilty. I never bullied anyone, but I did watch a kid get bullied every day at school and did nothing to stop it. It was a long time ago and I wonder how that kid turned out. Should I have stood up for him? I stayed out of it because I thought I would’ve gotten bullied too.

I’m about to leave the bedroom when I notice that the bedroom door is shut. Strange, I don’t remember shutting it when I came in. I try to open it, but it’s locked. Okay. I think I’m going to panic now. After some effort I manage to open the bedroom window. But I’m on the second floor and it’s a long way down. There is a tree that I might be able to jump to and then I could climb down it.

And now I can hear knocks on the bedroom door. Great. That’s just great. I have no intention of staying to find out what’s behind that door. I prepare to jump out the window. I carefully get on the window ledge and bend my knees. I jump and reach for the tree branch.

Oh no, I missed it by a few inches. I’m falling.

And that’s when I wake up.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that it was all bad dream. I’m not falling. I’m under my blanket, safe and sound.

I take off my blanket and slowly realize that I’m not in my bedroom. I’m in the serial killer’s bedroom.


Writer: Rohan Parekh

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