The rain pitter pattering against the window is the last sound you remember before drifting off into sleep. Carried away by your dreams. Safe and secure in your bed and home. Pleasant sensations provided courtesy of your subconscious.
The piercing sound of sirens shatter your dreams into a million pieces. The dream falling like glass into the abyss. You wake up with a start. Your heart pounding and your heavy breathing is all you can hear as reality seeps in. A glance to your left and the clock on your bedside table informs you it's only about 4 in the morning. You also then noticed it had stopped raining. Slowly you become aware of the fact your body has broken out into a cold sweat and the sound of sirens along with flashing lights interrupting the darkness and tranquility of your room and an otherwise peaceful night's sleep.
Yanking the covers off you climb out of bed. Your toes wiggling into the carpet as you peek through the curtain. A mixture of emotions overcomes you as you see the house across the street being consumed in flames. Even through the glass you can't quite make out the words the police, fireman, and paramedics are shouting. Already your fellow neighbors are gathering to form a crowd wondering what is going on.
Pulling on your robe you make the short journey towards your door. As you step outside the humidity engulfs and hits you like a slap in the face. Sticky and muggy with the cold wet grass beneath your bare feet. Walking across the yard and in turn crossing the street to be a part of the crowd you catch bits and pieces of conversation slowly bringing you up to speed on the situation.
"...Said their son set the fire..."
"I heard he was troubled..."
"They said he disappeared..."
"He was always quiet, it's the quiet ones you have to worry about!"
"...They don't know where he is..."
"...Said he could be anywhere..."
"I was told they put him in a mental hospital and he escaped..."
You nod politely enough to your neighbors. People you only have short surface conversations with. You really don't know them and they don't know you. At the edge of the crowd on the outside looking in. Behind you comes the sound of laughter. Laughter from someone broken long ago. Someone who didn't have any more fucks to give. Empty haunting laughter.
You turn to stare at the man. In the moonlight and flashing lights you can kind of make out his features. Tall and lanky he looks almost sickly. His hair a mess of black curls. Eyes the color of empty blue skies. He looks to be about maybe in his early twenties or maybe even a few years older than that. Wearing a simple long sleeved black hoodie with dark blue jeans and black Converse. You think to yourself, 'Why is he wearing such hot clothes in this weather?'
His eyes meet yours. At that moment you're frozen in fear. Even the ice cold shiver sliding down your spine isn't enough to make you move. Those...Eyes. Dead, empty, and soulless. Cold with no warmth. There was nobody home. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. You know without a doubt that this is him. This is your neighbor's son. The one who set the fire. The one who is being held responsible. His lips curl into a smile of a monster which chills you to the bone.
Being paralyzed in fear is your inevitable downfall. The next thing you know he's got you in his clutches. Cold steel pressed against your sweating flash. The cops have trained their guns on you both. Shouts of attempted negotiations and words shouted at you to comfort fall on deaf ears. Your heart is racing as your vision blurs. You feel sick to your stomach but you can't retch. You're almost sure your bowels are going to let go but they don't through sheer will. Your breathing hastens as you're sure you're going to hypervenilate.
His breath hot and scalding on your skin as he quickly whispers his story into your ears whether or not you're unwilling you listen. You learn how he was the family favorite. How his father loved him too much. His mother never did anything for fear of being beaten. He viewed his mother as pathetic since she never showed resistance or backbone. The father? A monster. A fucking monster. What kind of a man does that to their own son? Bugs and pests the both of them. So he exterminated them. He got rid of the infestation and filth.
That haunting laughter now heard in close proximity sounds like nails on the chalkboard. A grating noise on the ears it was torture. You don't even notice how somewhere in all of this the knife was traded for a gun. No longer cold steel at your neck but a gun barrel at your skull. For some reason the sounds of sirens get louder and the lights flash faster. You don't even notice the people anymore. The world then seems to start falling away. You almost don't hear the gun go off and you certainly of course don't feel the bullet shatter your skull and pierce your brain. Fade to black.