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By Andrew Gold
He wore black, for black was his favorite color. He paced the sidewalks of Willowbee Woods subdivision, counting each step. He breathed slow and deep, in through his mouth out through his nose. It was getting dark.
The sound of nearby sprinklers annoyed him, and just made his breath quicken, but still he breathed, in through his mouth, out through his nose. The small taps from his shoe laces excited him and he almost marched to the rhythm it made. The sun was setting.
He chuckled in excitement, letting his yellow teeth poke through his crusty lips, and his soft, deep voice was enough to scare even a passing ice cream man, who usually were creepy enough. The shadows of trees grew darker.
He noticed a family coming out of a near house. His smile widened.
He waited, casually, or as casually as a man of his look could, and watched the family climb into a black SUV. The suspense was almost unbearable. He nonchalantly walked down the sidewalk, running his fingers over the tops of the black mailboxes, leaving behind small streaks of sweat.
The house was dimly lit, making it seem cozy in t he evening sun.
He stood in front of the lively house watching through the windows imagineing the mother making dinner, and the father wrestling with his son in the living room. They were perfect. He breathed slow and deep, in through his nose, out through his mouth.
He sauntered up the lawn stepping in between flowers, and clenching his fist, digging his nails into his palm. The front door stood before him. It seemed like a giant guarding the house, like a big red monster who would slaughter you if you weren’t welcome, but he liked that feeling. He grabbed the shiny brass door knob and twisted it slowly, taking in every click, and tick, and listening to the small screech, and the small rattle of screws. He breathed slow and deep, in through his nose, and out through his mouth.
He opened the door slowly, taking in everything the house had to offer, the smell of pot roast soaking in the crock pot, the soft music playing from the room upstairs, and finally the treasure that lay before him. But he wasn’t here to take, instead he was here to give. He was here to give a message, a message of hate, but yet, a message of love. He was here to make right to what had wronged him. He was simply there. He breathed slowly in through his nose, and out through his mouth.
He walked into the kitchen, shoes echoing into the empty house from the maple wood floors. He walked over to the counter running his moist fingers over the smooth counter tops. He pulled the lid off the crock pot and stared into the hot meat. He put his grimy fingers into the meat and pulled out a piece of roast and sucked every flavor out of it. He grinned.
He stared into the family room sitting off of the kitchen. He stared at the family photos placed neatly on the wall, and arranged in a way that made it look very “in style”. He walked in and sat in a reclining chair and closing his eyes , letting out a deep, slow breath, in through his nose, and out through his mouth.
He enjoyed the chair and it relaxed him, but still he had personal business to take care of. He got up and grabbed a picture of a small boy, probably their son, and stared into it. He didn’t know how long he had been staring but he stopped and meandered upstairs, taking the picture with him. He walked into the first room he came to. It was decorated nicely. The walls were a soft tan and the bed was made nicely, pulled tight, and filled with pillows. No pictures were in this room.
He continued walking down the hallway and into the next bedroom. It was fairly small room, it had blue walls, with baseballs painted on it. The carpet wasn’t carpet at all, instead it was turf for a baseball field, and the bed was covered in round baseball pillows. This was the little boys room.
He left and looked into the parents bedroom, which he found fascinating. The bed was tall and pillows covered it. He laid down in it feeling its comfort, and wishing it was his. He looked into the bathroom that sat on the right side of the bed. He walked inside and turned on the shower. The mirror sat over the sink and hovered in front of him like thick fog in the air. He stared at himself. Though most people would be disgusted with his abominate appearance, he quite enjoyed the way he looked and would stare longingly at himself.
He climbed in feeling the heat from the water and letting it soak into his skin. He enjoyed his showers very hot, and wanted to get the sensation of not being able to breathe from the heat.
He got out, dried off with a towel folded under the sink, and put clothes he had found in the dresser on. The fathers. They fitted fairly comfortably, but were to colorful for his taste.
He walked downstairs and sat at the kitchen table. In front of him he had a piece of paper and a pen which was sitting in his left hand. A small grin appeared on his face as the pen scribbled across the paper.
I have been in your house for an extended period of time. Why, you might ask? Well why is a word that makes up life doesn’t it, and life isn’t always truthful, so that question I am going to skip. But I will say who, I am a person who, like you, enjoys life along with all its pleasures, and splendors. I very much love a good movie with a tremendous amount of blood in it, and I also enjoy a nice fizzy root beer. But you don’t want to know about my likes and dislikes, instead I’m sure you would love to know why a man has been in your house and why this letter was sitting on your counter. Well quite honestly I have been watching you for the past 6 weeks. Watching your every movements. I know precisely when you wake up, to the time you go to bed. I know every drink the father has taken behind your backs, and I know every meal you’ve had to eat. Now is the what. I am writing you this letter because I am enthralled with your family and will someday be standing behind your back with a gun. Someday I will be at your very end. Someday I will go upstairs and fall asleep in your beds with out any worry of any body coming home. Now is the when, when is whenever I may choose, and whenever I may choose will be whenever I feel is the time to cancel everything you have going on. I am doing this for one reason, and one reason only. I was stripped from my life by a person you are very close to, and in the end he will die also. This is my farewell I bid you a very unhappy life, and I hope to see you soon.
P.S. I very much enjoyed the smell of your soap.
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