Serial Killer

Several of my friends from high school were also students at the “U”, and we liked to get together and party it up. Thursday and Saturday night were our favorite gathering times. We partied often, but on these two particular evenings, we liked to ride our motorcycles to a raucous bar near the University called the Lid, listening to music and playing pool or foosball.  Both were designated “Two for One” drinking nights. This meant you could keep two beers going at all times, a very important bonus from our perspective.

The particular Thursday in question, we had seen the band “Black Oak Arkansas”, a rowdy, blues - rock band with a female lead dressed in tight shorts who could really belt out the tunes. By the time I hopped on my motorcycle to drive home, I was buzzed, horny and vaguely hungry. I briefly considered stopping at White Castle for a few cheeseburgers, but then decided against it. I had to work a long shift tomorrow, and the last thing I needed was to overpower my customers with uncontrollable flatulence.

It was close to 3:00 am as I pulled into our driveway. Lightning flickered in the west, threatening a storm. I always killed the cycle engine as I turned up the street; usually I had enough momentum to just glide to the top of the driveway. As I dismounted, I noted all the lights were out, including the one above the outside door. Mom usually left that on for me, so I was mildly annoyed to have to stumble through the complete darkness. My perception was just enough off to fear walking into a door jamb. I thought about keeping my helmet on but dismissed the idea quickly. I was too liquored up.

After fumbling with my front door key, I saw the door was unlocked. Not unusual. The entryway opened to a split level, with six steps up and a dozen down, where both my sister and I had bedrooms. I decided to see what was in the fridge, and did my best not to bang around as I approached the steps. I noticed a curious odor – something that smelled like wet metal. Odd, but I quickly dismissed it as probably something in the sink, thawing out for a meal the next day.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was getting closer. I began to feel uncomfortable, as if something in the house were slightly off kilter, but my loaded self said just shut up and see what Mom made for dinner. I salivated as I approached the refrigerator, thinking about chowing on a piece of fried chicken or the like, but my hopes were dashed when I saw that dinner had been eggplant surprise.  Tasted like dirt. Yuck. Skip it.

I turned to head down the steps, my fantasy now turned to nestling my head on the pillow. Mom and Dad often left their bedroom door open and I could see their motionless shapes on their bed as I descended the steps. Jeez, so still... are they dead? A random thought quickly dismissed. Besides, I was sure I could detect Mom’s soft snore.





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