It began with the eyes. Not the anxiety from the ever present gazes of bystanders, but eyes that appeared where they weren’t meant to be. Eyes that appeared on the walls of my apartment, eyes that bloomed on the plants for which I used to care, eyes that made their way onto my own limbs. I could never see out of them, so they must not have been mine. Somehow, that prospect worries me more than anything.

Next came the voices. They started out harmless, merely whispering to me where I had left my keys or what the temperature was as soon as the thoughts passed through my brain. But the initial synchronization was painfully short-lived. They grew to be more violent, hissing to me evil threats and desires, things I cannot bring myself to repeat. The voices are so loud. I sob and beg them to stop, desperately clawing at my head, but to no avail. I am never given relief.

I was distracted at work. When my boss found me holed up in a storage room, banging my head against the walls in hopes of silencing the voices, I was fired. She told me I needed to see someone, because that behavior was unnatural. I didn’t disagree. As I walked through the halls of the workplace, ashamed, I felt all eyes on me. Not the nosy gazes of the other employees, those I couldn’t care less about. The eyes lining the walls and ceiling, however, made something vile churn in my stomach.

The voices told me I did good.

One day I woke up to screaming. I sat up, alarmed, wondering if a wild animal had found its way inside my house. The screams were incessant, and I covered my ears in panic, diving deeper beneath my blankets.

It was ten minutes later that I realized the screams were mine.I stayed in bed all day, shaking with the effort of keeping my body still despite the voices’ demands to look at the eyes. It will save you, they whispered. But I knew they were lying.

The Johnsons lived on 111 Bridgeway Lane. Mr. Johnson worked at the bank. Mrs. Johnson stayed at home to cook delicious dinners. Annie loved to sing and dance, and little Timmy could not stay out of trouble at school! When walking by their house, one could often see Mr. Johnson mowing the lawn, smiling and waving at the townsfolk passing by. Or Annie and little Timmy, chasing each other on the porch, laughing as they always did. The Johnsons exemplified kindness, generosity, and all the values of Harmstead town. Everyone loved the Johnsons!

Then, the Griffins moved in next door at 112 Bridgeway Lane, four days before Halloween. On Monday, Mrs. Johnson invited Mrs. Griffin over to bake pies together. Mrs. Johnson tried Mrs. Griffin’s pie and decided that it tasted better than hers. In fear their husbands would prefer Mrs. Griffin’s apple pie over her pumpkin pie, she used the kitchen mixer to ensure Mrs. Griffin would never bake again. She stored Mrs. Griffin’s body in the basement. 

On Tuesday, Mr. Johnson was mowing the lawn with the lawn mower he had bought just two years before. It ran smoothly and was an important part of his look as a caring suburban father whenever people walked by. Mr. Griffin came out to mow his lawn with the lawn mower he had bought one year prior. He wondered if his wife had stayed over at the Johnsons after baking so he went over to talk to Mr. Johnson. As Mr. Griffin bragged about its speed and engine, Mr. Johnson decided he did not want to hear about his better lawn mower and ran him over with his. He stored Mr. Griffin’s body in the basement, next to Mrs. Griffin. 

On Wednesday, Annie arrived at her favorite class first period: chemistry. When the teacher asked the class a question, Annie raised her hand first but Lilly Griffin got called on instead. After class, Annie invited Lilly over to her house. Lilly immediately said yes because her parents had not returned from that trip they had decided to take spontaneously without telling anyone. That afternoon, Annie gave Lilly a drink with some chemicals she had taken from class. Annie tried storing Lilly’s body in the basement, but it was too heavy so she asked her dad for help. Lilly was placed next to Mr. Griffin. 

On Thursday, little Henry was without any supervision on the playground. Little Henry pushed little Timmy on the playground, so little Timmy pushed little Henry down the stairs to his basement, storing his body next to Lilly’s. 

On Friday, it was Halloween. The Johnsons always had the best decorations in town. As families approached their house to trick or treat, they saw that the Johnsons had decorated their front yard with fake body parts. The Johnsons had placed fake hands, arms, and eyes around their porch and lawn. Everyone marveled at their hard work and dedication to make such realistic decorations. Everyone loved the Johnsons!

It was a cold evening. My calendar read November 8th. I picked up the book on my nightstand next to the picture of my daughter and began to read when my phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Sam, I’m in the driveway.”

It sounded like my wife, Lillian. 

“Who is this?”

“Come to the window, honey.”

Still on the phone, I got out of bed and inched my way over to our bedroom window overlooking the driveway. Sure enough, she was there.

“I’m coming in now.”

I ran to lock our bedroom door. 

“Lily, I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late for sorry now.”

I heard the front door open and then slam shut. As she walked up the stairs, my mind wandered back to a similar cold November evening five years ago, when I killed her after a fight and dissolved her body in the basement.

I watch the children arrive in their parents’ SUVs. My eyes scope out the next child, picking the very best one. I see a little boy with brown hair. He wanders beside his parents with his khaki pants and orange collared shirt. I study him as he walks to the food stand with his parents. His mother hands him a caramel apple. He gazes down at his treat and takes a large bite. When his parents turn in unison to check their phones, I grab his sticky hand and the apple drops to the dirt. I cover his mouth as he watches his parents blur from view. I drag him all the way to my car. Another perfect pick.