My Neighbor--The Murderer

He was a murderer.

Who else would drive a ghostly gray pick up that purred across the way every morning in the eery pre-dawn darkness. I wasn't sure of many things. But, of this I was sure.

I had suspected it for some time. I mentioned it once to my roommate.

“I think our neighbor is a murderer.”

“That’s nice," she said.

That was the end of it--until tonight.

I had gone out after dark to get a few mindless things done. Nothing really--I filled the tank, went to the bank, bought some stamps and breakfast cereal. Then I returned.

I parked in the driveway, unbuckled my belt, got out of the car, reached for the groceries, and juMPED.

WOAH WOOOOO!!!!

I whipped back to locate the source of the sound.

Nothing.

I looked up.

Out of an upstairs window, in the house across the street, through the open blinds, poured an eery, yellow incandescent light around his silhouette.

He peered at me.

I scowled.

I turned around, and then looked back.

He shut the blinds, all except for a narrow slit.

I thrust open the door threw the groceries on the floor, flipped around to secure the bolt, and bolted into the living room.

“Our neighbor’s a murderer!” I declared.

The TV hmmmed.

“That’s nice,” she replied.