Word Art by Marion Dean
A handful of individuals in the realm of criminal activity have tormented towns for as many years as the Door-to-Door Killer, an infamous serial killer who terrorized them all by leaving a trail of victims in their wake and burying their whereabouts in the shadows. The murderer was able to elude law enforcement, only leaving them with unanswered questions. The enigmatic serial killer gained notoriety in the late 1990s for his horrific manner of operation, which involved entering his victims' houses under the guise of an innocent door-to-door salesperson and only to leave behind a gruesome trail of death. The malevolent killer has slain, disfigured, and tormented at least thirty people along his path over three years, each with a distinctive calling card—a wooden door knob left ajar as an eerie reminder of his presence. I was contacted by an anonymous number who offered top dollar for me to put an end to this killer’s charade. The hire first wanted to talk to me face-to-face in order to discuss the plan of action.
I found myself seated across from one of the family members of the victim, the mother, whose pain and anguish weighed heavily in the air. I broke the tension by uttering my first words to her,
"I understand that the actions of the door-to-door serial killer have shattered your world," I began gently. I can't imagine the intensity of your pain, and I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I've been working tirelessly to bring this monster to justice, and I've reached a crossroads where I must make a terrible decision.” The mother's eyes were filled with both sorrow and optimism as she gazed at me.
"What decision are you talking about?" "I'm here to offer my skills to ensure that the killer doesn't harm anyone else," I went on to say.
"I've been following this person for a long time and know more about them than anyone else." I want to take on the duty of removing this threat so that no other family has to go through what I- …you have.
"But isn't that... dangerous?" She spoke slowly, her voice shaking. ”
“I paused, sensing her apprehension. "It is, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it. This assignment is worrying and loaded with danger. But I've devoted my life to this cause, and I'm willing to go to any length to bring this murderer to justice. I'm not seeking your approval, but I wanted you to know that I am committed to this cause, and your assistance, while not required, would be greatly appreciated.”
“The mother paused for a brief period to organize her thoughts. "I support your decision if it means putting an end to this nightmare. "I cannot have another family go through such suffering." I nodded gratefully.
"I appreciate your understanding. I promise I'll do everything in my power to put an end to the reign of terror that this murderer has placed on so many people's lives. It won't bring your loved ones back, but it's my objective that amid this darkness, we might find some closure and justice." As I walked out of that room, I carried the weight of her approval and the knowledge that my mission had become more personal and vital than ever. The hunt for the door-to-door serial killer had evolved into a solemn pledge made to people who had suffered at the hands of the monster I was solely committed to bringing to justice.
I had already conducted an in-depth search to locate the killer's center of operations, which turned out to be a haunting warehouse located right in the middle of the area where the horrifying killings had taken place. It was concealed under the appearance of a modest and ordinary building, despite its evil intent. At midnight, I went to the warehouse, determined to defeat this monster, but as I approached the entrance, the atmosphere grew tense, and I felt more uneasy with every step I took. I began to realize that whatever lay within the warehouse was shrouded in mystery and danger. I pulled open the creaky door with a deep breath, the rusted hinges protesting the intrusion. The feeble light from the street lamps barely penetrated the warehouse's depths, engulfing the enclosed area in an uncanny sereneness. Each step echoed like a distant heartbeat, enhancing the dreary feeling. I walked slowly forward, my gaze darting from one murky corner to another, looking for any indication that would lead me closer to the killer. The stale smell of decay filled the area, combining with the sweat on my forehead. Time seemed to stand still as I descended deeper into the unknown, driven by a determination to deliver justice to the victims and put an end to this reign of horror.
As I descended lower, the darkness appeared to constrict around me, stifling my senses. The sound of my heartbeat became more intense, mixing with the ominous silence. Each step felt like an eternity as if I were walking a tightrope between survival and danger. My trained eyes examined the warehouse for clues or hints that would bring me closer to pinpointing the killer. The killer's wicked psyche was reflected on the walls, which were covered in strange images and cryptic phrases, like a twisted diary of their deeds. Moving deeper into the hideout, I discovered a room with an array of photos, each one telling a chilling story. There were images of the victims, their faces frozen in agony. A tremble ran down my spine as I grasped the extent of the killer's fixation. A little, ragged diary was half-buried behind a pile of worn-out garments in the corner of the room. I was certain that its pages held secrets. As I glanced through the pages of the journal, I discovered a tangle of names, dates, and locations. The killer's movements were described in detail in the notebook, indicating a pattern and potential future targets. It was a view inside the mind of a lunatic that was both scary and useful. I also came across a stack of letters addressed to a woman, whom the serial killer referred to as "My Handle." The letters' tone was an odd blend of compassion and terror. This woman appeared to have played an important role in the killer's life, potentially even assisting and abetting their murders. As I was about to leave with this valuable evidence, an unexpected creaking sound from behind me drew my attention. I recognized in an instant that I was not the only person in the room. I quickly rotated to face the source of the noise, only to be met by none other than the famed door-to-door serial murderer, their faces decorated with a bone-chilling smile. I suddenly felt a strange sensation in my lungs. A vile gas began to ooze into the room, odorless and toxic. As I realized I had fallen into the serial killer's hands, panic overwhelmed me. My vision became clouded as the room whirled. I staggered, dazed, and defenseless, gasping for air.
As I succumbed to the darkness, a rush of memories that I tried to repress years ago began to flood my mind once again. I found myself suddenly in a room filled with stuffed animals that stood on top of the shelves, their button eyes fixed intently on me as attempted to move. In the corner of the room, I spotted a twin-size bed covered in colorful starry blankets with a small desk right next to it, scattered with colorful pencils and unfinished drawings. Suddenly, a figure rises from the bed, it is a small boy no older than eight years old. “Son,” I said softly before he could even speak back to me. The doorknob began to turn with a creaky noise echoing in the room as a tall and lanky figure emerged from the doorway. Panic and fear overwhelmed me as the shadowy figure advanced towards my son. His screams intensified with each step the man took and then suddenly right before the killer struck, everything dissipated into nothingness.
I opened my eyes; everything was a blur of disorientation. I found myself sitting in a dimly lit living room, unfamiliar with my surroundings. My face dripped with sweat, and my fingers clasped onto something strange. I had a doorknob in my hand, and the killer taunted me for attempting to put an end to his crimes. My senses heightened as I took in the horrifying scene that was in front of me. A lifeless family lay on the living room floor, their eyes frozen in dread. It was a couple with a young child. The carpet was smeared with blood, and the room bore grisly proof of a horrible crime. I felt panic and disbelief as I understood that the killer was attempting to falsely accuse me of murdering this innocent family. The doorknob in my hand, which appeared to have been placed there on purpose, was a terrible piece of evidence designed to incriminate me. My heart pounded in my chest as the room fell silent. I frantically scoured my cloudy memory, attempting to recall how I had ended up in this terrible situation. However, the fog of the gas and the horror of the circumstances left me with only bits of my memory.
As I struggled to understand what had transpired, I began hearing the wailing of police sirens throughout the walls of the living room. The killer must’ve had time to contact law enforcement while plotting his sickening scheme. I stormed out of the house through the back door and into the moonlit backyard, the doorknob still tightly grasped in my palm. I felt an adrenaline rush that gave me a quick boost of energy as I ran through the overgrown grass. I could hear footsteps pounding and police radios barking behind me. I jumped the fragile wooden fence and landed on the other side with a grace only desperation could inspire. The hunt was on, and I was going to have to flee this unrelenting chase. I weaved through narrow passages and ducked behind corners to make my way through the city's maze-like streets. I breathed quickly and raggedly. I had to find somewhere to take cover. But every second that went by, the police were getting closer and closer to me. The sirens became louder and louder, and the surrounding buildings were beaming with unsettling red and blue lights. I rushed into a run-down building with my senses on high alert. Stepping quietly up a creaky staircase, I realized that getting away from the cops was just the beginning of a dangerous journey to stop and expose the real culprit behind these horrendous murders.
My breath came in jagged gasps as I reached the top of the stairway. The crumbling structure surrounding me provided a makeshift haven from the unrelenting chase, but I knew I couldn't hide for long. The air smelt of rot and absence as I had to move with caution into the dark, narrow hallway. I went further into the building, discovering a dusty, forgotten fire escape. The moonlight took me down the rusted metal stairs and into the alley below. My heartbeat had calmed, and I could hear the sirens in the distance, signaling that the chase had come to a thrilling end.
The following week had passed, and the police's pursuit had only intensified, fueled by the warrant now bearing my name. The news outlets circulated throughout the city, painting me as a serial murderer, intensifying the chaos and fear that already existed among the locals. I realized that I needed someplace to lay low and plan out what to do next. I decided to visit the mother to explain everything that had happened in the past few weeks. As I neared the mother's residence, the burden of my situation was heavier than ever. The streets I had once known were unfamiliar, and the constant anxiety of being recognized by one of the neighbors filled me with panic. As I stood before the house, a shiver ran down my spine, and I immediately noticed that the doorknob was missing. I took a cautious step forward and opened the door, which let out an awful screech and revealed the dimly lit interior. The atmosphere inside the house was heavily laden with neglect. It had appeared to have been vacant for some time; the curtains had been drawn, casting a shadow on the floor. The only sound was the occasional creaking of the aged wooden floorboards. I cautiously made my way through the darkened rooms, searching for any indication of the mother’s whereabouts or any other information that could aid me in my investigation.
I came across a door resembling a grotesque, distorted face. The wood underneath is gnarled and discolored. The wood beneath it is twisted and stained. The handle is a jagged piece of wrought iron. There are claw-like scratches carved into the wood as if someone were struggling or trying to get away from what lies behind the door. There was a terrible chill coming from the space under the door. I felt a nameless dread as I thought about what lay behind the door. I gripped the handle and turned it counterclockwise. The metal started to bite into my skin, and I felt a sharp pain jolt through my hand as the door opened.
A passageway stretched out before me, a mysterious tunnel that seemed to go on forever, extending in every direction. The vastness of the tunnel was both mysterious and compelling. As I took the first hesitant steps, I felt like I was stepping into another world. As I continued to walk, the sound of laughter, chatter, and the hum of daily life became more and more distinct. The voices merged into a symphony that seemed to be made up of all the sounds of human life. I heard snippets of conversation, children laughing, and the clacking of heels. As I made my way deeper into the tunnel, the sound of my footsteps echoed in the silent tunnel. The walls of the tunnel were still smooth and cold to the touch, but they showed a different history, one of danger and fear rather than joy and community. I could not shake the feeling that this secret network of passages that connected every house in the community might be the very thing that enabled the killer to strike quickly and effectively. As I came to a point where the tunnel began to branch off in different ways, the sounds of people walking by became louder, each way leading to a different area of the community. I realized that this intricate passageway could be both an accomplice and a mask for a door-to-door killer; the maze-like structure makes it almost impossible for law enforcement to follow him, and the sounds of people going about their daily lives make it easy for him to choose a victim. I kept thinking that, just like I had chosen a way, the killer might be choosing a way, choosing his next victim with a sick sense of purpose. I could not shake the image of him lurking in the dark, waiting for a chance to strike.
A chilling scream pierced my ears, echoing throughout the tunnels as I could hear the sound of sheer terror and the desperate cry of children reverberating off the tunnel walls. I instantly sprinted through the twisting tunnels, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew I needed to be careful, for this was a dangerous place where I could once again get caught in a trap. The underground tunnel was perplexing to navigate as the twisting passageways seemed to conspire against me as I had to use my ears as my eyes. The screams continued, mingling with the terrified cries of children. With every step I took, my sense of duty grew stronger. I was responsible for the safety of a family in danger. It was an epiphany, but it propelled me forward to save their lives.
At the end of the tunnel, I came to a junction where the tunnel branched off in multiple directions. The echoes of their screams were stronger than ever, guiding them toward a path that led to a house approximately two blocks from the mother’s home. I emerged from the tunnel, finding myself in a basement. I observed a group of people huddled in the center of a basement, all of whom were still shouting. The sight of this was disquieting, and I felt the need to console them and reassure them that they would be all right. However, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of unease, which cast doubt on the authenticity of the distress they were experiencing. The intensity of their cries was overwhelming, and I was unable to shake the impression that something was wrong. I cautiously approached the group, and as I approached them, their screams became increasingly intense. As I neared, I noticed that their faces were contorted with fear, and their eyes were wide open. I attempted to communicate with them, but it seemed as if they were in a world of their own, unaware of my presence. One of the lifeless bodies went into convulsions, twisting and turning in a sickening dance of agony. I watched in horror as the person’s mouth opened wide, and their screams changed to raucous gurgles. It was as if a dark, unnatural presence was eating them from the inside. Then they vomited a blood-soaked doorknob, which clattered to the basement floor. The look of the doorknob in the dim light was surreal. The metal gleamed in the darkness and the smell of bile and rot filled the room.
A sudden sound came from above me, breaking the stillness. My heart jumped, and my blood rushed to my head, my senses sharpening. The sound was faint, but it was unmistakable. It was a soft thump, followed by a slight shuffling. My thoughts raced, each one more disturbing than the one before. Was it the sound of old floorboards creaking, or was there someone—or something—in the house? I approached the staircase with caution, holding my breath in anticipation. As I neared the top, the sound of footsteps became increasingly louder, as if it were coming from the direction of the staircase. My heart raced, and my senses searched for any sign of movement. The atmosphere of the stairwell became increasingly oppressive, and I was filled with a sense of unease. I rounded the corner with the handle of the door in my hand, and what I saw next caused me to pause in my tracks. At the end of the corridor, a figure was standing in the dark. The figure turned toward me, their eyes glinting with a sick kind of malice. In that chilling moment, I knew I was once again face-to-face with the door-to-door killer as the reflection of the mirror began to crack.
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