Writing 101, Day Thirteen: Serial Killer II

Today’s prompt: Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. Today’s twist: For your twist, view day four’s post and today’s post as installments in a series.

This post is the continuation of both day 4 and day 12. In day four, I wrote about losing oneself through suffering Alzheimer’s or dementia, and yesterday, I wrote about a person who returns to her childhood home in search of something she left there. This post is about finding yourself… and something you were looking for to help you through the process…


Last night I dreamt I returned to…. my home. Part 3.

The same burgundy carpet. The same flowered wallpaper. The same dark chestnut varnished doors. The same bulky furniture.

A different echo. A different smell. A different face. Ghastlier. Spicier. Uglier.

It was uncanny. Like seeing someone wearing your clothes, but they don’t fit properly…

‘Lovely house.’ I spat out, surprised at my own voice.

‘Thank you. We like it…’

She ushered me into the hall.

‘I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. I have to pick up my son from school in a few minutes.’

‘That’s fine. My questions will just take a few minutes. Could we sit down?’

‘Sure. Do you mind sitting in the kitchen?’

‘That’s fine, as long as there’s a table.’ I knew there was. I bet the kitchen was exactly as we had left it.

I sighed on seeing the fading linoleum cupboards, the earthenware dishes draining on the rack, and the unhinged door under the sink.

‘Please sit down.’ She pointed to the chair I knew so well. I nodded and noticed my mother’s frilly apron hanging loosely on the doorknob. Had she just worn it? I gasped. Perhaps my clothes were still in the wardrobe!

I slumped into the chair. To my left, my favourite spoon rested on the rim of a frosties mug, the only object I had never seen before.

‘How long have you lived in Highwood?’

‘I was born here, in Highwood, just down the road, in fact. I always liked this house, number 77. It’s my lucky number, seven. Lucky twice over. Nobody wanted to live here, after… but I knew it would bring us luck.’

Was she talking about us? About me? How dare she take over my house, my life, and my dreams.

‘Why would you recommend families with young children to move here?’

‘People are very nice here. There are parks, good schools, a modern shopping centre, a train into London every five minutes. What more could a young family need?’

I asked a few more questions. She fidgeted and hesitated. I could tell she was lying.

The rain hit the panes furiously. She jumped up from her chair, ‘Shit! It’s raining, and the baby’s sleeping. I have to collect Paul from school.’

I couldn’t believe my luck. ‘Would you like me to stay with the baby while you pick your son up?’

She looked from me to the window and back, rubbing her forehead. ‘Would you mind?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I’ll be off then. Make yourself at home!’

The front door banged, and I raced up the stairs to the looking-glass in the main bedroom. I knew he was still here. I could hear his voice in the mirror. I froze at the threshold…


Sorry for the cliffhanger! But there will be a part four. I promise!

By the way, any suggestions? What did she see? Who/what was she looking for?

Would you like to read some of the other posts?


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