The Murder House Chapter 11

Cold sweat broke out. Holding my breath, axe raised.

Through the peephole, the man in the black raincoat had tried opening the door of the apartment across the hall.

Since the murder, the other three units on this floor had all emptied out.

Unlucky.

My sister had been brutally murdered, died horribly.

Neighbors feared her vengeful ghost wouldn't rest.

When I first moved in, no one knew who I was.

The landlord was enthusiastic, glossed over the murder, boasted about the layout—excellent airflow, cheap rent.

Neighbors secretly told me they often heard a woman's ghostly wailing at night.

Mournful and desolate.

Strange thing was, the night three years ago, my sister was the only person on this floor.

No witnesses.

The killer hadn't used the elevator. The complex's security cameras weren't operational yet.

Street surveillance cameras in the area weren't installed either.

Unsolved murder. All leads dead.

Suddenly remembering something, I instinctively wanted to open the door and rush out.

The apartment across the hall had just been rented this morning.

A single mother with a little boy.

She'd knocked on my door at noon, introduced herself, chatted for a bit.

Said she'd just divorced, didn't have much money, this floor was cheap.

Oh no!

There's no such thing as a free lunch.

She had no idea the cheap rent came with a potential death sentence!

I frantically shouted while pounding on the door.

"Come back here! I'll open the door! Don't go over there! Come back! Come back..."

Too late.

The door across the hall slammed shut.

I collapsed sobbing, head in hands, crying uncontrollably.

I'd killed them!

I'd killed them!

I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!

Midnight, thunder and rain.

The single mother and young child must be sleeping now.

They'd just escaped one hardship, about to start fresh.

But...

I panicked.

I had to get help now.

Trembling, I grabbed my phone, pulled up Officer Carter's number.

Then screams erupted from across the hall—shrieks, crying, begging, mixed with the pounding rain.

"Don't... kill... my... child..."

"Help! Help me!"

"Help... help... me..."

...

Broken cries. A single door between us. I wiped my tears helplessly, back against the door, looking up at the ceiling.

Please let the police come quickly. Please save them.

Suddenly, the woman burst out of her apartment, crying.

Her face and body covered in bright red blood.

I staggered backward, dropping my axe.

She knew I was home.

Over and over she screamed for help.

My heart twisted. I watched helplessly as the demon dragged her back inside.

My hand locked tight on the deadbolt.

Failing to help. I was truly afraid.

Three years—I'd replayed sweet revenge scenarios in my head over and over.

Reality was a brutal wake-up call.

Her screams gradually faded. She was probably already dead.

What about the child?

The vicious killer would never leave witnesses.

Every emotion flooded my mind.

Shaking, not daring to look through the peephole again.

The hallway was covered in blood. Horrifying.

Worried about the mother and child, yet unable to find courage to fight the killer to the death.

Open the door, pull them to safety?

Impossible alone.

Opening rashly would just add another victim.

Crouched by my door, I sobbed uncontrollably.

Not everyone could be a hero. I was just a coward with delusions of avenging my sister.

Facing death, no one didn't want to keep living.

I don't know how long passed before Officer Carter called back.

"You're not getting paranoid again, are you? I was just thinking—you've cried wolf several times now. You're not fooling me again, right?"

...

I didn't know what to say for a moment.

I had indeed called 911 drunk multiple times before.

The precinct had warned me several times about false reports.

I used to be a troublemaker—didn't fear cops or detention.

Right after Emma's death, I was constantly causing trouble, drunk and violent.

Living in the murder house, I'd have hallucinations sometimes.

Over time, Officer Carter didn't know what to do with me.

They sympathized with my sister's fate, but rules were rules—arresting suspects required solid evidence.

They couldn't just grab anyone who looked suspicious.

"Someone really was murdered! The killer really came back! Didn't you say he'd likely return to the crime scene?"

"I'm not lying this time. He just opened my neighbor's door across the hall and killed that woman and her child. If you don't come now, there'll be no saving them!"

...

The more I explained, the less Officer Carter believed me.

He said I'd made enough of a scene, never seen a victim's family member as difficult as me.

This time, I really wasn't making it up.

"The rain's so heavy, the station's vehicles are flooded—we can't get out..."

"It's already 2:30 AM. How about we wait until daylight and I'll bring people over..."

...

Would morning be soon enough?

They'd be dead by then!

Finally I understood why killers chose rainy nights.

Even cops had to check the weather before responding!

I don't know how long passed.

Not a sound from outside.

Were they still alive?

Had they been dismembered?

Would they blame me for not opening the door and rushing over?

Self-comfort: I tried. I called the police.

Whether they came wasn't my responsibility...

Unconsciously biting my thumb, staying alert.

I was a witness. His next target would likely be me.

The killer had somehow guessed the fingerprint code—frightfully intelligent.

One possibility: the woman across the hall just moved in this morning, maybe hadn't changed the password yet.

I forced myself to think, completely confused.

Had the killer been surveilling for a long time?

Maybe I'd encountered him while grocery shopping or running errands?

He must have scouted.

Belatedly, I realized—he'd probably been watching me for a while.