It was a cool Tuesday night as I jimmied the lock to the front door, twisting the paper clip back and forth in an attempt to pick my way into the home. Mr Robinson had died 4 days prior, and the house had been promptly closed up - windows boarded shut and caution tape put over the doors. Most importantly, no movers had ever come to take any of his possessions away. That was why I was here. Robbing the dead is a victimless crime, and since I had never seen anyone visit Mr. Robinson in the 20 years that I had lived nearby, I assumed he had no family. I justified to myself that poor Pietrov’s belongings were going to be sold at auction or claimed by the bank, and being in a tough time financially right now, I could use the money more than they could. Even so, the newspaper obituary in my pocket felt like a lead weight as the lock finally shifted with a convincing POP and door creaked open.
The inside of the house was pitch black, and upon flicking the light switch, I recognized that the electric company had likely killed power. Oh well. Thats why you bring a flashlight. Clicking the light on, I found myself in an average suburban house, with paintings on the walls, normal furniture, trinkets littered on desks and tables, and some very shoddily done wall paper.
Regardless of the house’s rather average seeming interior, I figured that there was going to be at least some things of value hidden away. I made my way to the bedroom, scanning the walls for hidden safes along the way. I careful pulled out drawers, finding and taking rings, a small roll of cash, and the two or three electronics that I could comfortably carry. All seemed well. After glancing over the bedroom one final time, I made my way back into the living room. A weak beam of moonlight shone through one of the windows, and a light breeze fluttered the curtains. I crept through into the kitchen, hoping to find-
I froze.
Moonlight?
Breeze?
When I had entered the house the windows had been nailed shut, boarded over, the room had been pitch black. I was certain that when I had opened that door, there was no other source of light or air coming in. Carefully - very, very carefully, I shifted my weight and turned back towards the living room. The curtains lay still, but the window was most definitely agape. The hair on my arms stood straight. I covered the flashlight with my hand, Allowing the moonbeam to dimly illuminate the room. From the bedroom came a creak, and then the distinct sound of someone collapsing onto a bed. A million thoughts rushed through my mind. Did someone have the same Idea that I had? Had I been caught and now the police were inside waiting for me? Was Mr. Robinson really dead? With shaking hands I reached into my pocket, grabbing the obituary with two fingers and slowly lifting it out. I painstakingly unfolded the paper, doing my best to avoid the seemingly amplified rustling sounds. Straining to see the words in the poor lighting, I didn’t fully comprehend what I was reading at first.
It is with great sadness in our hearts that we inform you of the passing of Jacob Saufon on Wednesday, April 18th…
The rest of the page went blank. Rather I stopped seeing. Jacob Saufon. Thats my name. April 18th. That… Thats tomorrow’s date. I was holding a copy of my own obituary in my neighbors house, which I had been previously robbing. I had to get out of this house. I stepped softly back into the living room, heading for the door. The bedroom light came on. I ran.
I bolted out of the door, slamming it behind my on my way out. My breath caught in my lungs and I tasted blood as I sprinted away. I didn’t stop running until I was behind my own double locked door. In my haste, I must have dropped the obituary, because it wasn’t in my pocket when I reached home. I didn’t get any sleep.
I drove by Mr. Robinson’s house this morning. All of the windows were boarded shut, as they had been last night. The doors were covered in caution tape, in perfect little x’s, which was weird because I’m certain that I hadn’t retaped them when I panicked last night. As I turned the corner to drive away, I came screeching to a halt. My blood chilled. Written on the side of the house in scarlett letters lay 3 words -
You’re next Jacob