I knock on the door, the sound barely audible beneath the downpour hammering against the roof and windows. My suit is soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my skin, but I force a warm smile as I wait. Moments later, the door creaks open, revealing a middle-aged woman, her face creased with surprise at the sight of me.

"Good evening, ma’am," I say, my voice smooth and courteous, the kind that always works. Her eyes soften immediately, just as I know they will. "My car broke down just up the road. I hate to impose, but might I use your phone to call for help?"

She hesitates for a brief moment, uncertainty flickering on her face, but then her posture relaxes. Of course she’ll say yes. They always do. "Of course," she replies, stepping back and opening the door wider. "Come in, please. The phone’s just in the hallway."

I step inside, shaking off the rain, my eyes scanning the room. The house is modest but cozy, the air thick with the smell of dinner still warm from the stove. A soft tune drifts from the next room, and in the corner, a man sits with his newspaper, so absorbed he barely notices my arrival. The woman leads me to the hallway, gesturing to the phone.

But I don’t reach for it. I didn’t come here for a phone call.

I pick up a nearby lamp, swift and calculated, and before the man can react, I silence him with a single, precise hit. His newspaper flutters to the ground, untouched by his lifeless hand. The woman barely has time to scream before I turn on her, ending her life with equal efficiency. Blood pools around their bodies, staining the warm, homey space with a sudden, gruesome violence.

Then I notice you, standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with terror. You haven't run. You haven’t screamed. You just stand there, trembling. Fear grips you, yet you still watch me, transfixed. You're far too old to be their child.

I smile, calm and playful, strolling over to you. My footsteps deliberate and my voice steady as I say, "Now, now... it's terribly rude to interrupt."