Chapter 1
It was a normal day in Indiana, and I walked down the same path I always did from school. Little did I know, though, that one day—September 13th, 1987, a Friday—would be the day that changed everything. My name is Rose. I grew up in Denver before moving to Indiana due to the case that occurred in Denver back in 1978. I never really paid attention to it; all I knew was some kid survived hell and killed the famous serial killer—the one they called “The Grabber.” I didn't understand at first how truly terrifying the case was. I was only four years old at the time. And it wasn’t until later on that I learned what fear truly is—and what that kid back in ’78 went through.
The day I first saw him was an ordinary day you’d expect from moving during the summer. It was a hot afternoon in Indiana, 1985, in Red Ribbon Field. It’s a small new town just off the highway. My family and I had finished unpacking our last boxes into our new home. Our house was one story with a big backyard and three rooms. I was so excited to have my very own room after having to share with my brother, and with him smoking, it was hell. It took us three whole weeks to move and unpack, and luckily, we were on summer vacation, so when I finished my room, it was a Saturday.
I went into the kitchen to make breakfast. My mom went to work at a new hospital that just opened up near Red Ribbon Middle School. My brother was probably off partying somewhere. He never stayed home, even back in Denver. I remember one time before my dad left, my brother came home drunk, and my dad beat him to a pulp. Luckily, our dad left. He was a horrible man, and I fear sometimes my brother might become him. No matter how much of an ass he is to me, I still care about him.
After breakfast, I grabbed my skateboard and headed out to explore town. I remember seeing a new arcade, and I’d been wanting to play the newest game, “Street Fighter.” I skated a couple of blocks down and reached the intersection to cross the street to the little plaza where the arcade was. As I skated on the sidewalk, I saw this magician do a cheap performance for little kids. I didn't pay much mind to it. I was in the sixth grade at the time, and I knew better—those cheesy tricks to get kids to believe were all fake. It was still hilarious, even today, to see those kids get so amazed at something so dumb.
I made it to the arcade, flipped my board up to my hands, and walked to the entrance. As I was about to open the door, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see the magician who had just been performing for the little kids. He was tall, had short black hair styled like a magician, a red top hat that wasn’t well kept, a red suit that looked dirty and old, white dirty gloves, shades, a red cane like those magicians you see in the circus, and pale white skin—it looked like the type of makeup you’d use for Halloween to dress up as a ghost. And that scent of aftershave, cologne, and what smelled like rotten cotton candy. But what stood out the most was his smile. It looked too forced, overly kind and tight, like he was holding back something. Up close, he looked kind of creepy. It made me feel a little uncomfortable, but who wouldn't if you saw him? He looked creepy.
After a moment of him just staring at me—which felt like an eternity but was only thirteen seconds—he finally spoke. His voice was playful, but it also felt forced, a little too kind for my taste. “Why hello there, little one! Aren’t you a little rebel?” His voice sent a shiver down my spine. I responded, my voice a bit shaky, but I managed to steady it: “Uh…yeah, I guess so.”
The man then spoke again, his smile widening further. “What’s your name, little rebel?”
I said, “Uh…my name’s Rose.” After saying my name, the man’s smile turned into a grin. It gave me a slight shiver.
“Rose…” he said quietly, slowly, as if committing it to memory. “What a pretty name for a pretty rebel.” When he said that, my stomach fluttered in discomfort. I slightly gripped my skateboard. I nodded and said, “Uh, thanks.” I muttered, my voice slightly shaky and wary, but did everything in my power to seem nonchalant.
He stood there, staring at me for a good moment, making my suspicion meter go from this guy being weird to being a total creep. With his grinning face and a voice as poisoned as it was kind, he said, “Well, have a good day, Miss Rose... See you real soon…” A shiver went down my spine when he said that to me, but I nodded and said as calmly as I could, “Uh, yeah, see you, dude.”
The man turned around and walked back to his van to perform again for another group of little kids. I stood there for a moment, confused as to why that interaction made my stomach queasy. But I took a deep breath and entered the arcade. Even as I played, my mind would not stop replaying his smile, his voice, and that final goodbye that gave me the impression he meant it. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let one creep ruin my day.
After the arcade, it was late in the afternoon, and that encounter left me uneasy, so I decided to go home. I didn’t want to explore anymore. I skated home and decided to have a movie night for myself until the next day rolled around.
It was Sunday by the time I woke up, face covered in butter and chocolate from way too many snacks that night. There were wrappers and trash everywhere. I groaned in protest as I sat up on the couch, feeling the aftermath of a stomachache from too much chocolate. I glanced at the clock and muttered to myself, “Damn… It’s 2 p.m. already?” I leaned my head back, sighed, and sat there for a moment. Then I got up to wash up and clean the mess.
By the time I finished cleaning up and taking a shower, it was already 4:30 p.m., and I hadn’t eaten, so I decided to go to a nearby Chinese food take-out spot across from my house. I got my Walkman, headphones, house keys, wallet, and my skateboard and headed out the door. I skated my way to the Chinese place; I could already smell the delicious food as I went.
I entered the restaurant, placed my order, paid, and took a seat in the corner. I leaned back and played my Walkman, looking out the window as cars passed by, and kids rode bikes like the world was peaceful and nothing was wrong. I continued looking out the window when I saw a flash of a man in a red top hat, a cane, and that damn smile. I blinked, and the shadow was gone.
I leaned back on the seat and sighed, silently cursing myself for being this startled. As I was finally relaxing and closing my eyes…
“ORDER NUMBER 87 FOR ROSE!!” I jumped, startled by my name being called. I got up, grabbed my food, and exited the restaurant.
“Today is weird as hell,” I thought to myself. So I put my skateboard on the ground to skate to the park to eat there. I was about to skate off, but I looked behind me one more time just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. And to my luck…he’s there, across the street, doing another one of those performances. But this time, when I looked down and up again, he was staring right at me while he gave a kid a prize of some sort, and with that forced, tight, kind smile, he waved—deliberate, slow, mocking—his way of saying, “Told you I’d see you again.” I tensed up and took a deep breath to steady myself. Then I turned back around and skated back home instead of to the park.
I arrived home, sank back onto the couch, turned on the TV, and flicked through channels until I found a good one—it was some horror flick—and then I ate my food. After I finished eating, I continued watching the movie on the couch until it ended.
It was near the end of the movie when I heard a faint knock on the door. “Knock~..knock~..knock~.” It was so faint and soft that it could have been mistaken for the movie. I turned back to the TV, shook my head, and ended up not thinking much of it—maybe because I was already watching a horror movie and it was my mind playing tricks on me—so I shrugged it off and continued watching. But it wasn’t until I heard it again, though this time it was still faint and soft but almost playful and more insistent, like whoever was on the other side wanted me to hear it, to know it was real.
I glanced at the door, heart pounding. The movie had finished, and the credits were rolling. I stared at the TV, my hands clenched on the couch, my breath shallow as if not to make noise, my stomach fluttering in discomfort. I was scared. I strained my ears to listen for the knock again, but—nothing. Just pure, agonizing silence. That somehow felt worse than the horror movie itself and the credits rolling on the TV. A slight shiver rolled down my spine.
Had I been imagining things? I can’t let some horror movie and some creep scare me this much. I mean, come on, I was in the sixth grade. I was a big kid now, and big kids don’t get scared by this crap. I took deep breaths to steady myself and get it together. I flicked to another cheesy show to shake off the jitters. After a while, I turned on the lights, then turned them off and locked up the house for the night.
My mom was doing an overnight shift at the hospital, so she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and my brother was out partying his life away. I made my way to the front door to lock up and end the day when I stopped short.
“What the hell?” I muttered. I walked closer to the door, my eyes widened, blood ran cold…because at the door, poking through the mail slot, was a rose—fresh, red, and undeniably real. And somehow, that feeling of dread came over me, because I knew in that moment he knew where I lived, and worst of all, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be the last time I saw this man.
