What Silence Really Means

Let me set the picture for you. For the last couple weeks things have been feeling off about your life, not off in a way that you can explain to someone else but weird never less. At you morning coffee shop there is a different man there every day, but he’s the same man. He has slightly different features every time you see him there, different eyes, hair, cloths style, even occasionally a moustache or beard. He goes by a different name every day to. But his build is the same, he holds himself with the same uncertain confidence, perfect posture that is hard to replicate, he orders the same thing every time too, half coffee half hot chocolate no cream, milk or sweetener, a blueberry muffin and a croissant. He is in line two spots a head of you, gets his order at the same time and the walks out of the coffee shop in the opposite direction that you normally take.

Then two blocks later you see a similar guy, with small differentiating features that make it not him but, at a glance it looks like him. He has a croissant in the coffee shops bag and hints of hot chocolate on his face, and he follows you to your office building. When you go inside, he walks around the board outside of the building for ten minutes exactly looking at all the different sings, missing persons and pet’s poster, at home business and city notices, then he keeps walking. When you get off work everything seems normal on your walk home except for the fact that every single day you run into the same guy, only once, and only at the first place you stop after work, the grocery store, in the park, and you can tell that he must be stalking you because you have the same routine every week. There are also times at night when you are sitting in front of the tv trying to get ready for bed and you’re sure, absolutely sure, you see him outside your window.

But nobody believes you when you tell them, they say that your crazy, that you must be imagining things. They tell you that there is absolutely no way that someone is stalking you because “no one can change the way they look in one day.” They say that the person you see after work probably has the same schedule as you, that he’s not stalking you since you only see him once, that there was no way that the same person knew where you lived and would even consider looking at you through your living room window.

A month after all of this started, after the morning man first came to the coffee shop, you were getting ready for bed, when you saw him in your window again, the same man that you see every day after work. You try to ignore it, but he follows you to every room in your house. When you go to sleep, he’s gone, and you think nothing more of it and let yourself drift off.

You wake with a start, unsure of what woke you and check your phone, 2:00am then you hear it, the creek of the floorboards underneath someone’s feet as they try to move quietly and the front door of your house close. You hold your breath wondering who it is, but deep down you already know. The door to your room opens slowly and the light from the hallway creeps across your body illuminating your room and the man entering it. As fear courses through you, you notice his face, the similarities, his face is constantly changing from one person to the next, mentally, as recognition floods through your mind, all of them people from the coffee shop, the ones that have the same order, before finally settling on your evening stalker and you know, you were right all along.

The next thing you notice is the blade he is holding in his hand, it’s long, slightly curved, and thin, shaped almost too perfectly, for someone’s throat. The way it gleams in the light sickens you as you grasp its purpose. The man advances slowly towards you before sitting on your bed next to you. You can’t scream, you know it’s too late to run, and you’re thinking about all the movies where the victim try’s to pleaded for their lives or tries to fight of the attacker, and you think to yourself “I can’t go down without a fight”. Then you do the most unexpected and bizarre thing you ask his name, why, you have no idea, but he answers you, and then you find you’re asking him why, why is he doing this, and he just laughs.

He never stops laughing as he brings the knife up to your throat, as you try to hold back your tears and hide the fear in your eyes. His manic laughter is the last thing you here before he ends your life. They never find your body. No one ever believed your story. But I did. Because I was there.

You know, the funny thing is, you don’t just wake up a monster, the seed gets planted when you are really young, around five maybe.

My name is Christopher Dubois, and this is the story of how I became a serial killer.