Flash Fiction | He was always so nice

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I wrote this piece in my lunch break today after poking through Writing Prompts on Reddit. This one struck a chord with me so I typed out a few hundred words.

The prompt:

[WP] “For a serial killer, he’s awfully polite. Even sends me post cards from time to time.”

The Story:

The first postcard was strange. A cityscape photo of Phoenix, Arizona on one side and a hand-written note “Thinking of you in Phoenix,” on the other. No signature or name, only my address in Trenton, New Jersey.

At first I thought maybe someone had sent it to the wrong person until I got another less than a week later. This one had both my name and my address.

Missing you from Montana,” it read, but still no details of the sender. The picture was a landscape of beautiful, windswept mountains. I made a note to visit there one day if I had the chance.

Another week passed by and with it came another postcard.

You left a hole in my heart as big as Texas,” again with no name. The picture on the front was the flag of Texas.

That was a little more specific. Was it someone I’d dumped in the past? I’d been through a few recently. My standards have always been high, and I’m known to dump people I’m seeing for the shallowest of reasons. I’m not going to apologize for being picky.

The most disturbing one came a few days later. A picture of Bill Clinton and the words “The Big Dog Loves Little Rock” and a hand-written message of “You voted for this clown,” on the back.

I did vote for Bill, but how many could know that? I scoured my memories for anyone I could have mentioned it to but came up blank. None of my friends are political, so it’s not something that usually comes up.

The next was lame. “Oh Hi, Yo! From Ohio,” screamed the picture on the front. The message this time, “Have you seen the pattern yet? The FBI have.” which unsettled me.

Whoever was sending me the damn things was close now. A few states away, but still…

The next day I received a postcard with the Statue of Liberty. I threw it in the trash without reading it. That night I turned on the news. The leading story was a country-wide alert for a serial killer. The anchor cut to an FBI briefing where the faces of five victims, all of whom resembled me in many ways.

I jumped from my chair and ran to the kitchen. I upended the plastic trashcan onto the kitchen table and found the card. My blood froze in my veins as I read the message written on the back.

See you soon.”

I dug out my phone to dial 911 but my traitorous phone said “No Service”. I didn’t own a landline but my neighbor did. Without bothering to put on sneakers I ran to my front door and flung it open.

It was then I knew who had sent the cards. It made no sense. He was always so nice. He stared at me with eyes as blue as a frozen lake. Before I could utter a single word, he pushed a knife into my neck.

I collapsed to the ground as my heart pumped from my body, taking my life along with it. The last thing I saw was those eyes staring into mine as he smiled at me.

He was always so nice.

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