“Bye, Jessica! We’ll see you in three weeks!” my dad and step mom shouted to me in unison, as they threw their last suitcase into the family minivan and took off. Any normal teenager would be ecstatic to hear this news from their parents, but not me. The first reason being, we just moved here. Summer was still in full swing so I didn’t know anyone. The second reason being, they left me without a car or any money to buy food.

I opened the front door and stepped inside our new house. There was no carpeting, just hard wood floors. Most of the walls were old and had paint chipping off. The other, better walls had strips of wallpaper torn off them, but it was an ugly brown color anyways, so I considered it an improvement. The house smelled of vanilla, mainly because my step mom Linda always insisted on lighting as many candles as possible. To me it just seemed like throwing glitter on dirt. The scent didn’t make anyone feel more comfortable, and it wasn’t able to mask the sight of the place. Linda wasn’t very good at house warming, or decorating, or anything motherly at all. The only thing she was decent at was storytelling, but that was only because she had a ton of them. Her favorite ones were about her days in the orphanage. She never knew her parents, but she did try to contact her mother once. That was when she found out that her mom had actually killed her dad, and vowed to kill everyone related to him. She didn’t get very far without being put in jail, but it’s still probably a good thing that Linda was put up for adoption. It continues to make her paranoid sometimes though. She’s always told me never to trust old women that I don’t know. My dad and I just think she’s crazy, but we go along with it.
I ran up the stairs to my room, tripping over Linda’s cat Peek-A-Boo as I went. She told me to take care of Peek-A-Boo while she was gone, although, we both knew I wasn’t going anywhere near that thing. I barked at the white ball of fuzz once I reached the top of the stairs, but it continued sleeping for the 3rd day in a row.

I walked down the hall to the second door on the left and slowly stepped into my room. I didn’t trust the floorboards yet, and I wasn’t too fond of the idea of falling right through them and into the kitchen below. I looked around. Boxes upon boxes summed up everything that was in there. I didn’t have much time to unpack, so I had only started with the necessities. My laptop and a few blankets was all I needed, though. I laid down on the floor and opened my laptop, and to my surprise found a sticky note on the screen. “Jessica,” it read. “If you unpack, you’ll find $100 for food in one of the boxes. Love, dad”. Needless to say, I spent the next four hours unpacking.

It was about 9pm when I decided to call it a day. I jumped onto the air mattress I had blown up and opened my laptop once again. After a good half hour of mindless web surfing, I came across a site that had a bunch of stories about the new town I was living in. Slightly intrigued, I skimmed a few of them. They all seemed to be normal things. A local soldier is awarded a purple heart, the mayor of 43 years finally resigns, etc. Then I came across some stories that weren’t as normal. It was pages among pages of scary newspaper stories, deaths, suicides, and known serial killers. I was about to make myself stop reading it, just to avoid having nightmares. But then I realized that these stories weren’t even local. Some of them had even happened in Japan! For some reason that gave me a lot of comfort, so I laughed and continued reading until I finally went to bed.

I woke up the next morning when Peek-A-Boo pounced on me. I screamed loudly and reflexively threw her across the room. She hit the door and...fell asleep again. Sleepy cat. I wondered if she was as hungry as I was, but I figured that if I could find toast, then she’d be able to find mice. I forced myself out of bed and went on with my day.
The hours passed so slowly. I walked around the house like a zombie for most of the time, cleaning lightly as I went. I felt as if I was just going through the motions. Finally, I turned back to the internet for some form of entertainment. I ended up spending the next few days reading about folk tales and ancient Indian myths. It wasn’t a great thing to do with my time, but I had low expectations; nothing would match up to Dad and Linda’s vacation in Guam.
That night I decided to order a pizza. I’d hoped that the pizza guy would have enough change for me after I paid with the $100 Dad left me. “Yes, half cheese half pepperoni please” I said on the phone. I was always socially awkward with people, especially over the phone, but it was either face my fear or starve. I survived the phone call, but panicked a little when they asked me for my address. I had to check the number on my house, as I hadn’t memorized it yet. On the bright side, the pizza would probably end up lasting me a whole week.
After about 45 minutes of waiting, the pizza finally came. Or, at least what I thought was the pizza. The doorbell rang and Peek-A-Boo bolted to the back of the house; exactly what I wanted to do. Exactly what I should have done... but I didn’t. I looked through the window and saw a frail old woman standing there. She definitely wasn’t my bearer of my delicious sauce, cheese, and bread. I saw no harm in opening the door to her though; she didn’t seem to be much of a threat. I walked over to the front door and grasped the knob. As I did, a series of images played through my head. It was a story I had read about a few days earlier. An old woman knocks on doors until someone answers, and once they do, they are compelled to let her in no matter what. Once she gets in, well…no one really knows after that. But apparently whoever interacts with her becomes more insane than she is. I shook the silly thought from my head. That was just a story. In reality, this was a probably just a very nice old woman at my door, who was probably lost and just looking for help…and helping her was probably something that would help me get into heaven…probably.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. “H-hello” I stuttered. I didn’t mean to sound afraid, but it was difficult not to. Her face was bruised and wrinkled, surrounding dark eyes, eyes of which it was hard to tell if they were opened or closed. She was squinting at me, seeming like she was trying to look into my soul, or maybe through me. I wish I hadn’t opened the door.
“Hello, deary” she whispered after a couple seconds of staring me down. Her voice was slow and raspy, the kind that you wouldn’t exactly want to open the door for. “My name is Agatha. May I come in for a cup of tea?” Okay, I thought to myself: try to stay calm. She’s obviously insane and losing her mind. Who just invites themselves in for a cup of YOUR tea? She could have at least invited me to her house. That would have been a little more appropriate. I had already been tempted to open the door, though…Oh just shut up and figure out something polite to say so that she’ll leave, I thought to myself. I could have said anything really, but I decided on this:
“I don’t like…we don’t have…I don’t know how to…sorry, threw all the tea into Boston Harbor because of the British taxing it, you know...Bye!” I tried to shut the door but she stopped it with her foot.
“Nonsense, deary” She kept calling me that…deary… “Have some manners and let an old lady in to rest”. I felt oddly forced to open the door, but just as I was about to, I stopped myself.
“Sorry, my parents are discussing some issues right now; I’m not supposed to have any visitors.” Wow, at least that one was better than my first excuse! I thought again.
“But deary,” she insisted. “Your parents aren’t home”. I paused for a moment, horrified. A mix of emotions whirled together in my head.
“Sorry, come on in.” I repeated like a robot given a command. It didn’t sound like my voice, I didn’t feel like myself saying it, and I’m still not sure what compelled me to let her in. I felt as if I had to. I couldn’t just leave her out there. But at the same time, my mind fought against my will to survive. It was a constant, continuous mental battle. My survival instincts lost each time. Nevertheless, I opened the door nice and wide for her, and watched her limp inside.
Agatha took a seat at our only piece of furniture: the couch. The couch that I hadn’t even sat on yet. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was already naturally awkward and this wasn’t helping. “Uhm…” I shakily said aloud. “So, I guess I’ll get you that tea then.” She nodded to me and I quickly walked into the kitchen. My plan was to waste time in the kitchen so that I could stall until the pizza arrived. It couldn’t be too much longer now. I looked around and opened up a box that was on the counter. It was messily labeled “kitchen” with a sharpie that was obviously dying. I took out a cup and slowly placed it on the counter. I didn’t exactly know what a tea cup was supposed to look like but I figured it was good enough.
“What’s taking so long in there!?” The old woman yelled from the living room. Her sharp loud voice made me jump, and I almost dropped the cup.
“Sorry!” I replied. It took me a few seconds for my heart to return back to its normal beating pattern. “Just looking for a cup.” She didn’t respond to that, so I picked up the pace a little bit and did what I thought was the correct procedure for making tea. She didn’t say if she wanted it to be hot or cold, so I just put ice in it and then threw it into the microwave…
“Is it done now!?” she yelled again, also making me jump. The microwave beeped.
“Yeah, just a second!” I said back. Boy, was she impatient. I reached into the microwave to grab the cup. When my hand reached it, images ran through my mind again. Looking back, I realize that this could have been the moment where I spiked her drink. Sleeping pills, anything. I could have taken precautions to save myself, but I didn’t. She made me feel safe, and for some unknown reason, I wanted to please her.
I carefully brought the cup out to her and set it in her hands. “Thank you, deary.” She took it, but was shaking badly. I somehow expected her to do that though, just because she was elderly. I made sure I didn’t fill it up to the top. I didn’t want her to spill it. “Oh, would you mind getting me a spoon to stir it with?” she asked softly. I nodded and walked back into the kitchen. I started looking through boxes, but I couldn’t seem to find any silverware. I found a knife though, so I decided to bring that back to her; probably not the best idea I’ve ever had, but hey. It was only a butter knife. I handed it to her and she took it graciously. “Thank you, deary. Now have a seat” she patted the part of the couch next to her. I went to sit down when I realized I had left the microwave open...
“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” I walked back into the kitchen. My dad would always tell me stories about how microwaves use radiation and you should never leave one open. I’m pretty sure now that there’s no harm in it, but it was still a habit I had. A habit that might’ve saved my life. As I was reaching for the door to the microwave, the doorbell rang.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Agatha declared before I even had a chance to think about answering it myself. It was probably just the pizza guy though. I shut the microwave door and took the $100 bill out of my pocket. I started walking towards the front door when I heard it, the bloodcurdling scream that I never thought I’d hear. I instinctively dropped to my knees and hid below the counter, trying to listen closer. The scream broke apart, turning into a sound that I can only describe as choking on air and blood. After about a minute, it died down, and there was only silence. I curled into a ball under the counter and listened as footsteps came closer to where I was. They came into the kitchen, but stopped on the other side of the counter. I heard the faint “clink” of the cup being placed on the counter, with the knife next to it. “Thank you ever so much for the tea, deary” Agatha said. Her footsteps moved away, and I listened as the door opened and then shut. She was gone.

I warily stood up and stumbled towards the front door. Surely enough, her cup was on the table, and the knife accompanied it with red butter. I gasped as I saw the limp body of the pizza guy lying on the floor, covered in a pool of blood. It made me feel dizzy and nauseous, but I ran to him and knelt down beside him. I lifted up his wrist and pressed my fingers against it. He didn’t have a pulse. I tried again. Still nothing. I threw his wrist down and collapsed onto the ground. Thoughts were still running through my head. What could I do? I thought of calling the police, but I was afraid. I was afraid that they wouldn’t believe me. I was afraid that they wouldn’t show. I was afraid that I would try to call them but there would be no dial tone on the phone. I was afraid that my dad and Linda would hate me for cutting their vacation short. Afraid, afraid, afraid.

I ended up laying there, a heap on the floor, for the next few hours. It’s a funny thing, the brain. How it reacts to certain situations in moments of shock. I went through a stage of fright, then confusion, and eventually my entire body “turned off”. I distanced my conscious mind from what had happened, and immediately started blocking the entire ordeal from my head. I went upstairs to take a shower and left the pizza guy’s remains on the floor. The hot water washed away a great deal of the experience that still clouded my mind.

About an hour later, I gathered the courage to go back downstairs. I laughed quietly to myself when I saw Peek-A-Boo laying on the last step. She was probably trying to trip me. “Not today, kitty.” I said aloud, and bounded down the rest of the steps. Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I skipped towards the front door. I quickly skimmed the pizza guy’s body. I noticed plenty more details than I did before. It was like watching a horror movie twice. You already know the outcome, so it’s less frightening. But at the same time, you pick up on things that you otherwise would have missed. He was a little guy. Almost certainly only 17 or 18 years old. His pizzeria uniform fit him like a garbage bag, and it was most likely still the smallest size they had. His faded nametag read Jake, and he died with a proud look on his face. One that said, “Yes, a small frail old woman killed me, but I did my job right!” I laughed and stepped over Jake’s body, opening up the front door to stand on the porch. My foot hit something, causing me to look down. It was the pizza box. I silently thanked Agatha. At least it was free.

I ended up eating the whole pizza that night. My only company was Jake’s body, staring at me in its lost daze of envy. I know it’s selfish for me to think that he would’ve wanted a slice of pizza, because all he really wanted was his life. He probably had a family to go home to, and never expected that this would happen to him. I felt terrible, but a part of me was eternally grateful that he died in my place.

That was 23 years ago, apparently. Aunt Jessica always tells us that story of hers. She mainly brings it up whenever we order a pizza, or someone knocks on the door. It’s gotten to the point where no one believes her anymore. Each time she exaggerates it more. She’s added another pizza guy dying, her getting stabbed, and the old woman Agatha leaving notes that read “Now you find the tea” and “your turn”. It wasn’t until my 16th birthday that I understood the entirety of the story.

I woke up early that day to the scent of Aunt Jessica cooking bacon. I jumped out of bed and bounded down the stairs, jumping over our cat as I ran. I turned the corner and slid into the kitchen on my socks. I skipped up to the bacon that was cooking in the pan and took a big whiff of it. As I smelled it, something caught the corner of my eye. I glanced over and screamed. I couldn’t register what I was seeing. I stood there in shock. My heartbeat became loud and fast, and goosebumps trailed up and down my arms. I became dizzy as I saw aunt Jessica kneeling down on the floor with a knife in her hand, slicing apart a man I had never seen before. I stood there, dazed, and then finally felt my feet starting to react to what my eyes saw. I turned and ran out of the kitchen screaming. “Wait honey, wait!” aunt Jessica yelled. I stopped, and peeked back into the kitchen, still shaking. I kept telling myself that it must have just been self defense. “Happy 16th birthday!” she said smiling. She stood up and put the bacon onto a plate for me, setting it down on the counter. “Fork and knife?” I nodded as she opened up a drawer to get my silverware. She placed them on the counter, still smiling at me, and pretending like nothing had happened. I walked over to my plate and picked up the knife. It was glistening so perfectly. Suddenly, my ears caught the sound of a muffled breath coming from the man on the floor. I reflexively stood up, and threw my knife at his chest as hard as I could.
“There!” I said with a grin. Aunt Jessica looked at me, clearly surprised at what I had just done.
“That’s my girl.”